As if dealing with the autumn cold in a near barren forest isn't bad enough, Bela Dimitrescu is constantly grinding her teeth at the sight of that ebony sword strapped across Erika's back; settled closely next to her sheath of arrows. Its hilt pokes over her shoulder, the plait of her cornsilk braid entangling around it.
Bela takes the liberty of prying the braid free before settling back into the hollowed shell of a tree they've declared their hunting spot for the day. Erika spares a kind smile – brighter and livelier than it's been in the days following the dinner.
The sword had fallen out of the armoire when Erika started getting ready this morning. It clanged so loudly it nearly startled Bela into her swarm of flies. But she managed to control herself before asking Erika where the hell she got it.
Bela's tongue turned to tar when Erika said Cassandra gave it to her.
Bela knew the sword was too nice to convince Erika to give it away, and she couldn't really steal it or destroy it – not with the way Erika's eyes shined when she unsheathed the gleaming blade and observed its beauty and craftsmanship.
Bela grinds her teeth as she pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin within her forearms.
Cassandra had been yakking like a crow about that sword – how excited she was to use and scare the other servants with it. Not to mention use it in one of her many dungeon plunders. To see her just give it to Erika – protection or not – Bela knew her sister was up to something.
A switch in Cassandra's game.
The crack of a twig has Erika lifting her head and craning her neck like a meerkat. A gentle breeze sways the branches around them, setting the shadows dancing along her ivory skin. After a minute, she settles back down, unaware of Bela's stiffness as she curls deeper into herself.
She didn't blame Erika. She didn't know. Didn't know that even the gentlest of winds sets Bela's skin crawling and peeling like old wallpaper. How the cold so easily finds its way to her bones until it feels like she's sitting in an ice bath. How it sears against her skin like cold fire and whirls and twines itself into her core until her very being wants nothing more than to scatter like ash.
But she can't scatter; not like she wants or is used to. Because the bugs that make up her very being are frozen and dying.
Bela's had to sweep them into the crevice of the trunk three times now, they keep falling off her like dead snowflakes. Erika didn't notice, but Bela made sure to appear like she was playing in the dirt.
And not sweeping away the very essence of her being into the dried leaves and cracking soil that might as well be ash.
When they stepped outside, Erika had been so caught up in the sun on her face that she didn't see a piece of Bela's shoulder fall off. And Bela had been so caught up in watching Erika that she didn't really care.
Erika had been excited – jubilant even – to get outside in the cold, early morning and going hunting. Bela knew she was eager to get outside and do something. It'd been a miracle she didn't claw off the wallpaper from being cooped up inside for a week and a half. When the healer had declared her able to hunt again – though running is still a week off – there was not a force in the world that could've kept Erika from going outside today.
Though still limping and bearing most of the weight on her right foot, they'd made a pretty decent trek around the woods before coming to the clearing. Erika had set up a few snares as usual, then started digging a hole within the hollow of an old oak tree big enough to fit them both, shoulder to shoulder. Sheltered by enough twigs and branches that while skeletal, it keeps them camouflaged from unsuspecting prey.
Despite her earnest to feel the sun on her face, Erika seemed a little nervous. With winter settling in soon, most of the animals will move deeper into the woods, which may mean longer treks if I continue to hunt during the colder seasons, she had said. Bela promised to speak to her mother about possible replacements for hunting until the warmer months returned.
Because she won't be able to stand the winter – she never can – and as things stand, she sure as hell isn't letting Erika hunt in these woods alone.
"Are you cold?" Erika then asks softly, having tucked herself deeper into the trunk.
And understatement. Bela had abandoned her usual dresses to match like Erika – fitted pants within boots, a couple of shirts, and a jacket lined with rabbit fur. All underneath a cloak made for the winter. Erika was either too distracted to comment, or just didn't care.
But Bela says, "A little."
Erika gives an apologetic wince, "Sorry. We'll give it another half hour, then we'll head to the river and see if we can catch any fish."
A moment of silence passes, Erika closing her eyes and lifting her face into the sunlight. She keeps the bow close to her chest, an arrow nocked and ready with a pull of her finger. She hasn't picked up a rifle since the day they went shooting indoors. She had mentioned how she likes the stealth of a bow better compared to the loud crack of a gun. And she hasn't struggled much with the bow for Bela to convince her otherwise.
