I waited calmly at the door when it unlocked and Fetinja showed herself. Her eyes were sullen. I opened my mouth and she lifted a finger, silencing me promptly.

“You were out the whole night,” she commented in a cold, contained tone.

I nodded and articulated calmly: “I was. I met three of our kind.” The change was immediate, Fetinja’s brows frowned, and her eyes widened, her mouth’s rosy lips split slightly.

“What?” She blurted out, covering the distance between us in a heartbeat, her hands brushed my chest, my side, as she looked me over worryingly, causing me a great deal of tender warmth to rush my chest, “who?” she questioned.

“Amero’s friends, they said. I waited to the last moment before returning in case they followed me. I don’t think they did, however… they were amicable. They come in peace, supposedly, from Reims. There’s Michael and Caterina and Raymond.” I would have said more but she opened her mouth to speak, so I let her.

“Michael I have heard of,” she muttered thoughtfully, “Amero mentioned him some nine years ago, last he came by… of the other two, I have never heard of. What did they want?”

“To warn us.” I started and repeated exactly what Michael had explained. It lit a new concern in her eyes, and a curse from her native language escaped her lips.

“An Old One,” she repeated, “Michael is right, there is safety in numbers… provided he tells the truth.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

She bit her lip. “To draw us out. Take over the town. It’s certainly not big enough for us five. Perhaps someone drew them out of Reims. Us two… Michael is twenty years old, I think, and in combat… I don’t know which of us would win. It would leave the two others to you. Michael made them, right?”

“I would guess so,” but I had no idea, “one of them was a fighter. He wore a sword.”

She nodded, “physical prowess is not all, in Nightwalker feuds, or Michael would defeat me easily. Twice my weight, yes?”

I nodded, “and most of it muscle.”

“What impression did he make? Strong in spirit, also?”

I took a moment to think. “Yes, absolutely. He was relaxed but decisive. Self-confident. The clear leader.”

“Then we have a choice,” she said, rubbing her temples, “we must either meet them or hide. The second will be difficult… I could last a few nights, but I already feel hungry. You must also.”

“For what’s it’s worth,” I said light-heartedly, “I think they are genuine. They knew you by name. And Raymond was hiding, but he came forth of his own volition. If they were hostile, there are a lot of cleverer ways to handle me. Us.”

She stared at me. Thinking. Then she brusquely nodded. “Fine. We meet them.”

I nodded back encouragingly. “I arranged for place and time.” I placed a hand on her shoulder, catching her full attention, and flashed a broad, cheerful smile. “If it goes to shit, then I’ll take the fall. Get you out of there. That’s a promise!” I always took easy points when possible. I was quite sure it would not go to shit.

“Don’t be silly,” she waved dismissively, “don’t do anything stupid. Follow my lead, have my back, and we’ll be fine.”

“I am sure of it,” I said, and she suddenly turned around to stare me into the eyes.

“How? You’ve never fought as one of us, have you?” She stuck her index on my chest. “Don’t let your manly pride ruin things, hear me? We handle things my way,” and she smirked, showing she jested. At least partly.

I played along with it, opening my hands, “fine, fine, if you insist, I shall have my manly pride be sensible, just for today.”

She spent the morning testing me, and I proved that I had indeed learned how to wall my mind, though I found it didn’t come natural to me. It struck her as odd. She told she had to learn to open her mind up, not close it down.

“Perhaps that hints to our characters…” I couldn’t help but innocently point out, earning me a long and terrifying glare.

“You’re implying I am what? Close-minded?”

“More like… reserved? Perhaps private?” I corrected sheepishly, and she was appeased.

We decided to stay at a distance and observe the rooftop where the meeting would take place, to watch against foul play. They came together, in all leisure, and made small-talk as they waited.

We ventured over the roofs to join them and Michael lifted a hand in greeting. The other ones barely reacted. Raymond had his arms crossed in a nonchalant manner and Caterina stood unnaturally still, her weight perfectly shared between the two legs and arms hanging at her side. She seemed the least human of them all, for that alone.

“Well-met, friend,” Michael said cheerfully as he planted his feet and stuck his hands in his belt. The posture was relaxed and looked natural on him.

Fetinja eyed him with scepticism, and glared at Raymond too, who raised a brow at the impoliteness, and then finally Caterina, who endured without even a twitch of the nose. She wasn’t even breathing. Only the movement of her eyes signified any life in her. “You have a warning, yes?” Fetinja asked brusquely.

