Page 48 of A Song of Saints and Swans
Then I find myself lost in the woods, running from a horror I thought only existed in folklore. Now I’m the prey, and the predator chasing me is my worst nightmare—and my darkest dream.
Will death finally pull me under where I belong?
Honey Trap
RUSALKA
Iemerged from the pond to the sounds of terror and the scent of death—a delicious symphony for the senses.
While my sisters and I occasionally lured unsuspecting victims away from their routine patrols, the dozens of panicked men currently running blind through the forest was a veritable feast, simply begging to be enjoyed. Some would soon be under the spell of my fellow Rusalka, others were already being devoured by the Likho—the embodiment of evil fate and misfortune. A few were foolish enough to pursue the Baba Yaga as she escaped their cursed Facility with one of her three fated Riders at her side. The one I almost stole from her.
But that is a tale for another day.
Right now, I hungered for human flesh, and saw no need to wait for my sisters to awaken before commencing my hunt. Rusalka were fearsome, unholy spirits—the earthbound remains of women and young girls who’d met an untimely end in watery depths. Due to the nature of our deaths, we were doomed to haunt these woods until our designated time was done, or until we were avenged.
I no longer remembered my human life, but the moment of my passing occasionally brushed against the surface of my memories, always half-formed and insubstantial, taunting me with its vagueness.
Who was I?
Shaking my head, I banished the useless concern and refocused on alleviating the insatiable hunger making my fangs ache and my stomach tighten—the maddening instinct to feed driving me ever onward. My bare feet soundlessly carried me through the nighttime forest, the damp moss and leaf litter maintaining the vital connection to water I needed to survive, along with the diet of prey I was seeking.
I took a deep inhale, still catching a hint of blood on the breeze, along with the rich, earthy smells of the forest. The other Rusalka didn’t seem to care about the beauty of the forest we inhabited. Our conversations were usually focused on the hunt, so I kept my romantic notions to myself, but I couldn’t help noticing how the stars were brighter here…
…all the stars in Siberia…
The warm summer wind flitted through the trees, drying my naked body and running its ghostly fingers through my long, red hair—an unusual color among my kind.
Red… like a little fox…
Again, I ignored my fleeting memories, seeing no reason to dwell on what I didn’t understand. Regardless of who I was before, or how these lingering echoes flavored my current existence, I was now to be a bringer of death, desirable to men too stupid to recognize a snare when it had been set for them.
I loved the moment they realized they were doomed, their fear and panic like a drug running through my veins, sickly sweet and addicting. They were nothing but flies attracted to the beauty of a carnivorous flower only to helplessly drown in the honey as victims of their own mistakes. My lip curled as I imagined how my prey's blood would taste on my tongue—tangy and metallic, pulsing with life. How satisfying he would be.
Who shall fall victim to my trap tonight?
Skazkis
KONSTANTIN
Was it all a trap?
I’d only been at the Facility a month, and apparently it was the wrong fucking month to join the organization. I should have known the perks and ridiculous salary advertised at the recruitment event in Moscow were too good to be true, but I was desperate. Looking back, I probably would have signed away my organs to the black market if it got me away from the memories I was drowning in.
A few psychopaths aside, most of the other recruits were good guys, and the weapons training and daily patrols in the surrounding forest gave me something to focus on besides my pain. About a week ago, directives abruptly changed, and simply tagging animals turned into tranquilizing them to bring back to the Facility for testing. Even though I saw no evidence of harm coming to these animals, it still bothered me, but my overwhelming grief made it easy enough to ignore any suspicions that something wasn’t right.
Then our boss returned from Siberia with his missing son and an old woman everyone kept calling an actual witch. I didn’t know the guy well myself, but word in the mess hall was that he’d disappeared weeks ago with two other recruits who never returned. Again, I brushed off the rumors, since it really wasn’t my business either way.
In hindsight, I probably should have made all of this my fucking business.
My foot caught on a tree root in the inky blackness, sending me crashing to the forest floor with a muffled curse. The blood-curdling screams of my fellow recruits were enough to get me back on my feet, and I hurried on, trusting in my innate sense of direction to get me to the nearest service road, about a mile away.
This running for my life business was just one more shitty thing on top of the shit hand I’d been dealt. A lesser man would have given up by now—and there were dark nights when the idea of ending it all had clawed at my door like a hungry wolf—butsomethingalways kept me going. I had no idea what that magical something was, as the only person who meant anything to me took my heart with her when she died. I mentally paused for a moment, realizing the anniversary of her death was fast approaching.
Fuck, it’s been almost 4 years since I lost her.
My heart rate settled a bit as I left the chaos behind, although my senses stayed on high alert for any monsters waiting to pick me off in the dark. Like every Russian, I’d grown up listening toskazkis—dark fairy tales that often included supernatural creatures lurking in the woods. Like most kids of my generation, I’d ignored my grandmother every time she tried to bore me with another superstitious warning.
“Listen well, Kostya! You never know when this may save your life.”
