Page 4 of A Kiss From a Revenant
2
ERYX
My gaze remains transfixed on the splintered tavern door.
A white cloud puffs between my lips as I take another deep breath. There aren’t very many people out tonight. No doubt word of my killings has spread, and villagers with common sense have chosen to remain safely at home. Still, some care more about their ale than their own safety. Or the foolish lot who thinks they could best me should I choose to make them my prey.
Even in my weakened state, they are no match for me.
I’ve lived for centuries on sheer will alone. I am the last of my kind—each one before me has been unwound by the dark magic our creator bestowed on us, and now their souls are lost in the ether, never to find refuge amongst the living or dead again. That will be my fate soon enough, but for now, I am trapped in this forsaken town.
It’s filled with wretched people. Each one has committed more sins and discretions than I could keep track of. That’s why I feel nothing when I kill them. Eating their dead had been a brief courtesy; now that I’ve tasted fresh blood,it will be all I hunger for while I remain here. At least in this pathetic land, there is no shortage of food. People in places like this go missing all the time, and no one ever comes looking for them.
That’s why I’ll drink my fill of their putrid blood—gorging myself on it until the endless hunger finally abates. That’s all I am these days, an appetite. The depth of my starvation only grows. There is nothing beyond the empty void inside of me. It craves nothing but blood and bone and—her.
That woman with the red hair. It craves her, and I don’t know why. It was foolish to let her escape. I should’ve drunk from her the same way I did that vile man.
However, as I linger in this dark alley, I can’t regret my actions. How could I not have acted? That man would’ve harmed her. Killing him made her safe—and her safety is important to me. For reasons I don’t understand.
I don’t know what I expected—her to thank me? I huff a humorless laugh as I remember how she left screaming in terror and running for her life.
The same reaction everyone has when they see me if I don’t devour them swiftly.
There had still been a part of me—a small, errant part that had hoped she would be different. That she would’ve…talked to me? A fresh wave of self-loathing washes over me. Perhaps this is the reason I’m the last of my kind. The rest of them had the good sense to be unwound while I’m out here wishing for things that can never be.
I am a monster. I will die alone, never having known true companionship.
Still, my mind won’t forget the way she looked before she fled. The scarlet tendrils of her braided hair flowed down her back. She had wide, verdant eyes and the delicate freckles that decorated her pink cheeks. It made me wonder if she had freckles all over her. I had only caught faint traces of her rose scent on the wind. Still, it had been enough to make mewonder what her pale skin would feel like under my hands and if parts of her were softer than others.
The fantasy unravels from there. The idea that maybe she could want me under different circumstances. If I could call her mine, I would never let her go. I would keep her, protect her, and give her everything I could. I have never desired any living creature like this. It unsettles me as much as it intrigues me.
What would her flesh feel like against me? Against my tongue? She would burn hot enough to warm me every night as I held her to me. I would fall asleep with her in my arms and her rose scent invading my lungs. I would want nothing else.
But would she want me? I scoff at the question. Of course not. I am a death omen. My kind is solitary—she ran from me upon first sight, she would surely never welcome me into her bed.
I catch her scent on the breeze, luring me towards where she fled to. My body begs me to go—to follow it and lay claim to her. However, if I did that, I would be no better than the man who attacked her in the graveyard. Hurting her would be worse than never knowing what she felt like. Therefore, I will leave her in peace even as my desire for her grows.
I shake myself from those foolish thoughts. A dusting of fresh snow falls off my shoulder. How long have I been waiting out here? Too long. Just like I’ve been in this town for far too long. The sooner I leave here, the better. I’ll drink my fill and then be gone—keeping my distance from her will be hard, but I must do it for both our sakes.
Finally, the tavern door bangs open on rusty hinges. An older man stumbles out, his gait uneven, clearly having indulged in his cups tonight. He will make for easy prey. Inhaling deeply, I scent the man’s wretched soul. He’s been here for some time, and he thinks he’s escaped his past. The stain of his sins lingers in his blood—a murderer with countless victims who never atoned for his crimes.
Tonight, he will pay with his life.
Stalking silently behind him, I keep up with his pace down the barren streets. There is a gap between the buildings, and I strike. The man doesn’t even scream before I drain him dry. The putrid taste of his blood eases my hunger and blocks out all other desires except for one.
I growl into his neck. One more day—that is it. I’ll stay for one more day, drink as much as I can, and leave. If I am lucky, maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of the red-headed woman before I have to say goodbye to her forever.
3
NORY
The sun dips closer to the horizon, bathing my front room in orange light.
Glancing at the clock, I see it is well past six o’clock in the evening. My mother converted the front portion of our house into a workstation soon after I started walking. It was easier for her to keep an eye on her sewing and her curious toddler if we were both confined to a single room.
Today had been particularly grueling. Four pairs of men’s hunting trousers needed their inner seams redone. Two corsets needed to be reboned and their lacings replaced. Skirt hems, jackets with loose buttons, and disintegrating undergarments all found their way to me, and I tended to each one. My back aches as it always does after a particularly long day.
My fingers feel tight after having spent the day clutching onto my small needle—a dull throb pounds behind my eyes. Looking at the small stack of gold I made today for these orders, I wonder once more if this is all worth it. Being the only seamstress in town means there’s always business, but the work is becoming too much for one person. After the expense of mymother’s passing, I don’t have enough to employ another seamstress.
