Taint (Formerly Claimed) Dark Midnight 1

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

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Eliot would have given anything in the world to erase the past.

To erase those bloody old days from his memory and pretend that they had never happened.

Pretend that he was different.

Start over.

But the truth was...that a part of him would always belong to his old self—he couldn’t escape it.  That violent person, who craved blood, would always exist.

Still did…

A few short years of reform couldn’t erase centuries of bloodshed. 

In the end, he would always be a vampire.

Besides, waking up without a heartbeat wasn’t exactly an easy experience to forget.  The shock was forever etched into his memory.  The icy realization that his chest wasn’t rising.  That his lungs weren’t filling up with air.  That he was so very cold—and yet…somehow…alive. 

He could still taste that old terror if he thought hard on the memory long enough; the agonizing fear of losing yourself and becoming something different entirely.  But in the body of a newborn vampire, pain and sorrow left only enough room for two other emotions. 

Rage…and hunger.

Looking back, Eliot wished that he could say he hadn’t given in to it.  That he had struggled against the monster he’d become. 

Tried to fight. 

Cling to humanity.

But he didn’t.  He didn’t want to; after years of pain, and loss, and suffering he had gladly let his old self go and greedily accepted the new beast in his place. 

He had been happy to become a monster. 

And Vaddrian had capitalized on that desire.  He had been the one watching Alazzdria dance in the marketplace that day. 

His men had been the ones to surround the courtyard after nightfall, waiting to attack.

And Eliot had been the one stupid enough to walk right into the middle of their trap.

He had been on his way to the Inn, he remembered, after spending the day scouting for information as to where the local army was recruiting solders.  He had brought some bread at a stall and was on his way to spend his few remaining coins on a cheap bed when he saw her. 

The dancing girl.   Only she wasn’t dancing just then.  Head bowed, she sat on a mound of beaten earth near the edge of the deserted marketplace, twirling a sad-looking flower between her fingers.

The petals had been a fresh, rose-colored pink he could still remember to this day.  A bright color one didn’t see much amid the greens and brown hues of the fields and the gray of hard stone.

He had gone over to her, though he wasn’t quite sure why.  Maybe it was because he had a sister once, who had died of sickness a few years earlier? 

The girl reminded him of her; small and pale with a wistful look in her unseeing gray eyes. 

Crouching down beside her, he told her his name, and in a whisper she told him hers. 

Something foreign that fumbled over his tongue. 

“Alazzdria”

Awkwardly he had tried to start small talk.  He asked her where she was from.  Told her about his small village in a land to the northeast.  He asked about her age.  Why she danced.  How she learned.