Then the eldest daughter asks, "Why did Cassandra give that to you?"
Erika's shoulders sag – either in disappointment of the interruption of her harmony, or because she'd long accepted that this conversation was bound to happen. Without opening her eyes, she says, "If I knew, I would tell you."
Bela tried not to let her heart flutter at the words – at the blatant and genuine truth behind them. The implication of Erika's trust in her. "She's up to something."
"I congealed that much." She must be relaxed. Her voice is smooth, but still has little chirps of a feminine gruff.
"I thought you wouldn't use it just to spite her."
Hope was more like it.
"I'm not so petty that I'd look a gift horse in the mouth." Erika does open her eyes then, and Bela could've sworn they're shining brighter than the entirety of her six months here.
Gods, six months.
She's filled into her figure now. No longer a woman made of ribs and skin and a sunken hollowness that made her emptier than even the year-old corpses still dangling from the ceiling of the dungeon.
No, she's become a woman now. Full of elegant angles and curving hips and soft cheekbones; even the scar next to her eye couldn't obscure her beauty. In fact, she wore it like the finest jewelry, able to put any noblewoman to shame.
Bela wanted to reach out and trace her fingers along that scar. Not to encourage the usual anger that always followed the thought of whom, exactly, gave her that scar. But just to touch her. To feel her skin.
They hadn't talked about last night, and frankly, Bela doesn't want to.
She just wants it to happen again.
But the lack of mentioning it has Bela on edge, as if Erika had regretted the whole thing. As if she felt, embarrassed to be seen in such a state . . . possibly with such a person as well.
Bela tries to ignore the thought as she feels Erika's boot bump against hers.
"Hey, your birthday is coming up." Erika mumbles, still mindful of possibly approaching prey.
Bela blinks, surprised. "You . . . remembered?"
Erika shrugs, adjusting her position so that her back presses against one side of the hollowed trunk, her legs stretching to touch the other side. "Why wouldn't I remember? It's an important date. Besides, it'd be stupid to have you try and remember and not celebrate it."
Bela snorts. "Not like there's much to celebrate."
Erika's brows furrow in disappointment. "How do you mean? We're celebrating you, and your life."
A blush steals over Bela's cheeks. Hopefully the cold can hide it . . . if her cheek doesn't fall off. "Not like I've done anything. I haven't done, much."
"We're celebrating your life, not your life accomplishments." Erika giggles, and Bela rubs her arms – not just for the cold, but to flatten the rising hairs on her arms at that beautiful sound. Bela can't remember the last time she heard Erika laugh, if at all. "You mean to tell me that your mother never celebrated your birthdays? She never celebrated the day you three were brought into her life?"
"I mean, we have our celebrations, but, it never felt, personalized. She kind of just, celebrated us all together." She mumbles last, "Even when I'm the oldest of the three."
A twig breaks, drawing Erika's attention for a few seconds. Her lips purse in contemplation, biting the inner corner.
Bela fights the urge to lick her own lips, but there's a pulse of arousal from her core at the sight.
Erika then says, "Hey, how about we do something fun? Just the two of us. Anything you like."
Bela blinks once. Twice. Thrice. "Really?"
You, was Bela's first thought. And it might actually work, given the nature of Erika's proposition.
Erika attempts to appear nonchalant as she shrugs her shoulders, but Bela could see color high on her cheeks, even with the cold wind. "Yeah. We could, shop around the village, go for a walk around the castle gardens, take a ride along the trails. Just . . . something."
Yes. Yes. Yes! It is all Bela can think of. All she wants.
But somehow, her mother's voice, and her mother's suggestion, finds its way into her mind. She'd meant to tell Erika about it this morning on their trek out into the woods, but she'd seemed too happy that Bela couldn't bring herself to ruin it.
Bela folds in her lips. "Well, I would love to, but there's something –"
Her words are cut short when Erika stiffens, her body going rigid as she readies her bow. Bela had been so lost in thought, her heartbeat so loud in her ear that she didn't register the approaching footsteps.
At the ungodly quiet of the forest.