Michael nodded, turning serious. “Indeed. But I am only the messenger… it is Amero who warns us, and suggests that we band together. I think you know him as well as I, he is not one to be rattled easily. He is an Old One himself.” He frowned at himself, “I mean to say that it was important for him to impress on us the gravity of the situation. We are truly in danger, and he suggested we gather, so that we might dissuade the travelling Old One from attacking.”

“We could never fight one as Amero,” she asserted reluctantly, “even with all five of us… How likely is this? What did Amero say precisely?”

Michael grimaced, “less then I would have liked. He was in a hurry. But this I understood: our kindred in Bordeaux were massacred one and all upon the awakening of an Old One. Amero caught wind off this and investigated, and mortals revealed sightings of a Norseman: pale, long hair and light blue eyes, and an imposing height. More towns have been struck, but Amero has moved faster and is warning all in his path. His thesis is that the Norseman is going home.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Fetinja’s was hard and closed. She seemed fierce yet thinked, but I could see the mountain of worry in the tightening of her golden brows.

“Which towns were struck? How long ago?” She questioned rapidly, eyes fixating on Michael.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Should we leave? Or stay?”

Again, Michael could offer no conclusive response. “Amero thought we would be fine if we joined you here. We’d be together, and what’s the risk of him passing by this town exactly?”

She shook her head, “no, he’ll sense us from several towns away.”

“But if we move… we risk hitting others of our kind. And we’re a paranoid bunch,” Michael pointed out drily. “I think we ought to stay here.”

Fetinja continued her line of questioning and the conversation went round and round so I decided to approach Raymond whilst Michael entertained Fetinja. He looked bored too, having long since zoned out of the talk.

“That’s a nice sword,” I told him cheerfully, “I imagine you’re quite good at using it.”

His head quickly turned to me, and his brow lifted as he brushed the sword’s round pommel of steel. “Why is that?”

I shrugged, “just a gut feeling.”

Raymond made a toothy smile, fangs and all, “maybe I’ll show you how good I am.”

I lifted my hands up to pacify him, laughing, “I have never touched a sword, you would wipe the floor with me!”

He frowned, looking piqued. “You’ve never held a sword? Really?”

I shook my head, “never,” and gave him a watered-down version of the smith story.

He grunted and slid the longsword out of the sheath in a smooth, practiced movement. I watched with bafflement as he stuck the sword forward, holding it by the tip with a crooked smile.

Michael and Fetinja had ceased talking and were looking at us now, she in alarm, he with interest.

My fingers carefully wrapped around the handle, and I felt its weight in my hand as he stepped back. It was very light, now, but I imagined this would have been different a month or two ago. The weight felt good and balanced. I wanted to swing it, to make it cleave the air. Raymond saw the childlike excitement in my eyes and laughed, hands on hips.

“You see, Michael? I am indeed not alone,” he beamed, and Michael shook his head though he smiled.

But the tension in the air was palpable. It came from Raymond, despite his easy manner, probably because a stranger was holding his weapon. And it came from Caterina, with her silent and observant nature, and from Michael’s readiness, but most of all, it came from Fetinja, who was shooting me silent daggers with her eyes.

I took the blade in both hands and lifted the sword into the air in a very careful throw, with the blade sideways. Raymond caught it, of course, and whirled it through the air and into the sheath. He tapped the pommel satisfyingly. “Thank you,” I said to him, “It’s a handsome weapon.” Simple but clean and polished. Its edge had caught and flashed in the starlight.

“Perhaps I shall teach you,” Raymond suggested, with a half-smile.

“That would be my honour,” the idea excited the child in me, the one that had looked at a knight and admired the powerful gaze, the hard and shining metal hugging his form, and the way everyone made way for him.

“Michael,” Fetinja resumed, “perhaps we can later discuss what Amero told of the Old One in detail,” she proposed, though I was quite sure that they had done so twice already, but he simply nodded agreeingly. She continued: “and on that note, I accept your presence in the city...”

Michael thanked her graciously.

“…On one condition,” she said, eyes hard, daring them to defy her, “only two victims per night. The town can support no more. I and Archibald will share one, for he is very young, and you three shall share the other.”

Michael nodded, “that is reasonable… though Raymond and Caterina are quite young also, however, so perhaps it shall be three a night?” He saw the alarm in Fetinja eyes and quickly added: “we will not kill the third one, , or we will find him outside of Epernay.”

“That is… acceptable,” Fetinja conceded.

“Fantastique,” Michael said, beaming a smile and rubbing his hands, “we are starving, so will shall hunt now, but out of respect, we three will share one victim tonight. Thank you, truly, for your hospitality,” he said to me and Fetinja, but to me in particular. I bowed my head lightly in return. She stared, but relented a nod.

