Daughter of the Night

My eyes snapped open as the light released its hold on me, leaving me free to partake of any night indulgences. The corners of my mouth peeled up in a grin as I realized what I would be doing tonight; keeping company with a friend. A friend. I had been deprived of the basic necessities of a human for so long, I had forgotten how good it felt to have companionship to look forward to.

I rose from my earthen grave, the black cloak that was my sole companion seeming to weave itself into the darkness; my form was hazy with excitement.

As childish as it was, I could scarcely contain my excitement. With a hastiness entirely uncharacteristic of one with an eternity to look forward to, I glided up through the basement to appear in an alleyway on New York City, a shadow come to life.

Deciding that the usual method of walking would be too slow, I alighted upon the thermals, my form that of a Great Horned owl. Despite the common beliefs, a vampire could take the form of anything nocturnal and predatory, their powers not simply limited to that of a bat. Although I wouldn't’t be able to keep this form for more than fifteen minutes, I certainly preferred it to the bat form. As spooky as owls can be considered, they aren't’t looked upon as terrifying. Rather, they are considered wise, graceful creatures with secretive lifestyles. I envied them.

I couldn't’t pump my wings fast enough to rise over the majority of the buildings, although I managed to avoid the sea of people I would have been swimming through otherwise.

The city flashed by below me, the lights illuminating the otherwise dark sky like fireflies in a huddle; the city that never slept. Too true.

Twice I had to land and switch to my human form before regaining the feathered wings of the owl, although within a forty minutes I had crossed the parts of the city I needed to cross, and Central Park was in view. Deciding that it would be better to reform myself out of prying eyes, I landed in a swab of huge oak trees that could cover my presence.

Dropping to the ground, I allowed my ever-present cape to settle over my shoulders before I stood tall and surveyed my surroundings; a walk in the park would be a fine thing tonight.

I had been walking for about ten minutes, the lamp lights lighting my path, not that I needed them. The trees were silhouetted with the light, giving the park an eerie glow. I fit right in.

An obnoxiously loud noise came from behind me, although to a human it probably wasn't’t more than a swish. I looked over my shoulder to see a man in all black with a dagger clutched in one fist. I rolled my eyes as he came up from behind me, grabbed my hair, and pressed the blade against my throat. As cold as it was, it was no comparison to the freezing temperature of my skin.

I gave the blade a condescending look and it withered, crumbling into dust and then disintegrating with the breeze that had sprung up. I turned, ignoring the fist that held my hair, and looked the man in the eye. A five o’clock shadow couldn't’t hide the dark bags under his eyes. Probably, he had been driven to desperate measures.

My eyes flitted down to his stance, which was weak, with shaking knees. “You’re joking, right?”

The man was staring at the hand that was now holding a useless plastic hilt before releasing my hair with his other and slowly backing away. He could barely meet my eyes, and when he did, his mouth fell open and he turned and ran.

See, that was how these encounters were supposed to go. That was the normal thing to do. Not all of this “ohmigawd you saved me you’re so awesome!” crap that I had been dealing with lately. Of course, this ‘crap’ is what was keeping a genuine smile plastered to my face. So.

As I continued my walk westward, I ruminated on our conversation from the previous night. The boy had been sincere, and he had been interesting. I wasn't’t sure if the lack of interaction in my life had made my taste run dry, but I was pretty certain that he was a decent fellow.

The gates closing the park off neared my sight; I was almost to the western side of the park, and to the train station beyond it. My pace quickened.

Last night had been more interesting than all of my adventures stacked together for the past three score. Although, the werewolves had to ruin it... damn dogs... they probably picked up on our entire conversation with their painfully supersonic hearing.... I froze.

Werewolves. Amazing hearing. Bounty hunters. After me. Friend. Time. Place. Plan.

Oh, shit.

I began running, although to the common eye it was more like a blur than a speeding person. Within seconds, the station was right in front of me. Another second and I was inside the gray-washed wall, sleepy city folk drifting around me. My eyes scanned the people there, but I quickly resorted to my sense of smell. A werewolf’s stench was unmistakable.

Sure enough, the smell hit me as surely as a baseball. I whipped around, bristling. Dropping to a stalking prowl, all my muscles relaxed and yet tensed, I moved forward. Around this corridor, past these subways, down this flight of abnormally wide stairs. Through this line of people waiting for espresso.

There he was. Totally unharmed, alone, impatiently tapping his finger on a cup of coffee.

But they were here.

He didn't’t know it, but he was a hostage.

Debating what to do next, I finally settled on approaching him. If I talked to him, it would surely draw out his captors, not that I didn't’t already know where they were hiding.

I wasn't’t sure what the wolves would be planning to do with him, although I doubted they would go far enough as to kill him. Werewolves considered themselves pacifists, after all.

With a sigh at my own idiocy (apparently I hadn't’t actually gained much wisdom over the years, after all) I crossed the cavernous underground space.

As soon as his eyes found me, they lit up like stars. Grinning, he beckoned me over. I nodded in return, to show him I had seen, and then looked over my shoulder to where the wolves were hiding, staring long and hard at each hidden dog to let them know I was aware of their presence. There were at least thirty; I wouldn't’t stand a chance, especially if I was defending the boy.

I slid into the chair opposing the boy, allowing a small smile before I clasped my hands together on the table.

“Hey,” he said laughingly, “I was beginning to think you were blowing me off!”

I scowled. “I wasn't’t that late. I was preoccupied by a mugger in Central Park, if you really need an excuse.”

“Seriously?”