And the heavy breathing of a large creature.
She doesn't dare to breathe as something stirs in the skeletal foliage. There's a click of claw on stone, and a hiss like an extinguished flame. And then, prowling on forward knees — like a human's legs — the creature emerges.
It's something out of the Black God's nightmares. The creature is not of this world.
Thick grey hair covers its oddly proportioned body, thinning towards its unnervingly humanoid shaped arms and legs. the creature's head has human features as well, but its distended, gaping mouth is filled with yellowed fangs. Fangs that had ripped out and eaten an array of villagers' internal organs; fangs that had feasted on their brains.
Bela has heard what these creatures can do. What they're capable of. But she's never actually seen one before.
A creature of Lord Moreau's creation. A vârcolac, he'd taken to calling them.
The vârcolac's eyes . . . she's never seen anything like them. There is nothing in them but hunger — endless, ageless hunger.
And Erika's bow and arrows aren't going to do shit. Would it even make a dent in the creature's hide.
Bela only realizes Erika is trembling when she makes to rise to her feet, to flee as far and as fast as she can.
Bela's mouth dries, her blood pounding in her veins, she shifts to her knees.
Shit, Erika. What are they going to do? What is Bela going to do? Erika is a sitting duck with her healing ankle, but she'd make herself run if it means saving her life.
"What, is that?" Erika whispers, her voice as quiet as death.
"Vârcolac."
She doesn't ask how Bela knows, but if she knew about the lycans, then this isn't too far off. At least Erika doesn't accuse her of keeping the information from her.
This thing isn't supposed to be here anyway. How it got here is debatable, but they can worry about that later.
Bela nearly screams when she sees Erika pull the string back of her bow. "Erika!" she whispers in a hiss.
"When I shoot, you run." Is all she commands.
Bela's heart sinks, "You can't be serious."
"If something happens to you, I'll never . . . your mother will have my head."
She's putting Bela before herself. Without a second thought.
Bela can practically see the cogs turning in Erika's mind, looking for means to escape together –
They both freeze, but as they do so, a massive wind barrels them from behind, making Erika stagger into the open. The Vârcolac whirls to look at them, its head shooting up, its human nostrils sniffing twice.
Through her years of training, Erika doesn't lose her grip on her bow, and aims it at the space between the creature's eyes.
Erika glances to the creature, to Bela, and then back.
The veiled sunlight bleeds through the clouds that had drifted in front it, illuminating the creature who stares at Erika with those starving, relentless eyes.
"Bela," Erika says in a steady tone, adjusting her feet to bolt once the arrow leaves her fingers. "Get ready to run."
The Vârcolac stalks back and forth on its four large, muscular limbs, sniffing at Erika, and both women pause.
Why doesn't it attack immediately? It sniffs at Erika again, and swipes at the ground with a clawed hand—striking deep enough to take out a chunk of tree root as thick as a man.
It wants her alive.
It likes its blood hot. So it will find the easiest way to immobilize her, and then . . .
Bela can't breathe. No, not like this. Not in this forest, where it will drag Erika off to where no one will find her, where Lacy will never know why her sister never returned, and will forever curse House Dimitrescu for it.
"Erika," Bela chirps, earning just a split second of distraction; the creature taking its eyes off of the huntress for the shortest of seconds. As it contemplates its new potential prey, Bela claps a hand on Erika's shoulder, neither of them taking their eyes off the creature. "Do you trust me?"
"What?"
Bela grips harder on Erika's shoulder, "Do you trust me?!"
Only a second of contemplation. "Yes."
The creature sinks back onto its haunches, poised to spring, and in that moment, Bela comes up with the most reckless and brave plan she's ever concocted.
Bela uses the last of her borrowed seconds to give Erika her simple instructions.
With a roar that shakes the forest, the Vârcolac runs for them.
Bela bolts, Erika's bow and arrows now strapped across her back. Erika remains before the tree, watching as it gallops at her, dirt spraying from its claws as they strike the forest floor. Ten feet away, it leaps straight toward her legs.
But Erika is already running, running straight at those black, rotting fangs. The Vârcolac jumps for her, and she hurtles over the snarling thing. A thunderous, splintering boom erupts through the forest as the Vârcolac shattered the trunk of the old oak. Bela can only imagine what it would have done to Erika's legs.
