REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

INTERLUDE: ONE

    She tilted her head. She could hear heartbeats—of rabbits, and squirrels, and even a fox—but then she heard it: ba-da-bump, ba-da-bump.

    "Victoria!" She called, her voice cracking. She easily jumped over the peeling fence and ran toward the woods in the center of the park. "Victoria!" She called again, the ba-da-bump getting closer.

    And then, a shriek pierced the air, followed by deafening silence.

    "Victoria!" She yelled, her fangs bulging. She pelted through the trees as if her feet were running on air, not gravel, expecting to see her father slicing Victoria throat open. Father, turning toward her, arching his eyebrow and greeting her with one word that made her brain almost explode with anger...

    "Help!" a girl's voice screamed.

    "Victoria!" Rae called, tearing through the trees, in one direction, then another, listening wildly for the ba-da-bump of her heart. And then she saw her, standing shakily near a dark street lamp. Her face was as white as her apron, but she was alive. There was no blood.

    "Victoria?" She asked, slowing down to a walk. Her feet crunched against the dry underbrush. The path in the woods had obviously, in happier times, been designed for a Sunday afternoon stroll. A small brick building, most likely a groundkeeper's cottage, long since abandoned, stood at the crest of a gentle hill. Victoria was staring at it, her mouth formed into an O of horror.

    She followed her gaze, the sliver of moon providing just enough light that she could see red letters written on the side of the building, each oxidized character standing out against the muted brick as if it were illuminated from behind by candlelight:

    HALE—I SHALL HAVE MY REVENGE, JUST AS YOU'VE HAD YOURS

    She glanced at the words, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her. This was a challenge, as real as if she'd been dealt a blow by an unseen hand. Someone was after her. And that someone wasn't unknown.

    She blinked. She'd only seen this gruesome message like that once in her infinite lifetime—back at her village in Beacon Hills, when Neolin, her father was trying to fulfill the desire for vengeance against her. Twenty years ago, she just narrowly escaped him. Could he be back for more?

    If the immortal Neolin had returned, everything—her terrifying dreams, her unsettled feelings—made sense. She was in trouble. And like it or not, she'd heard the message and came running. She was a part of this now. There was no going back.

    "Help! Anyone!" Victoria shrieked. She was starting to panic, her eyes wide.

    Rae ran toward her and clapped her hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out again. She may have been hunting Neolin, but now she was the one being hunted by him—again. Now, she was just a fox, desperately darting through the city, unsure whether the hunter in charge of her fate was in front of her or behind her or lying in wait, ready to strike when she least expected it.

March 15, 1462

    Before someone dies, their blood races, pounding through their veins, filling with everything that makes them human—adrenaline, fear, the desire to live. It's a sound like no other, a sound I used to listen for eagerly, in anticipation of the kill. But the pounding that echoed in my ears now wasn't caused by a human heart. It lacked that frantic sensation that made blood so irresistible. It was mine...and my long-lost brother, Lucius.

    The only one that had managed to escape during the massacre—my massacre. Lucius was now cursed beyond his birth-right of being supernatural, in trying to find me he had a Maleficus, a sort of witch, give him eternal live by drinking the blood of a stillborn baby under the moonlight. He was playing with a dark force—black magic. Something everyone steers clear of.