Like a corpse, I walked the evening. People gave me askance looks and turned away. Walked wide circles around me. I had tried to lick the blood away from my mouth, but unsuccessfully. They were right to avoid me. It was only sensible.

I hid from them, shameful, I hid in an alley under an old set of stairs leading to a second floor, all curled up. Had I raised my head to stare up, I would see a busy establishment, a tavern. A cacophony of voices flowed from its windows, mugs smashed together and there was singing, talking, arguing. Hour by hour, the voices grew tired and drowsy, or, in some rare cases, just louder and less articulate. Then I saw her. She exited from a backdoor, waving to a person, fixing a small pouch on her belt beneath her cape, a belt which also showed a dagger. “You’re alone?” A masculine voice asked from within, and she acquiesced, but promised to be careful, keep to the large streets. Her voice was that of an angel. And she looked so warm. The door had barely closed before her eyes grew to cup size but the scream that left her mouth was mute.

She was staring into my eyes, the eyes of a creature hiding in the dark. I wanted her nothing bad. I wanted her to be at ease, to like me, to help me. Suddenly I was brushing her neck, and suddenly I was kissing it, and biting into it. The blood flowed. But when her heart started to slow, I stopped, horrified.

I ran from her and she slid down the wall, as the lights went off inside. Evil lurked in me. What had I done? She had been so beautiful, so innocent, a flower in truth… But the feeding did me good. There was no denying it.

Finally, after nights of maddening thirst, a semblance of clarity returned to my mind. At the fountain, I washed my face, rubbed my eyes, passed the tongue over the fangs in my mouth, felt the warmth rush through my limps. A demon. I was a blood-hungering demon. A cursed being. Capable only of evil.

I frowned. Bullshit. My hands were still my own, were they not? They moved at my demand. The thirst was my enemy. It was not me, it was that which had killed that woman… killed? No, she was alive, wasn’t she? So was the boy. I had left them alive, both. Despite a gut-wrenching thirst. She was alive… and defenceless. In the night. Ah, hell.

Time to right my mistakes. I found her pale but breathing, with some blood on her neck. I had made a mess of it. I would take her to my room, there she would be safe, and I would clean her up. But I had no keys to my room, and the inn was closed. I found another one, paying the man from her pouch, promising to repay her. Whatever his thoughts, the innkeeper looked the other way. I took her to the room and demanded a bowl of water for cleaning her neck, and did so with all the gentles I could muster. It left two messy wounds, where my fangs had torn her skin up. My belly tingled in embarrassment.

What now? Should I leave? But I couldn’t. Her face seemed so peaceful, so tranquil. It was beautiful. If only I had met her before becoming a monster of the dark. Girls had always liked me.

And now, I was a man-eating monster. Fuck. Would I ever charm a woman again? Then again, despite all my charm, would she even have looked my way? A woman like her. I was nothing but a young, aspiring trader, with no achievements to his name. Which reminded me… I had an appointment. I wondered if my load of hardwood was still being kept or if they had sold it off without news from me for days.

I took my head in my hands, pulling at the hair. Just as things had been working out. What happened? Last thing I remembered… No, I remembered nothing. Only walking back from my meeting with Jean the carpenter from the edge of the town, close to the north watchtower. Damnation.

I stared at her face longingly. I wish I had a mirror. Did it show on my face? What I had become? I knew I shouldn’t smile at her. My fangs were a dead giveaway. It was a wonder that the kids had not fled on sight. They should have. I hoped they were fine.

She didn’t wake up, but she breathed, and I left a steaming mug of boiled water on the table next to her. She would be thirsty. Dawn approached, I felt it as surely as my thirst, which was slowly returning already.

It raised new questions. As a demon, how would the light greet me? Already, it seemed blinding, though the light that came should barely have been noticeable. And it raised a pressure in my head, like someone had grabbed my mind in both hands and was trying to press it smaller.

I fought it with a hard, angry frown. The shiver of light burgeoning in the horizon and spreading on the sky already blinded me like no other light did, not even flames, as it slipped into the room through the shutters. Suddenly I knew for certain. I would die if the sun rose and touched me. Not only die, not like I did every dawn. I would be destroyed. Utterly. Panicking, I locked the shutters tightly, I pulled the blanket and covered the window with it, tying it properly to the edges,

“Who are you?” A voice suddenly rang out, soft and confused. In my panic… I had missed her awakening. Already, she was rising from the bed on her elbow and drowsily blinking her long eyelashes.

My mind blanked. “Alors voila, it’s Archibald,” I informed her, and smiled without showing the teeth. She smiled back. My belly jumped in excitement. Dawn pressed on my mind, I grimaced, smiled to her, and frowned from the ache on the mind, “pleased to meet you,” I uttered, bowing to her, and then I hit the floor, seconds before the first light of the sun.

To die like this… at least I saw her smile. It was beautiful, and with delicate dimples.

But I did not die. I woke on the bed, with her at my side, she was holding my hand. I smiled to her. Night had just fallen, the last sunlight had faded but the sky was bright still. It made my mind murky and fogged, but by the second it gained in lucidity.