She doesn't have time to think. Erika lands and slides, taking a sharp turn back to where they came from. Back towards the river as the creature shakes itself free of its concussion. The base of the hollowed oak has been shattered into splinters, the tree itself toppling over from the impact.
Bela will probably never stop giving Erika credit. For despite the still-injured leg, despite the lack of proper exercise that has made her sloppy these past couple of weeks, she bolts like a doe through the trees, her terror likely leeching away any pain.
Bela leaps in an easy movement, closing the distance between them in mere heartbeats, but keeping a few paces behind her, knowing Erika won't look back. She knew the huntress isn't paying enough attention to note how Bela is now floating a few inches off of the ground, how she moves so easily between the trees. No more than a wraith.
Erika purposely makes her breathing ragged as she hauls herself up a hill, making enough noise to alert their tracker. A feeble, catchable prey.
The Vârcolac roars again, and the trees shudder around them. Erika doesn't dare to look behind. She focuses on her feet, on keeping upright as she bounds across the forest.
Erika continues to run—or tries to. Even with her adrenaline, the brush and stones and trees prove a hindrance. Bela races with her towards the rising roar of the river, swollen from the spring rains, her pace slower her.
Bela pulls the string of the bow back, the wood groaning in her hands. She aims for the creature's head, seeing it's form quickly gaining on them.
With a snarl, her first arrow misses its intended target, but buries itself in the creature's hind legs. It grunts in pain, but doesn't slow its pace. Bela fires one arrow after another, and while the second one misses again – embedding into the creature's hip – the third one manages to impale its shoulder. This is enough for the creature to roar in annoyance and stumble a few paces.
Erika slips, but Bela's hand is at her elbow, keeping her upright. "Faster," is all Bela says, and as soon as she finds her footing, Bela is off again, shooting through the trees like a mountain cat.
The creature roars as it bounds across the forest; charging after Erika to make up for lost time. So close Bela can smell its reeking breath. Erika continues to follow the river, its roaring turning louder and louder.
Please—please . . .
Bela pushes off of her toes and leaps back until she's flying behind the Vârcolac, and fires three more arrows into its back. All arrows land, and the creature writhes, its head turning this way and that, withdrawing into its humanoid shoulders before shaking its head and looking towards Bela.
She only fires another arrow with a vicious snarl, buying Erika precious time.
This time, the Vârcolac skidded to a halt, Erika gaining a few more feet. It only takes a moment for it to recover and charge, taking off a chunk of few trees as it passes by, gaining on Erika.
The creature snarls, and Bela hears its deep intake of breath and the scrape of nails departing stone as the Vârcolac leaps for Erika. Bela dives towards it like a bird of prey, her left hand wrapping around the cool shaft of the arrow as she flips in the air and stabs.
She only has time to see its eyes and the blur of its skin before she drives the arrow through the back of Vârcolac's skull.
Pain lances through her hand as the speed of the creature rips the arrow out of her hand, breaking it in two and yanking her hand with it for a brief second. Black blood that stinks of waste sprays onto her as she manages to hold on for a couple of seconds, dragging it a few inches down the creature's neck.
This makes her enough of a nuisance for it to whirl around and swipe its long claws at her.
It misses, of course; Bela gritting her teeth, and forcing herself to swallow the scream of pain as she evaporates into her swarm of flies.
She can only feel pain in the cold, where her flies fall off like blackened snowflakes, but if she can cling to the creature's warmth –
She wraps her essence around the creature, the flies ebbing and churning like ink in water around the creature's head, its body, along the tendons of its ankles.
She forces herself into its ears and eyes and nose, biting and chomping at its limbs, drawing drops of blood that taste of metal and mold and rot.
This halts the creature as it starts to blindly sway and roar and shake. But it cannot kill her; at least, not while she can maintain this form. She will tear this thing to tiny shreds if she has to.
But the damned thing is persistent, and gives a bone-chilling roar before taking off after Erika.
Bela follows, still swarming the creature, obscuring its vision as best she can against the cold. But a searing wind forces her to reconvene into her human shape, gripping chunks of hair on the creature's back as she clings to its back.