Fetinja wanted us to leave, so we did, though there was much I wanted to ask them. They seemed quite open with what they knew. No matter. I was patient with those things, and there was time. Unless the Old One paid us a visit.

Once we were far enough from them, Fetinja expectantly exploded at me. “What possessed you to take his sword!?” She blurted out, eyes narrow and sharp, her golden lock flying as she turned to me like a fury.

I had learned that it was best to answer her anger with calmness and respect, to let her get it out. It gave her a guilty conscience for letting her anger out on me and made her calm down and like me again. “It seemed impolite to refuse,” I mused.

“You’re a child,” she burst out, exasperated, “you wanted to hold the sword, I believe it not,” her hair whirled again as she turned, and she threw her hands into the air, “a child!”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. It somehow pleased me, that she was so angry for something I did, and I knew she was not really resentful, only frustrated, or she would simply have given me the cold shoulder. Her fit would pass, and she would return to the tender, caring spirit she was. A merchant had very recently told me this was indeed the nature of Novgorodian women, or North-Eastern women. Temper and sweetness. He had told me you only needed to embrace them as they raged against your chest, and they would calm. I hadn’t quite dared to that with Fetinja; she was as strong as me despite her sleight stature.

“You little prick!” she said, eyeing my smile evilly, and then she pounced. She took me completely by surprise. We were not home yet, but only two streets away and moving briskly. She hit me like a bull and we rolled against the wall and went into the dirt, her hands grabbed my head and elbow and she bit down on my neck and sucked blood from it alarmingly fast.

But past the surprise, old wrestling instincts kicked in. Lying in the dirt, I tucked in my feet and shot the hips out to get her off, and with a twist I was on top. Her fangs ripped out and cut up my neck. I then hooked my feet under hers and stretched them out and did the same with her arms with a strong grip around the wrists. It didn’t matter that she was as strong as I, for her position was impossible, my limbs were much longer.

I smiled at her bloodied mouth. If she bit down again, I would pull away and bite her. She turned and trashed, and in a sudden, hard jerk, she managed to escape and twist beneath me, handing me her back on a silver platter. A rookie mistake. I locked my arms around her chest, catching both her arms tightly while keeping my head close to her neck to avoid taking a suddenly headbutt in the face. Her arms were stuck, and she howled and scratched with her claws, but I had her firmly.

She calmed slowly. “Let me go,” she demanded, fuming, but I didn’t.

“You’re done?” I asked coolly, feeling somewhat lightheaded.

After a moment, she brusquely nodded. I released her… and she whipped around, grabbed my head and kissed me hard, biting her own lips till there was blood. I tasted it hungrily, and I drank quite a lot from her until she pulled away. It was her apology. Her blood would help me heal.

As the adrenaline faded, the pain ached. Just flesh wounds, though. Still. “You attacked me,” I accused, “and you bit me.”

She grunted, signalling me to let it go, but I wasn’t in the mood. “You can’t suddenly attack me like that. I won’t be able to trust you.”

“Then you know how it feels,” she muttered, skulking. She was angry because I had won our little bout. That much was crystal clear, though I was the one bleeding. I had won but used neither fangs nor claws. But there was more.

“You’re not only angry at me, are you?”

“What else would there be?” There was a hint of warning in the tone. I decided to ignore it, thinking it would be good to have things in the open. But I was nervous as I asked.

“Amero came to Michael, not you.”

“No, it is not that…” she sighed, “it irritates me, but I understand. Amero knows I would not have gone to Reims to talk with three Nightwalkers I have never known. Cautiousness is what keeps us alive, and I am very cautious.”

“So you really were only angry at me?”

She sighed and came to my side, taking my elbow softly in her arms as we walked. “You sometimes remind me of Amero. I hate that. I’d love it if you would simply… love me. Not tempt fate. Instead you’re playing with fire, provoking Raymond… he’s too simple to understand it, but I see through you. You play at humility, you’re humble and cheerful… but it’s an act, isn’t it? You’re prideful beyond measure. It’s pride, not curiosity that drives you. Pride, and you want to be liked. You’re so subtle… so insidious.” She smiled, “but at least I don’t think you’re as fickle as Amero.”

I considered that. It didn’t sound too different than my own views. “I am prideful, and I do want to be liked,” I conceded easily, “but I don’t think that’s problematic as long as I do good. I do love you, Fetinja… you make my life meaningful and… well, full.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek wryly. “Truly.”

She hummed with please though she did not offer a smile. But when we were home, I was rewarded generously for my tolerance and my sweet, honey-full words.