The Elderwood-poison prey was here in my pit, alone. When it doubled over, gagging on the stench and presenting its vulnerable little neck to me, ravenous instinct clawed its way up out of my deepest self and shattered the last remnants of restraint I had left.

I unraveled my tightly bundled core of Metzus and pushed every last shred and scrap of energy still in me towards a singular purpose. Thin, sharp strands of my true self penetrated every fiber of my decaying vessel, supporting my body where muscle and bone had wasted away.

I leapt.

Frail and vulnerable, the threads of Metzus I used to animate my battered vessel became exposed to the containment field. The Tonaltus poured into the meager layers of flesh and muscle still clinging to my bones. It snatched up every single overextended tendril of Metzus and followed the channels of ethereal energy all the way to my core.

Howling pain ate through me.

Ate me.

Until there was nothing left.

The agony of it did not matter. The last vestiges of reason and caution slipped out of my mind. The loss of those concepts was but an irrelevant, inconsequential detail compared to the depth of my hunger. And then even that comparison no longer mattered. Thoughts and ideas were stripped away by the Tonaltus. I lost flesh and blood and my very self, all of it irrelevant.

Food!

Blood sprayed. Sweet drops of nectar splattered all over my face. Instinct clenched my jaw tight.

Can’t lose the food. Kill! Rip! Tear! Drink!

Falling.

Pain.

Prey gone?

Something was wrong. My prey was wrong. My body was wrong. So much was wrong, but blood was on my lips and I drank.

Lips? Head? Body?

Briefly, the simple act of drinking sparked strange yet familiar concepts in my mind. Then, my body toppled forward. My forehead impacted the goo-covered stones. The bones of my skull, already softened by weeks of relentless Tonaltus, folded inwards. Mud and gore washed away the few strands of my hair that still drooped…

Still drooped…

Still?

Something?

Insignificant. Unimportant. I drank.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not the agony lancing through my inconsequential fleshy shell. Not the terrible absence that came with having so much of myself stripped away by the Tonaltus field. Not even the howling void in my mind.

What’s a mind?

I continued drinking, even when the feeling of precious liquid flowing down my throat became meaningless. I drank even though I could no longer remember what drinking was. I drank on pure instinct until I could feel the blood dissolve into me, into my Metzus core, strengthening me until I could once more form coherent thoughts.

I could think anew and I thought of nothing. There had been more than instincts once. There had been a name, a name and a face and they were mine and they were… I was… I was a… ?

Am I?

Panic gripped me. I was nothing but an inconsequential tangle of Metzus strands in a half-rotten corpse. All of me seared away by… something… dangerous? I tried to scream and flail, pointless actions that were meaningless holdovers from when I puppeteered a corporeal vessel.

All I knew was thirst and so I kept drinking. I continued drinking while, in utter desperation, I sent tendrils of myself deep into my dead flesh-puppet’s head. Some incomprehensible instinct had me rooting around in the brain, reinforcing the mush it had become back into proper flesh. I coiled myself around the cerebral matter, nestled my threads and tendrils into every restored fold, and shaped my self into a weave that could translate my incorporeal existence into a tangible one.

I only let go for a second, to take a gasping breath, and then I was back to drinking. Several gulps later I recognized that I once more knew how to breathe. Then came the realization that I did not need to breathe.

I was a vampire and I did not need to breathe. I was a creature of ethereal Metzus energy, inhabiting the converted host body of a little girl. I had pushed my energy, my core self out into the world to animate my vessel far past my limit. I had almost been unmade by the opposing Tonaltus energy that the Inquisitors had imprisoned me within.

I was Valentina Bryce, and I had just come frightfully close to dying.

It was fine. I had my skull caved in once and I had been fine, so it would be fine now. I had magicked my own brain out once and I had been fine then as well. It was fine. I would be alright. My body was only a protective container, a convenient avatar to interact with the material world. Damage to it did not matter. As long as I had food I could recover from anything.