“No.” I sniffed the air; no movement from the canines. Yet, at least. This was just a standard procedure to allow me to make sure he was in one piece. Although, why were they waiting so long to make a move?

Something was off in the air around here, though I couldn't’t quite place a finger on it. The smell was of festering wood and pine, and it smelled awful. It was right below my nose, yet where would it be?

I turned back to the boy to discover that he was scrutinizing me with those bright emerald eyes, trying to figure out if I was being sarcastic, and if so, where. He fiddled with the straw of his coffee, which I could see from the cheery colors was from Dunkin’ Donuts.

I inhaled again, suspicious. The smell! It was still there! My eyes narrowed.

“Give me the coffee.”

He looked up, surprised at the sudden hostility in my voice. He was about to question me, but thought better of it. Wordlessly, he slid the coffee over to me.

I grabbed it, tore the lid off, and held it up to one blood red eye. Nothing I could see. I held it under my nose and sniffed. It was like a freight train of smells, all of them wild and none of them even remotely pleasant. A snarl tore from my throat.

I turned the Styrofoam cup so that a drop of its contents dripped onto my finger. The contact was like sticking my finger in a fire pit. Hissing at the steam rising from my burning skin and the pain that came from it, I hurled the cup of coffee at the nearest wolf, nearly two hundred yards off. Although I didn't’t turn to see, I heard the collision it made with the palm of his hand. I turned to face Aaron.

His face had gone pale and I had to remind myself that he had no idea what was going on.

“Where did you buy this ?” I demanded.

He lifted a hand and pointed a finger at the bakery stand near the stairs. I whipped around, growling, to see the man working the booth look up and grin at me. He had pointed ears and way too much hair.

I turned back to the boy, barely stifling my aggravation. “How long ago did you start drinking this?”

Puzzlement fell over his face. “Aah, maybe...twenty min-” before he could finish, a look of alarm passed over his face and he choked, coughing, heaving up blood as he grappled at his throat.

Desperate, I turned to see a small group of wolves approach me, obviously very pleased with themselves.

“Why would you do this?” I snarled, although I already knew the answer.

“The bounty, the money, sweetheart,” one said, his voice burly under an Italian accent.

My lips peeled back in disgust. “Give me the antidote!”

The werewolves rolled their eyes and one, the one in the back, pulled out a test tube with a bubbling red liquid inside, sealed with a cork. Aaron’s hacking was growing worse, and he had slid to his knees beside the chair. His lips were locked in a snarl as he struggled to breathe.

Immediately, I lunged towards the dangling glass tube, vanishing from the speed to the normal eye. Before I could get there, several pairs of over-sized hands grabbed at me, pulling me back with strength comparable to my own. Although I may have been stronger, there was only one of me. I was pulled away from the vial.

Snarling, I turned on the werewolves holding me captive. Impassive, they fought to pin my arms back and twisted me to face the boy.

“Wolfbane,” one mutt muttered into my ear, “will kill a normal human if it doesn't’t reach their heart fast enough, and if it does, the transformation will begin. Either he dies or he becomes like us unless you accede to our demands.”

Growling, I yanked around to look the dog in the eye. A battle-seasoned, heavily scarred face met mine. I’m not sure if it was my hyperactive imagination, but I detected a twinge of regret in the deep brown eyes that met my own.

“What do you want?” I hissed.

“You’You've a bounty on your head, Cross,” the old dog told me. I felt a shiver of repulsion travel down my spine at the use of my name on his lips.

“The king has finally come a-courtin’,” said another wolf in older English. The English I had been born into. “He wants you back.”

I froze, my hair falling to one side of my neck, revealing the blackened skin shaped as a cross.

I felt a meaty finger trace the scar and bile rose in my throat, as well as a beast in my gut. Whipping around despite the binding hands that held me, I sank my fangs into that repulsive finger, snapping down on the hand like a jaguar would entrap a monkey in its jaws. A howl escaped the owner and I tore my mouth free, nearly bringing his finger with it.

The hands ensnared me again, this time beating me to the floor. There were so many, I was powerless to stop it. My eyes fell to the boy, who was sheer white and about to go into convulsions.

I had seen this before. After the lack of air came the horrible coughing, after the hacking came the tremors, weak at first until the entire body was wracked by it, and then came death with its cold embrace.

If I could cry, I might have there. This was all my fault. This boy, in so much pain now, would not be going through this if I had only done what had been best for him the previous night and scared him off. I had been foolish enough to consider him a friend, completely forgetting why I could not.

“I won’t fight you,” I whispered, grief enveloping my heart. “Do what you want, just give him the antidote.”

I could feel the werewolves exchanging looks before one nodded. So that I could see, he crossed over to the boy and heaved him up by the front of his shirt. Another pang of sorrow; how could I have been so stupid? To involve one so innocent, so frail as him in my own personal hell!

Removing the cork with his teeth, the burly dog poured the contents down the boy’s mouth. Some it was spit out, and some more simply slid down his cheeks, yet I could tell most of it was swallowed down.

After several long seconds, the trembling weakened enough for Aaron to slide his eyes open, although it was another few minutes before he was anything close to coherent. When the last of his hacking subsided and the wolf slid him back into his chair, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he would still make it.

His head rose timidly, his bleary eyes scanned the scene before him. I wasn't’t sure if he was even processing what he was seeing.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” I told him, my voice hoarse. “You won’t ever have to go through that again.”

He blinked sleepily, and I sensed movement. My instinctive reaction was to roll, but the hands holding me in place eradicated any hope I had of avoiding the crushing blow to my skull.

The night may have been strong, but I was broken. My sight dimmed as I was surrounded by the darkness that was my home and my prison.