“You’re awake, Archibald,” she said, and how pleasing it was to hear my name from her lips. But then I realized she was not holding my hand, it was a man, who sat at my left. He was old, with a bushy beard and even bushier eyebrows. Had they been here the entire night? Perhaps the sun was not as damaging as I had believed…

“I am Charles,” the man said, “and you are very cold. I am a healer. This is worrying. Have you bathed in the river? You must regain your warmth. But you are not shivering. And your heart beats steady.” He nodded, “Amelie, it is late, but I shall return tomorrow, keep an eye on him please. It is your cousin, yes? I can send an apprentice, if you prefer company.” Socially, it was the right call. It was not becoming to leave a young man and woman alone.

The woman shook her head, “I have my sister coming,” she said, and since it came from her, it could be only the truth. She was an angel.

And I was the devil. At least she hadn’t brought a priest. That might have been problematic. The man left, and suddenly, she leaned forward and took my hand. “Thank you,” she told me, “for saving me. I remember what you did. Thank you.”

I stared at her. Really? I had attacked her. But don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, is that not what they said? “I am glad you are safe,” he said genuinely. Safe from who? From me? She was not. I was thirsty. But I would never drink from her again. Yet what did my promise mean when the thirst broke my will?

“I am, of course I am,” she said, taking my hand with both of hers, and clutching it. She was so warm. Alive. Bubbly. But still paler than she had been.

“How are you?” I asked her, leaning forward, concerned.

Stolen story; please report.

She smiled demurely. “In your condition, you ask me? I’m well. I stayed with you in the morning, before I had to work. But when I returned, you were still here… so I brought Monsieur Charles. Don’t worry. I will take care of you.”

“And your sister too?” I asked, tilting my head. I didn’t want her sister, only her.

She giggled, hiding her mouth. “Only me,” she confirmed, “I lied.” She was an angel. I was sure of it. “Lean back,” she urged playfully, “you are unwell. Don’t spend yourself. Have some tea,” she pressed the steaming cup into my hand and I drank dutifully while watching her. “Where are you from?” She asked, “my Archibald.” Finally, she actually blushed. She was being very straightforward for a woman, even for one working at an inn, who was used to fending off men. Damn. She liked me? I almost couldn’t believe it. Even past the first attraction, I needed time to properly work the charm.

“I am from here,” I said genuinely, but I did not want to think of that, of family, of friends. What if I met them? Would they see what I had become? The thought was banished, and I saw only her. “What of you? You must be from the heavens, you can convince me of nothing else,” I claimed, shaking my head.

She giggled again, and slapped my arm. “Oh, you’re being silly,” she said, “the Church wouldn’t approve.”

I kept my tongue from telling her what I thought of the church, knowing what it now thought of me. My words came short off me, so I went through the motions, asking her where she was from, who her parents were, if she had siblings. My way of charming. Asking many questions, listening, showing interest. Girls liked being listened to, and having pretty boys show patience and interest. She liked it, relished in it. It delighted me.

But my time was running. My apparent patience was a thin veil. At dawn, I would fall asleep. And I needed to feed, or I would slowly lose my sensibilities. Conveniently for me, she took her leave for work, and naturally, I immediately attempted to convince her to stay…

But I had read her right, she knew what she was doing, and she slipped from my grasp with a knowing smile and a promise to find each other after her late shift. I was afraid she would suggest dawn… but she apparently had bargained down her shift to two hours just for me, cutting both ends off a little.

I lurked the outskirts of the town, the poor part. But I found no one who seemed truly deserving of a demon’s attention. And though I felt stronger and sharper than ever, I was still hesitant to simply attack someone. For what if they had a knife? I was in no rush to get gutted.

But my time was running out, and I decided on a large, tough-looking man who was carrying barrel. At the very least, he seemed capably of losing a little blood. But he was large. And tough. He passed me and I backed out, let him disappear. It stung my pride a little, but he was large, so I shrugged it off quite easily.

Then I found a small man… who smelled of blood. He had a soft face and he was whistling a tune, relaxed and unconcerned… the blood on him was fresh. And… it smelled different than himself. I was sure of it. But he had a knife, which he knew how to use. But if I took him by surprise, I would be fine. With my heart pounding, I jumped him from behind, grabbing his arms at the elbows and bit down on his neck. He squealed and twisted from my grip, but he was surprisingly feeble, and I sucked the blood from his neck. His trashing weakened, and I should stop… but he was a murderer, wasn’t he? I could continue. I drew more. He was a murderer. Possibly. He exuded only fear right now, fear and panic. I drew away and pushed him to the ground before turning tail and sprinting away with all my might.

Once around two or ten corners, I stilled, heaving for air and not because I was out of breath. I actually felt fairly thrilled, my belly was jumping in place in step with its heart pounding. I went to wait for her outside of the tavern, but not before a quick bath to wash dirt off, and get a fresh set of clothes. I passed my family’s house.