The blood I was drinking was stale, old, half coagulated. Cow, maybe? At this point, I did not care how stale it was, or what animal it was from. They could have diluted it with piss, and I still would have drunk it every bit as greedily. I fed as if I had not fed in weeks.

Technically true. I haven’t fed in... probably weeks at least.

Aaaah… delicious food.

When all the blood was gone I wormed my fangs a little deeper into the skin and tore. I ripped it open with my teeth and then I could lick the inside dry as well. Far too soon it was all gone. I licked and tore and shredded and chewed, but there was nothing edible left. Just old, treated goat leather and the caked grime and guts I was licking off the floor.

No more food?

Just an old leather... waterskin… filled with blood?

On the floor next to me lay not the mangled corpse I was expecting. My fangs had not sunk deep into the Honey-sweet elderberry-poison female’s neck as I had hoped, but much lower, into a waterskin full of blood slung at her waist.

Weak. Exhausted. Maimed. Starved. Tonaltus field. Decomposing vessel.

I had thought I had been clever, that I could control my hunger and enact some genius escape plan. There hadn’t been a plan, only hunger-delirium delusions. The second that Irina woman had come near me, I had pounced her like some feral monster.

I had misjudged my leap, so utterly blood-starved and such a feral mess that I could not even think straight enough for something as simple as that. The female must have had that waterskin on her or something. I had latched onto it instead of her neck, dragged it loose, and fallen back to the ground with it.

Luck was the only reason I was still alive. If that waterskin had not been there I would not have been able to reach anything else edible in time. If my fangs wouldn’t have found something to sink into, without the blood in the waterskin, I would not have recovered. With so much of my Metzus stripped away by my ill-judged leap there had not been enough left to sustain me. I would have been dead.

I had come so close to dying that, despite feeding on the contents of the waterskin, I was still ravenous. Just thinking the thought already had hunger clawing its way back into my thoughts, threatening to warp my rationality in insidious ways. I fought it down, pushed it as far out of my mind as I could. Weakened by this Tonaltus field, if I attacked the human once more — there would be no miraculous second blood-filled waterskin — I would die.

I would have to wait to kill her until after she’d freed me from the containment field. In this pit, the only thing I was capable of feeding on was someone like my boy Arrin. And the only reason I hadn’t fed on him was that the boy was mine in a way that she wasn’t. In a way that only Dad—

Dad!

Slowly piecing together the fragmented memories of my time here in this cell was a bad idea, because now I remembered the very first questions the head interrogator had asked me, and his wicked smile as he had asked them.

“Valentina Bryce. Adopted daughter of Sir Ormund Bryce. Curious is it not, how an Inquisitor from Ostea now lives retired here, even though no Inquisitor is allowed to return from there?”

“No answer. Excellent. Then I have no choice but to ask your father first.”

I had been stupid. I had spent so long running, hiding what I was, and I had not ever considered the consequences. In hindsight, it was so obvious. If I was ever captured they would retrace my steps. A vampire running loose was too dangerous. None of my connections, no one I held any affection for was safe. I had to get out. Had to find Dad. Save him. My Uncle as well. They’d go for him too.

With a goal in mind, the back-and-forth shouting from the giant of a male up on the rim of my oubliette to the Irina female down here with me drifted back into focus.

“—until you are safe!”

“Stop babying me, Piers. You can’t keep me safe, not from up there. Put it away.”

Instead of reacting rationally to the threat I represented, these two Inquisitors were having some kind of quarrel. How did that even happen? How did we get from me trying to eat her, to her ignoring me? I had tried to kill the female, and somehow she had not fled in a mad fright. Face down and absolutely caked in my own bloody mess, I took a moment to collect my thoughts and make sense of this.

With a short lull in the argument between Irina and Piers, the only sound was the panicked, panting breath of my little boy.

Oh. Right.

Little snack? You scared little snack?

He, my little boy, was huffing out quick, panicked breaths. My snack wasn’t just scared, he was terrified.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Urraa,” I croaked in a strained cough.

