Fledgling in Shadows

Chapter 1 - The Price of a Glance

The air inside The Ladle smelled of sour ale, old smoke and a mixture of sweat and grime. Elara, twenty years old with long, wavy brunette hair, meticulously dragged a damp cloth across the scarred oak tabletop. Her fair complexion, though currently smudged with soot and dishwater, hinted at a beauty that drew the unwanted, predatory attention of men like her patron.

"Wipe it proper girl! There's still grease on it," bellowed Master Rull, the Tavern keeper, a man whose corpulence strained the buttons of his tunic and whose attempts at conversation were often interrupted by the wet, clicking sounds of his few remaining rotten teeth.

Elara didn't flinch. She had learned long ago that fear only encouraged men like Rull. "The tables are clean, Master. The last of the benches and chairs are stacked. I will extinguish the lamps now, if you are satisfied."

Rull waddled closer, his breath smelling of onions and cheap wine. "Satisfied? I was satisfied when you started, not when I found half a loaf of bread missing this morn! That's worth a silver penny, isn't it, eh? I could dock your wages for that."

Elara placed the rag down and starred at him. "The stray dog took the bread Master Rull. It was no fault of mine and you know I am owed four full sixpence for this week's labour. I worked ten hours today alone."

The negotiation was a ritual she hated but had mastered. She needed the full wage. Rull knew she needed it and Rull always sought any excuse, a chipped plate, a stray hair, missing bread, anything to underpay her. He had tried more than just docking pay too. His attempts to corner and grope her were a constant threat, attempts that only ceased when she had delivered a swift, hard kick to his groin weeks ago. Miraculously, he hadn't fired her. Her solitude was her shield and few people in the village were desperate enough to travel out to this far-flung, forest-adjacent corner for work.

He grumbled, eyeing her with a mixture of resentment and desire. "Aye, a fine worker, you are. But sharp of tongue and stiff of back. Go, then. Take your due and be quick about it." He tossed a handful of tarnished coins onto the counter.

Elara swiftly counted them, four sixpence, correct to the mark, and secured the small leather pouch in the waistband of her worn out dirty dress.

A moment later, she stepped out into the early winter air. The darkness was absolute, save for the weak, dying moon. Elara pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, turning away from the Tavern and toward the narrow, winding path that led back to the village centre. She wasn't looking forward to the cramped, airless room she shared with three other women, where one of them nursed two children whose cries sometimes kept her awake. But at least it was warm, and every coin in her pouch was a step closer to leaving this wretched place. She worked hard, saved religiously and dreamed only of escaping the village and its constant degradation.

As she made her way through a maze of stone-framed houses, the shadows thickened. In one narrow, sewage-choked alley, she quickly averted her gaze from two hulking, drunk men harassing a shivering prostitute. May fortune favour her, Elara thought, offering no judgment.

In the next alleyway, however, she noticed a different kind of encounter. A couple stood pressed against the stone wall. The man was unusually tall and shrouded in a heavy, dark, hooded cloak. She couldn't see his face, but as she drew closer, the moonlight caught the sharp line of his profile. He was incredibly handsome, his features sculpted and flawless, and his garments of deep sapphire silk, lined with fine fur, marked him as a man of great wealth.

The woman, petite and pale, breathed out soft moans that carried a strange, hollow weight. Elara, blushing fiercely, quickly averted her eyes, realizing she had stumbled upon a wealthy man and a discreet strumpet finishing their business. Again she cast no judgement and didn't blame the woman for seeking a week's wages in the cold. Poverty forced all manner of compromises.

She was just about to pass when a powerful, magnetic curiosity forced her head to turn for one last, fleeting look.

The man had stopped his intimate caress. He was no longer focused on the woman's shoulder or bosom. Instead, he had his jaw nestled deep in the soft, vulnerable curve of her neck.

And then, he looked up.

His eyes, in the near-total darkness, were not merely looking, they were glowing, fierce, and undeniably hungry. For that split second, she was paralyzed, taking in the impossible sight: his beautiful jawline, a faint stubble, and the startling darkness covering his chin and mouth.

Wine? she thought to herself but the dark, viscous liquid was too thick, too opaque.

Then, the man smiled, and the truth became horrifyingly clear. Two unnaturally long, sharp fangs descended past his lower lip.

Elara gasped, stumbling backward until her spine hit the cold, rough stone wall of a shop. The sound of her fumbling backwards broke his concentration. The man slowly lifted his head, releasing the woman, who dropped to the stone ground with a thud, her body lifeless. Then he turned his full, terrifying attention onto Elara.

Fear gripped her heart. She wanted to scream for help, but a strange pressure clamped down on her throat, robbing her of her voice. She wanted to run but she couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the ground by some invisible force.

The cloaked man walked calmly towards her cornering her against the shop wall. He was closer than she wanted.

"You shouldn't have seen that," he murmured, his voice a chilling caress.

Somehow, driven by raw instinct, Elara found the strength to wrench her feet from the trance. She pushed off the wall and ran, heading blindly towards the safety of the forest edge.

He was quick. Impossibly quick. Within two breaths; he simply materialized in front of her, blocking her path with his tall, solid frame.

"Well, you're a fighter," he observed, a dark chuckle following. "Interesting. And fun. Perhaps I shall lure you back with me."

She tried to fight, swinging her empty hands at him but he caught her wrist with effortless strength. He was so close now and when she looked into his eyes, the fear warred with a dizzying, confusing sense of awe. She was enamoured with the sheer, magnificent power he radiated. It was a strange feeling. She was helpless. Her mind battling between the instinct to flee and the need to stay with him.

As he pulled her into an embrace, all resistance melted away. Her body moved toward his, succumbing to the trance. The last thing Elara registered was his menacing, beautiful face descending toward her neck, and the searing, hot pain as his fangs pierced her jugular.