They slept, of course. Soundly. From outside, I listened to their breathing without getting into the room with them. They must be worried. But what to do? I feared meeting them. Perhaps with a woman at my side, I would be less… suspicious. It would draw attention off of me. Wouldn’t it?

A sigh escaped my lips. Tomorrow evening, I would visit them, they were owed that much. It would not be correct to leave them worrying, waiting, searching even.

There she came. I heard her voice, then I smelled her fragrant scent as the door opened and finally I saw her. She smiled when she laid eyes on me, she was pleased I had cleaned myself up for her. I laid a kiss on her hand. I was to accompany her home, for her safety. I presented an arm, and she took it and we walked side by side. She was very close, and I was very conscious of it.

“Archibald, you are warm?” She said delightfully, brushing my hand, sending shivers through me. Her skin was smooth and soft. Then I looked at mine, which seemed even smoother. Not one scar, not one blemish. Tough and smooth.

“Yes, I appear to be better,” I said gratefully, “would you mind a detour?” She accepted demurely, and I brought her around the market square, and the fountain, and the triumph’s statue the count had raised some years ago, for a battle he had won with the king. It was of himself, on a horse, brandishing his sword proudly. We talked of all and nothing, but she was a born entertainer, pulling one ridiculous story after the other from her sleeve, and I listened and teased and chuckled.

She planted a peck of a kiss on my cheek on the doorway, and I could not help but smile with all my heart. Then I felt her happiness flutter, there was confusion, and it showed on her face. She waved me goodbye and closed the door. My fangs. My heart sunk.

My fangs! But was that really enough to scare her away? I refused to believe it. Many people had physical oddities, and I looked normal, otherwise, didn’t I?

The streets were home to much of my pondering that night. And absent her distraction, and the mind-sweeping thirst, I dove into myself instead, for I had changed much. Everything felt different. listened to the insects, to the animals, and even the men and women. Some revealed their moods like they were shouting from the roofs as they passed me by, others were shut to me.

I was strong like never before. Twice over. Maybe even thrice. I felt light on my feet, quick and powerful. And my eyes. They revealed colours I had never seen even in the faintest of lights, they revealed movement in its most minute details, and my ears were sharp, which was punished at times, so I learned to protect them from high and sharp sounds. Most of all, I could taste the air and distinguish a hundred different smells, sweat, flowers, leaves, bark, hair, meat, bread, stone, oak, metal, leather and most of all… blood, naturally. My livelihood.

The room I had paid for back in my mortal, trader days did not seem entirely isolated from daylight, so I went to a place that was tried and tested, I shut the shutters and put the blanket as curtain, firmly, and I locked the door. On the bed, I waited for dawn. This time, I didn’t resist.

And from the darkness, my mind returned with panic. Something constrained me. My eyes opened to see Amelia, and a priest, as well as the healer from before, though he stood in retreat, full of concern. Amelia was worried too, both for me and for everyone else. The situation seemed to have grown beyond her head, her expression said. But the priest had a sharp frown on his face for he was focused.

Belts were placed around my arms, my legs. But they weren’t holding me in place. It was not the cross he was brandishing in my face either, the object held no power. It was his mind. It was pushing against me, pressing me into the bed with a violence I could not see nor comprehend.

I grimaced and fought it, I wriggled and turned, and the belt strained and stretched, it slipped up my chest, the priest chanted his Latin, Amelia cried, the healer made the cross’ sign. The priest chanted. His mind burned against mine. I growled and grunted, breathed, I fought him, fought for my life.

“Begone demon! Leave this poor soul! I forbid you from touching him again! Leave to the fires from where you came!” The priest was standing and putting the cross closer and closer. He was focused and sharp. I pushed back with all my might, I freed an arm for a second and lashed out, brutally swiping his hand aside. The cross flew through the room and the man’s eyes went wide with panic. He dove for it, instead of continuing the fight, he lost his focus completely. What an idiot. The pressure was gone, and I was free. Next thing I know, his throat is gone, torn out with my hand, no, my claws! The nails had grown and replaced the fingers! Thick, tough claws, as deadly as they were sharp!

The healer, brave man, blanched and tumbled out of the room. Amelia was stuck in an ear-deafening scream. I turned to her, blood dripping from my frightening, deadly hands. I wanted her to stop. She had done this! Why? They had thought me possessed. Waited for me to wake? She stopped screaming, and I shuddered. I had been at their mercy, but they had let the chance pass. And then he had mistakenly placed his faith in that cross, instead of himself, his mind, where his body had originated. This I had felt clearly.

Twice over, their ignorance had saved me. I stared at Amelia. Suddenly, she no longer seemed the angel, only a simple, unknowing girl, fumbling her way through life one step at a time, in whatever direction she thought best in the moment.

I pitied her. I pitied myself. She started screamed again. Whatever.

I left through the window, dropping a floor and landing like a cat. Strong, yes, but quiet. Elegant, I believed. It made me smile. Then I realized my hands were full of blood. I had just killed a person. And I felt nothing for it.