Right. No functional lungs. Nor tongue.

I pushed my slightly replenished Metzus into my chest cavity, forcing the most ravaged organs and bones to reform. With how damaged my vessel was, it was draining work, and then the Tonaltus field started eating at my Metzus, unraveling every effort at mending my vessel faster than I could heal. Feeling my focus wane and hunger gnaw at the edges of my thoughts I shook my head and pulled my Metzus back in. Just lungs and tongue would have to do.

“’s okay Arrin. Relax. Breathe.” My words came out in a liquid burble, my voice distorted by layers of drooping, melted, and badly reformed flesh in my throat. Air came hissing past gaps in my lips where the skin had rotted and flaked off my skull. But even with all that, it was enough to calm the boy down a little.

’s Alright Arrin. They have new food for me.

Won’t need to eat you now.

We’ll get out of this together.

“See Honeybee, all under control. Now put it away.”

Yes, all under control.

And you are way to calm a meal, my sweet Elderberry-poison. I just tried to feed on you.

I had to figure out what was going on with these two first. Something I had been doing moments ago, before I’d gotten distracted by Arrin. I was clearly still a scatterbrained mess, barely capable of focusing on anything for more than a couple of seconds. Being much more careful than before, I only pushed my Metzus into one stump-limb at a time. Then, methodically, I worked myself onto my back.

The first sight that greeted me was a crossbow, aimed straight at my face by the Piers male. He was only a mountainous shadow at the top of the pit for me, only a faint fragrance of passionate remorse and fearful apology wafting down to my nose, but the raging beat of his runaway heart was like the lure of a siren’s song.

So delicious, a hearty melange of remorseful and apologetic, tainted by worry and anger.

I forced the hunger, the all-consuming urge to savor him, down. Then I blinked, in the most disarming, non-threatening way I could. Letting my hunger rule my actions made me weak. Letting these two dominate our interaction made me dependent on them. I had to stop doing stupid things and stop letting hunger and instinct guide me. I had to get myself under control, and then take control of the situation.

I was Vale Bryce.

I was a vampire.

I was done being a pile of meat in a pit at the mercy of others.

I was going to figure out why they had captured me instead of killing me. I was going to find out why another faction of Inquisitors wanted to free me. And while I was doing that, I was going to make sure my dad and Uncle were safe as well.

Mercifully, giant Remorseful-morsel Piers did not fire at me.

Keeping as still as I could I glanced sideways, towards the Honey-sweet elderberry poison Irina. Her heartbeat had mostly calmed by now, and even my gaze lingering upon her pockmarked face did not set her on edge. It was fascinating, the way she presented such a remarkable lack of self-preservation instinct, remaining this close to a vampire that had tried to feed on her. She was young but rugged, well-fed, and healthy. And just like Remorseful-apology Piers, most of her tender flesh was hidden behind Inquisition armor.

Internal strife?

Or did these idiots steal some Inquisition gear?

I hoped for internal strife. There were more ways that could turn out in my favor. The waterskin full of blood Irina had carried was interesting as well. It could only have been intended for me. All of these puzzling things meant I should have been asking questions much sooner. I didn't even want to know how far gone I must have been that I had thought pouncing her unprepared was a good idea.

“Why?” I hissed, rolling myself into a position that was a little more comfortable. “Why do this?”

A tiny shiver ran through my maybe-rescuer, barely more than a twitch. She disguised it by craning her neck upwards. “Piers, enough. We are having a conversation. The crossbow is not beneficial.”

It wasn’t just her lack of self-preservation or the speed with which she had recovered from my assault on her. Even the way she worked past her fear of me so easily was commendable. This was a strong woman. My gaze settled on the sharp lines of her neck. A good prey, with a solid, beating heart. A nice, hearty meal.

I swallowed.

Focus!

“We’re here to rescue you, Sweets,” the female pointed out, effortlessly meeting my hungry gaze. “Don’t get too sappy about it though. It’s really just a job.”