The creature notices her presence and immediately begins to buck. Bela wills strength into her fissuring arms, ignoring the searing agony that coils around her.
She uses that pain, thrives off of it as she parts a section of hair along the creature's neck and bites down, hard. With a single thought, she has her sickle in and begins stabbing and stabbing and stabbing, dragging a long line down towards her. The seeping blood smells like oil.
The creature roars, and it manages to throw her off.
It would've sent Bela colliding into a tree that would've shattered her spine, had she not collected her focus and scatter back into her flies.
The Vârcolac gives a damning roar, promising her death, but still considers Erika to be the more considerate prey and takes off.
Bela can only follow, her breath clouding before her and her very essence cracking like glass. She can only hope she bought Erika enough time.
Floating to the tips of the treetops, Bela's heart triples its speed as she spots Erika's cornsilk hair a few yards ahead. A lycan lay in pieces a few feet behind her, freshly killed. Likely hiding in wait for its prey. Bela might have marveled at the way Erika moved, the way she kills, but the woman doesn't stop sprinting.
Sagging bits of limbs on the dried leaves, like discarded trash. But still twitching and rustling—as if waiting for someone to piece it back together.
Erika runs faster, still bounding ahead.
Running towards the roaring river beyond.
I run. Run through the barren trees, the brush ripping my clothes, my hair, shredding and biting.
I trip over a root and slam into the earth. In the distance, the foaming river is roaring. So close, but—my ankle gives a bolt of agony. Stuck—I'm stuck in the mud and roots. I yank at the roots that hold me, wood ripping my nails, and when that does nothing, I claw at the muddy ground. My fingers burn.
I hear the creature roar behind me, but it's father than before. Whatever Bela had done, it worked. But just as quickly, I feel and hear, rather than see, the creature break through the trees behind me.
I sloppily, recklessly saw and rip at the root entangling my ankle. It's a miracle I didn't but myself, and I manage to weaken the root enough to yank it up, up, up, and pry my foot free.
It takes all of a minute before the force of that smell gnaws on my heels and the snapping of the brush closes in. But I will not look behind me. Only forward; and the brightening ahead—the end of the tree line. Not much farther until —
A lycan leaps out of where it had somehow been lurking undetected in the brush. It lunges for me in a flash of hairy, long limbs marred with countless scars.
Behind me, Bela shouts as the lycan pounces, but I don't falter a step as I duck and twirl with practiced speed, slashing down with the sword and viciously slicing with the dagger.
The lycan's arm severs at the same moment its head topples off its neck.
A break in the trees—and the river's roar grows overpowering. I'm so close now.
For a split second, doubt jolts through my mind. A hesitation to follow through with this, but there will be no other way. There is no stopping the pursuit behind me. The Vârcolac is going to jump with me. The arrows I'd given Bela might not do much, but there's no way it can survive a plummet like this.
I'll probably not survive it either. And yet, I wasn't afraid. Not if it meant Bela could make it back to the castle safe.
I don't when I started putting her life before Lacy's, but –
I break through the line of trees, sprinting for the ledge that juts out, bare granite beneath me as I throw my strength into my legs, my lungs, my arms, and jump.
Wind tears at me, forcing me to turn so my back will be the first thing to hit on impact. At least it'll kill me quicker.
But my heart leaps into my throat when I see a speck of shrinking gold peer over the edge of the cliff.
Bela.
Without hesitation, she jumps into the void after me.
My voice is ripped from my throat, but there she is, just a hand's breadth from my fingers.
In a heartbeat, her arms are around my middle, and she slams into me so hard that the breath is knocked from my chest. Together we plummeted like a stone, down, down, down toward the rising ground.
"Bela," I rasp, a barely audible sound.
Those golden eyes look to me, agony etched across her features. Tears are ripped from her eyes, and her lips tremble.
"I'm sorry." She says, gasping for breath. She presses her face onto my hair.
Then time seems to slow as I watch Bela's entire being crumple and wither like dust.
No, not dust.
But flies. Suddenly I'm swarmed with bits and pops of buzzing in my ears.
I watch as she scatters like ash on the wind, her golden eyes laced with such pain –
My scream devours even the roaring of the river.