Page 1 of Death Comes for Her
Chapter 1
Old things have strange hungers.
Undead things have violent cravings—malevolent appetites that encourage them to conquer the world. One day, a monster might come along with the voracity to consume the sun. And when that monster succeeds, those with sunlight in their veins would be devoured.
Or so the Elders warned.
Like most thriving civilizations at the height of their power, the wisdom of elders is generally ignored. The kingdom of the Fae was no different in their hubris than mankind, which so often rose only to fall again.
And I was there to witness the fall of the fae in the days following the consumption of the sun.
Another red dawn rose over the dark horizon of the wilderness. In the distance, the jagged outcrops of the north mountains were no more than bleak shadows painted across a crimson horizon. In ten years of red skies since the undead stole the sun, witnessing a new day still made me sick to my stomach.
Twenty years ago, the undead creatures lurking in the shadows crept from their dark hiding places, scheming and plotting with magics so old that even the Elders no longer remembered them. They discovered a spell that, when cast under a crimson moon that came once a century, the sun could be contained and snatched from the sky.
Under a blood-red moon shining like a ruby in the sky, the vampires attacked. No creature was prepared for the carnage and horrors that followed. Not even shadows were safe.
One vampire, older and stronger than the rest, stained in the viscera of the dead and empowered by the evil of a newly summoned eternal night swept in unseen. Like a shadow in the night, his army decimated all in their path. For ten years, emboldened by the absence of the sun, vampires overwhelmed all races who dared to fight back, devouring anything and anyone with the will to stop them.
Vampires cowed humans into subservience first. Without sunlight, humans had no magic and no weapon strong enough to hold off against a calculated vampire horde. They easily slaughtered or took most as a food source. No human kings remained after the Everdark Morning.
Werewolves were cursed creatures. Unbridled in their rage, but equally strong as vampires. What they lacked in humanity or reasoning they made up for in primal strength. But that didn’t stop the vampires from using dark magic to keep them trapped in their monstrous wolf forms under the red moon. Beaten and broken, the wolves became glorified, overpowered guard dogs for vampire royals.
Vampires sought after the fair folk for the sunlight coursing through our veins. All the races of the mortal realm were eventually crushed and defeated by the vampires’ all-consuming hunger on the unholy night when the fairies finally succumbed to the war.
The undead bastards hunted us like pigs for slaughter, all so they could gorge and revel in a grand feast of golden ichor. And when the vampires caught a fairy, they were sure to feast and feast and feast and feast—
Aided by flight and magic, the fair folk had fought back the hardest because vampires went mad for fairy blood. Fairy bloodintoxicated vampires, sending them into a drunken, lust-filled frenzy. Fairies became the prizes at the end of the war. Wings ripped off as trophies and bodies drained of lifeblood. All the warriors were tortured and killed, while they took the rest of the fair folk as delicacies to be leisurely enjoyed by the victors and champions of the war.
Memories of blood slicked floors and wet, warm gore squelching under my feet flashed behind my eyes. A field of haphazardly strewn bodies felled from the rust-colored sky skewered with arrows and drained of life stole a strangled whine from my lips. Phantom pains shot between my shoulder blades, and I shuddered—not from the cold.
From my vantage point at the peak of a towering barn, I watched the world drag itself to wakefulness. A heavy fog shrouded the distant village that morning, turning the world below the rolling hills of the farm into a dark haze. With each slow exhale, my breath curled in white wisps, heralding the early days of another bleak, lifeless winter.
A low, howling wind curled the edges of the mist. Toes balanced precariously on the edge of the barn roof. I lifted my arms, welcoming the wind. Cold air kissed my arms, tickled my fingers, and pulled threads of golden hair loose from the untidy knot atop my head. I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation of the wind caressing my face like the touch of a loved one.
One foot slipped over the edge, threatening to… to fall, to leap, to soar?
My breath hitched, lodging in the base of my throat. The backs of my eyes pricked as I remembered. I remembered soaring, being lifted by the air and smiling among the clouds in a blue sky.
But there were no more blue skies. And there would be no more soaring through the clouds. Not for me.
Another phantom ache throbbed in my shoulders.
A weighted darkness in my stomach sank lower, dragging my heart down with it. That darkness danced up the base of my spine, eliciting a shiver, and it whispered through my ears. Would it be so bad if I took that step?
I’d fall, sure. But in those few seconds it took for my body to sail downwards… Gods, I’d be free. I’d be free again, wouldn’t I?
“Sierra!” a croaking voice bellowed into the field. “Come on, girl. It’s time to feed the pigs!”
Agonizingly slowly, my eyes peeled open, and I lowered my arms to my sides. Hidden on the barn roof, I held my breath and remained still. Perhaps if I waited long enough, she’d forget I existed and go away.
“Sierra! I know you’re out there. Come out now, or you won’t get any supper!” Griselda barked. Her demands broke up the still silence of the lonely field.
If I couldn’t forget my existence, neither would the farmer’s wife.
“Sierra, this is the last time I’ll call for you. No supper tonight.” It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t feed me, either out of spite or misplaced vengeance. It hardly mattered.
“I’m coming!” I shouted back, fists curled tight at my sides.