I licked my lips, maneuvered myself closer to her, and sniffed. I could not taste even a hint of deception on her.

Tasty though.

“Curious,” I wondered aloud.

At the sound of the word coming off my lips, the female shivered once more. It had been ages, close to a decade since my voice had sounded so empty. I had spent so long working on all the subtle intricacies of speech, getting the inflection just right, and infusing my words with feelings and emotions. The only times I had dropped the act was when I had wanted to make a point.

All of that spent effort seemed so pointless now. So much practice at pretending to be human, so much foolish weakness, and all it had done was get me locked up in this cell. Pretending to be human had turned me into little more than the remains of a corpse left to rot in a dungeon.

Yet despite how futile it all felt, this woman had still come here to save me. I had to push past those lingering fragments of her fear somehow. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Curious?” The word still came out hollow, but at least there was the slight rising inflection now that marked it as a question. I tilted my head upwards so that I could also study the reaction of her companion standing at the rim of the oubliette. “Who paid you to free a vampire?”

“Don’t know, Sweets. Just paid a lot.” The Irina female tugged at one of her bracers.

The subtle shift in her fragrance told me the indifference in the gesture was not entirely sincere. Either she was holding back, or perhaps my attempt to pour emotion into my voice unnerved her. Or maybe this was merely the same thing that happened every time someone learned what I was, the manifestation of the prey’s instinctive fear of a predator that could react violently at the slightest provocation.

Need more time for this.

Won’t get any.

“You were paid a lot, and that was enough to get you to free a vampire?” I tilted my head at her. A limp, sagging muscle in my neck stretched into a ropy paste and my head dropped much further than I had intended it to.

“They allowed us to make up our own mind. The details of your case might be secret but... information leaks. No thralls. No murders. Working as a hunter alongside Inquisitors. Doesn’t touch a drop of human blood. It... and well...” She gestured uselessly as her explanation sputtered to a halt.

“And well?” I tried on a friendly smile. I hoped that with my fangs poking through torn lips, it would look creepy more than reassuring. The confusing combination of gentle and terrifying might have her revealing more than intended.

“You know...” she stalled.

“I don’t know.” I raised my voice and frowned. She was clearly hiding something, and I made it obvious that I was aware. “What do you want from me in return?” The stern effect I was going for ended up somewhat ruined by parts of an eyebrow leaking into my eye.

Up above, the protective male reacted to the hostility that had seeped into my voice by once more reaching for his crossbow.

“Piers!” The female let out a short hiss at her male, not even bothering to look up at him. She then rolled her eyes, a wildly exaggerated gesture that was clearly intended for me because there was no way the male could see it from up there. “I believe you’ve lived a free life, Valentina, an honest life, and I do not want to see us repeating the mistakes from Ostea.”

I kept my face carefully passive. In an attempt to stall, I focussed some of my precious and near-depleted supply of Metzus to heal the flesh clinging to my skull before that skull was all I had left.

While I did that, I mulled over her words. She sounded like some kind of vampire-loving cultist. They’re just a little misunderstood, embrace and accept them in our hearts. It was insane. I knew my kind. I had committed to tearing out her throat just minutes ago. That was the kind of monster I was.

That meant she was probably lying. This might just be a new interrogation tactic, a way to get me to comply with their questions. Or this could be something to do with that parade of pompous asses they had showcased me to. Maybe that one male who had tasted so much of velvet chains and bloody comfort was behind all this.

I tried to reach for the scattered, half-remembered fragments of feral recollection that had just surfaced. Yet try as I might, I just couldn’t shape them into something more coherent. All that remained from that memory was the vague impression that I had been shown off, that it had angered and frustrated my interrogators, and that the Velvet-chains noble responsible for that anger had been… unafraid? So much like this Irina woman? He had pissed off my interrogator. He had done something or said something that my feral recollection couldn’t make sense of.

Going feral was horrid. I never remembered. Not really. Not rationally. All that lingered were scents and sounds and instincts.

Can’t keep stalling. Need to decide and adjust as I go.

