Dark Slayer

For a moment there was a hush, broken only by the gasping breaths of the two trapped wolves. A twig snapped. The pack whirled and dissolved in a rush of fleeing shadows, back into the thicker cover of the trees. The bushes parted and a woman stepped into the open. She was dressed in black winter boots, black pants that rode low on her hips and a sleeveless vest of black that left her midriff bare and had three sets of steel buckles running down the middle of it. The six buckles were shiny, almost ornamental, with tiny crosses running up and around, embedded in the squared silver pieces.

A wealth of blue-black hair spilled beyond her waist, pulled back in a thick woven braid. The long hooded coat she wore, made of what appeared to be a single silver-tipped wolf pelt, fell all the way to her ankles. She carried a crossbow in one hand, a sword at one hip and a knife at the other. Arrows were slung in a quiver on her shoulder and all down the inside of the long wolf skin were small loops containing various sharp-bladed weapons. A low-slung holster adorned with rows of very small, flat, razor-sharp arrowheads housed a pistol on her hip.

She paused for a moment, surveying the scene. «Be still,» she hissed, both annoyance and authority in her soft voice.

At her command, both wolves ceased struggling instantly, waiting, bodies trembling, sides heaving and heads held low to ease the terrible pressure closing around their throats. The woman moved with fluid grace, flowing over the surface rather than sinking into the ice-crusted snow. She studied the snares, a multitude of them, disgust in her dark eyes.

«They have done this before,» she scolded. «I showed them to you, but you were too greedy, looking for an easy meal. I should let you die here in agony.» Even as she rebuked the wolves, she withdrew a pair of utility cutters from inside the wolf pelt and snipped the wires, freeing the wolves. She pushed her fingers into their fur and over the cuts deep in their throats, then clamped her palm over the slashes, chanting softly. White light burst under her hand, glowing around and through the wolves' fur.

«That should make you feel better,» she said, affection creeping into her tone as she scratched the ears of both wolves.

The alpha growled a warning and his mate bared her teeth; both were facing away from the woman. She smiled. «I smell him. It is impossible not to smell the foul stench of vampire.»

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at the tall, powerful male emerging from the twisted, gnarled trunk of a large evergreen fir. The trunk gaped open, split nearly in two, blackened and peeled back, the needles on the outstretched limbs withering as the tree expelled the venomous creature from its depths. Icicles rained down like small spears as the branches shivered and shook, trembling from contact with such a foul creature.

The woman rose gracefully, turning to face her enemy, signaling to the wolves to melt back into the forest. «I see you have resorted to setting traps to get sustenance these days, Cristofor. Are you so slow and foul that you can no longer lure a human to use as food?»

«Slayer!» The vampire's voice seemed rusty, as if his vocal cords were rarely used. «I knew if I brought your pack to me, you would come.»

Her eyebrow shot up. «A pretty invitation then, Cristofor. I remember you from the old days when you were a young man, still handsome to look upon. I left you alone for old times' sake, but I see you crave the sweet release of death. Well, old friend, so be it.»

«They say you cannot be killed,» Cristofor said. «The legend that haunts all vampires. Our leaders say to leave you alone.»

«Your leaders? You have joined them then, banded together against the prince and his people? Why seek death when you have a plan to rule every country? The world?» She laughed softly. «It seems to me that this is a silly wish, and a lot of work. In the old days, we lived simply. Those were happy days. Do you not recall them?»

Cristofor studied her flawless face. «I was told you were pieced together, one strip of flesh at a time, yet your face and body are as you were in the old days.»

She shrugged her shoulders, refusing to allow the images of those dark years, the suffering and pain-agony really-when her body refused to die and lay deep in the earth, stripped of flesh and open to the crawling insects abounding in the dirt. She kept her face serene, smiling, but inside she was still, coiled, ready to explode into action.

«Why not join us? You have more reason than any other to hate the prince.»

«And join the very ones who betrayed and mutilated me? I do not think so. I wage war where it is due.» She flexed her fingers inside the skintight, thin gloves. «You really should not have touched my wolves, Cristofor. You have left me little choice.»

«I want your secret. Give it to me and I will let you live.»