The sun beats down on the two teenagers, the aggressive star painting them in light. It’s a little before dusk so it’s extra bright, like that last push on a run before slowing into a lethargic walk, but in this case, its luminescent burst is antecedent to when it slips beneath the hills.
“I just don’t think you should go alone, that’s all,” says the young woman named Ava, but everyone calls her Robin, her bright red hair tied into a loose braid on her left side. She is naturally pretty, freckles dotting her ivory cheeks. She's a healer, ignorant to the on-goings of the Dark Woods.
Jack is aware that in some cultures, things are different. Some places even have women in their army; the gentle sex subjected to gore and heartache. In Astraea, women’s biggest responsibility are to be wives and mothers; a fate that Jack would never be able to succumb to. For this reason, he is happy to be born a man: strong, tall, and hungry for vengeance.
Jack scoffs. “I’ll manage just fine.” He wipes sweat from his brow, his Woodsman Branding on the back of his hand damp and cool. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
“Will you be mad at me if I do?” she asks.
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.
“Then no. Just be careful, Jack.” She pauses for a moment, then, in an apparent flare of confidence, pecks him on the cheek.
Jack’s face goes pink as he touches where she had kissed him. He’d liked her for quite some time, but until that point, had been convinced his feelings went unrequited. “What–”
She picks up her long skirt and runs off, yelling over her shoulder, “Meet me again at the well tomorrow morning!”
He scowls. Eighteen years old and girls still allude him. Most of the other Woodsmen were paired up, but he was serious about his craft. Too serious to acknowledge something as juvenile as a crush. His brother and mother were killed by Monsters on a hot day just like this one, and he had a score to settle.
~~~
The moon lingers miles and miles up in the sky, an ambiguous slice of white, shimmering light. It's usually fat and round, like a stray, celestial croquet ball that's rolled away from an angel's friendly match, but now it's just a smile rotating around the earth, unwilling to plummet and crush the populace down below but instead choosing to hover ominously. It sucks in deep breaths, stirring the ocean's swelling waves; in and out, in and out. The stars dot around it, like stray chunks have been blown off and disintegrated into bright, surrounding specks that twinkle and float way up high, seemingly within reach if you stretch your arm out but it's illusory and pretend. It's a forbidden, ghostly land, mocking any telescope-equipped astrologer that dares to reach up and attempt to grasp its round, rocky surface. It glows, effortlessly spitting out moon-light onto the villages and trees, bodies of water and billions of people, some alive and well and some dead beneath the ground which is now lit up by its soft, shimmery glow, now illuminated by a quiet force that no one owns, that no one has claim to because its too free and wild to be enslaved.
The field is quiet as Jack Gravenor stalks through the tall grass, silver blades strapped to his sides. He's wearing night-vision goggles that have a crack on the left lens (he needs a new pair) and a crossbow strapped against the back of his green cloak. The vampire should smell him, know he's coming, but she’s too distracted by her current feeding frenzy. It's disgusting, really; lost all awareness of everything but her meal; dumb and vulnerable to the incoming threat.
The deer beneath her hands pants, barely conscious. Jack would have to put it out of its misery, but first? His kill. Number 15, to be exact. The older he gets the easier they come by.
Stolen story; please report.
And then, a gun cocks.
The beast (that looks like a child, but he's no fool) lifts her face at the sound, mouth drenched in blood. As soon as she looks up, however, her attention is drawn back down to her meal.
"Drop the crossbow," says a woman’s voice from behind him.
Jack assumes for a second it's another filthy bloodsucker protecting its kin, because how else could she sneak up on someone with his training? But just as quick as the idea pops into his head, he realizes another vampire wouldn't need a gun to kill. Meaning there's still the chance it's another human in mortal danger. Unable to differentiate between the two possibilities, Jack freezes. Stuck.
"I said drop the stake. And turn around. Hattie, leave it and go.”
The vampire growls, low and guttural, and continues her feast. When vampires start a feed, it's nearly impossible for them to stop; blood-drunk sharks.
Jack, unable to do anything else, drops the stake and turns around slowly. Standing there with an expressionless face is a woman with short dark hair. He can't see if her eyes are red or not-- the mask makes him only see shades of green.
"Take off your equipment and cloak."
Jack’s heart beats heavy against his ribs. This is a solo mission, a last-minute investigation after a squirrel corpse was found drained of blood in that area of the forest. He thought it'd be easy, so has no backup.
Shit. Shit!
Reluctantly, Jack drops his weapon onto the grass. He hasn't been killed yet so realizes he might just live. He'll get his ass kicked by his dad though, or the stranger could be saving him so the Monster can eat him alive. Neither fate is favorable to Jack. He hasn't reached 100 kills yet, isn't even halfway there. He can't die yet, he can't.
"She'll turn on you, you know," he tries.
"Take off your mask."
Jack sighs. He doesn't want to fight blindly, but he's survived crazier situations. Instead of removing it completely, he pushes the goggles up on top of his head, ready to bargain. He can no longer see the woman's expression but hears a gasp.
Taking advantage of windows of opportunity is what he's been trained for. For four years, it's been pressed into his brain that all it takes is a singular moment to either live or get killed. When looking back, he'll be horrified at his stupidity but at that second, his heart is beating wildly and he can't think-- all he can do is seize his chance.
He hears the vampire stand up, having finished his meal and getting ready to defend her sister, friend, whatever this woman is to her. In one swift movement, he shoves the goggles down, removes his loaded crossbow, and takes aim.
"Wait!"
Clunk!
Bang!
Jack falls to the ground, pain spearing through his belly. He's never been shot before, and the pain is like a raging fire that swallows his mind. He screams at the top of his lungs. He can't die yet, he doesn't have enough Monster blood on his hands. He briefly wonders if they'll bury him to hide the evidence or if they will find his corpse.
In a handful of seconds, the woman (who can't be human, she can't be when she moves like lightning) is at his side, pressing shaky hands into Jack’s pierced abdomen. Jack tries to push her off in vain, but even though it’s thin, it’s strong and Jack is weak, too weak to save his family and too weak to fight back now.
Tears cloud his vision as he shrieks; his hands are pinned above his head and the smaller person is assessing him, only for him to realize that her eyes aren't glowing, they're dark instead. It’s clearly not a vampire, and even though Jack knows about the feud between werewolves and vampires, a hatred as old as time and as intense as his own, it's suddenly clear to him that they're a team. A dog fucker and a bloodsucker. Now, he's seen everything.
"Shiori," cries the vampire in the voice of a young girl. Jack stops screaming for a moment to look over and see the stake stuck into the tree by his head. Fourteen kills. "I can't-- The blood, it's-- Please say it's okay. He won't live, anyway."
"I know," she says, and her once-even voice is now cracking, close to hysterical. Jack’s head is foggy from losing so much blood. He wants to keep screaming until the very end, but his shrieks quickly turn to sobs. He's going to fucking die. He isn't going to reach his goal. He's either about to be plunged into eternal darkness or have to meet his deceased family members’ sad eyes and be unable to tell them he fought hard until the end because here he is, crying like a little kid as he dies for nothing with less than twenty kills. The woman above him brings his arm up, and Jack struggles weakly against her grip. A kiss is pressed to his wrist, right across the protruding vein. Then, to his utmost horror, the monster bites down, sinking her filthy, stinking teeth into his unprotected flesh. There’s a crunch, like biting down into a crisp apple, and his consciousness snaps in half and he is swallowed by the dark.