Troubled (The Binding Chronicles #4)

6. Bloodlust

Bloodlust

B lood.

The creature needed blood. No matter how many throats it tore into or how many people it drained, its hunger was never satisfied.

It would never know satisfaction again. The creature’s stomach was a hollow pit, and its fangs were burning entities that resided in its gums. A fog filled its mind; no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t get past the dark mist.

Not that it really mattered.

The only thing that mattered was sating the incessant hunger. Every time the creature ate, its need for blood multiplied.

When it had first escaped its forever tomb, the hunger was present but not overwhelming.

That was no longer the case.

Now that the creature had tasted the crimson decadence that was human blood after all these centuries, starvation was a living beast under its skin, clawing incessantly at its insides .

Appeasing the cold, dark hunger within it was the only thing the creature could think about.

The ancient being slinked through the forest, the gnarled, brown trunks of massive trees rising around it.

The creature didn’t care about the trees, the small animals running through the woods, or the birds whose calls filled the night air. None of them could ease the ache in its stomach.

It wasn’t sure how much time had passed since it first left its stone coffin. It didn’t care.

All the ancient being knew was that it was cold, drained, and hungry .

It walked too close to a tree, and needles brushed against its bare skin. A mangled snarl crawled out of its throat, and it darted away.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Every touch was foreign. Every sensation was too much.

The hunger worsened.

The night wore on.

Guided by the light of the moon, the creature stumbled through the forest. Food. It needed food. That was all it could think about, all it could focus on.

Food, before the moon disappeared.

Even now, in this broken state, it knew that the moon was safe and the sun was not.

It sniffed. The twin scents of snow and ice filled the air, but beneath that was the distinct aroma of…

Life .

The faint beating of a heart could be heard beneath the howling wind. It might as well have been a drum in the creature’s ears.

Lunging forward with renewed energy, the ancient being’s lips slanted into a semblance of a smile.

Hungry, hungry, hungry ? —

A sharp pain speared its foot. It howled, mouth opening in agony. When it looked down, black oozed from its foot from where a rock had sliced it open.

The creature shuddered and kicked the rock away with its good foot before limping along.

It refused to stop until it found the source of the delectable scent.

Even though the creature’s name was lost to the recesses of its memory, even though its love for the moon, snow, and cold had long been forgotten, it would never forget that scent.

It spoke to the deepest, darkest part of its soul.

Following the tantalizing aroma, the ancient being wove through trees. It stumbled across a frozen stream, climbed a riverbank, and trudged through deep snow. Its foot throbbed, but it didn’t stop.

The scent grew stronger and stronger.

And then, the creature saw it.

Deep in the woods, with a stack of charcoal smoke rising from the chimney, was a homey one-room log cabin. Snow covered the wooden roof, a lantern sat in the window, and two raised garden beds were stationed on either side of the front door.

The creature stood behind a tree and stared at the cabin, unblinking.

It wasn’t long before the door opened.

A mortal stepped outside. Dressed for a hunt, the man had snowshoes strapped to his back. He wore a hooded cloak, and scruff decorated the bottom half of his face. The creature could no longer differentiate ages. The human might have been in his second or fourth decade of life. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Blood was blood.

The man hummed a tune and strode into the woods, his gaze unwavering as he unknowingly turned his back to the creature .

“Fool,” the ancient being hissed, its raspy voice cold and foreign to its ears.

Death was here, even if the man didn’t know it yet.

Drawing in a deep breath, the creature inhaled the human’s tantalizing scent. His heartbeat was steady, and his scent lacked all traces of illness. He was strong and well-built. His blood would flow like a river.

Maybe that would be enough to quell the never-ending ache in the creature’s stomach.

It was that thought that pushed the creature forward. It stumbled after the man, its foot still hurting, but it didn’t care.

Nothing mattered more than the hunt.

It raced through the forest until the man was a few paces away. He was still humming.

It was just like a mortal not to be aware of their surroundings.

The scent of life was stronger than ever.

The creature pulled back its lips, silently snarled, and pounced. It grabbed the man from behind, slamming its fangs into his neck.

Blood gushed from the wound, a glorious fountain of crimson.

A word surfaced in the creature’s mind as it drank.

Vampire .

It grinned against its victim’s neck.

The man struggled, a mangled scream coming from him as he slammed his back into a tree, cursing as he attempted to dislodge his attacker.

The vampire barely registered the blow. It held on tighter, drinking faster.

This mortal would not win.

More, more, more, more.

It drank and drank until the man had nothing left .

With a final death cry that echoed through the woods, the man dropped to his knees and planted face first in the snow.

The creature kept drinking until every drop of blood had been removed from the man’s body. Only then did it withdraw its fangs.

It inhaled, and like a puzzle piece falling into place, the blood healed a portion of its mind.

Just a bit. Just enough.

A memory slipped past the fog, and the creature… grinned.

For the first time since her escape, she felt… alive.

Her lungs expanded.

It was like she’d never taken a breath before.

Everything felt better.

She raised her head to the moonlit sky and basked beneath the moon’s loving gaze. She remembered the way the moon used to bring her peace, remembered hunting humans beneath that silver glow, and remembered the many times she’d attended celebrations honoring the goddess of the moon.

She remembered.

“My name is Therese,” she breathed, reminding herself of things long forgotten.

Her name was ashen in her mouth, but the sentence was music to her ears. Finally, she recalled who she was.

“I am one of the Twelve, blessed by the gods themselves, and I have returned to the land I once ruled.”