The female clearly wasn’t being entirely truthful. I could not trust her. At the same time, she was right, in a way. So far the Inquisitors had not seen me drink from a human, or even harm a human. They must have investigated my past. They must have noticed. Irina had said as much. All their attempts at interrogating me pointed at it. It puzzled them, this restraint of mine.

Could this be a way out that doesn’t turn everything into a slaughter?

How’d the Inquisition react if I got out with not a single body drained?

There was a significant chance this might be a trap. There was always a chance of that. But even then, this was the best opportunity I would get in a long time. I could not afford to let it go to waste.

Let's see where this leads.

Guess my snack will live a little longer still.

I brought my tongue out, trying to lick at my lips.

So hungry.

I would need more, so much more blood if I wanted to get out without succumbing to my hunger. Thankfully, Irina and Piers had spilled more for me up there. I did not need to kill what had already been killed for me.

All I needed was their help getting out of the Tonaltus field. I glanced up towards the rim of my pit once more, then at Irina. “I do not trust you,” I growled. “But...” I lifted my chin in the direction of the rope. “We are wasting time.”

“You are right, we are wasting time,” Irina said. “Let me tie you in. I’ll go up first. Then the both of us will pull you out of this Tonaltus field.” She held out a hand, then pulled it back. “Please don’t eat me?”

I gave her a slow nod and the best imitation of a genuine smile I could manage. “Don’t give me a reason to, and I won’t.”

“Okay, just a moment then.” The female knelt down next to my no-longer-snack.

She going to pull the kid out too?

That was the stupidest thing ever. Without me, the Inquisitors had no reason to keep the kid down here. They would get him out, put him in a proper cell, give him the medical attention he—

Oh gods. I remembered his screams. I had begged for food and they had tossed him in here, tossed him down from all the way up there. As by some miracle, he had survived the fall. He’d wailed and screamed and begged and bled all over me.

And I… like a fool I had used every scrap of resolve and sanity I had left to save the kid’s life. I had figured out how to break past the magic suppression field, but instead of freeing myself I had used the knowledge to stabilize the kid and doomed myself in the process.

They wouldn’t save little Arrin if I escaped. They had wanted him dead in the first place. We had to save the kid. I turned towards Irina…

Just in time to watch her slit the boy’s throat.

“No!” I hissed out, too late to change anything.

Irina had given me blood. I no longer needed to feed on Arrin to get out. He was supposed to survive this, survive me. Instead, his disbelieving eyes drifted out of focus. His feeble grasping hands fell limp. His blood pulsed out of the gash in his neck to the tantalizing rhythm of his ebbing life.

Inevitably, my gaze was drawn towards the spill. The dark liquid spurting out of the wound was tempting me, teasing my hunger, urging me closer. Scrambling over, ignoring the burn of Tonaltus eating away at me as I moved, I wrapped my maimed vessel around his limp form. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” I shushed, tracing small circles on the boy’s back with a stump of an arm.

I doubted the kid had ever imagined dying by something other than me. And then… he must have overheard us. Even in his fevered delirium, Arrin must have had some awareness of what was going on. For the first time since he had been dumped in here with me, I wasn’t lying on top of him, ready to sink my fangs into him. He might even have been aware enough for the tiniest spark of hope.

Yet now, his blood was everywhere, his heartbeat was already slowing, and it was not my doing. If only there was healing magic that worked fast enough to deal with a slit throat. If only I hadn’t been caught, chopped into easily transportable chunks. If only I hadn’t been so stupid.

If only...

Head digging into the boy’s neck, my lips latched on to the gash. Pulling him close, in a comforting embrace, I began sucking up the leaking ambrosia. Yes, the blood I was lapping up was already contaminated with the stale water, gunk, piss, and shit coating the bottom of the pit. But it was still blood. I would not let it go to waste.

Only seconds later, Arrin’s fragile little heart gave out. Far too soon the spurt of blood became little more than a drying trickle.

And I was still so incredibly hungry.