Marked By Blood

The day was cold and grey, the kind of colourless afternoon that made the whole world look as if it had been drained of life.

Elodie crouched behind one of the abandoned buildings on the edge of the deserted town, keeping herself low beneath a cracked window frame while the wind slipped through the empty streets in thin, bitter whistles.

Everything around her looked ransacked. Doors hung crooked from rusted hinges, shutters slapped weakly against weather-stained walls, and old clothes lay long abandoned in the mud as if their owners had vanished in the middle of dressing. Broken glass glittered across the road in dull, dangerous pieces, half-hidden by dirt, ash, and the wild weeds pushing up through every crack they could find.

The buildings leaned toward the street as if they were tired of standing, their roofs sagging beneath years of rain and neglect. Signs swung from broken chains above empty shopfronts, too faded to read, and overturned carts sat abandoned in the road with one wheel missing or split clean through. A child’s wooden toy lay half-buried beside a doorway, its painted face scratched away by weather and grime.

Near Elodie’s boots, the ground was marked with dark patches that soaked into the dirt and stone. They might have been old mud. They might have been oil from something spilled long ago. Or they might have been blood. The thought crawled coldly up her spine, raising shivers along her arms despite the layers she wore.

Elodie kept one hand pressed to the damp stone beside her and listened. The town should have been silent, but places like this were never truly quiet. They creaked, settled, and whispered, carrying every small sound too far.

Behind her, Ryan shifted impatiently. “The coast is clear,” he said in a low voice. “We should move now.”

Elodie did not look back at him. Her gaze stayed fixed on the street ahead, on the shattered windows and the narrow alleys where anything could be waiting. “No,” she murmured. “We need to wait a little longer.”

Ryan exhaled sharply, the sound edged with frustration. “Elodie, it will be dark soon. If we are going to cross town, we need to do it before the light goes.”

Before the world fell, people had believed daylight kept them safe. Vampires belonged to coffins and cellars, to old warnings whispered after dark. Then the oldest and wealthiest among them found a way to stand beneath the sun without burning, and everything changed. The most powerful crept out of their graves and hidden houses, no longer trapped by dawn, and within a generation they had taken the world for themselves.

Humans became servants, labourers, and cattle, kept alive because their blood was useful and their obedience was cheaper than war. Those born high, old, and rich enough walked openly in daylight now, while bitten vampires and lesser creatures still lurked in alleys, basements, and forests once the sun went down. That was why dark was dangerous, but daylight was no mercy either.

Elodie’s village was different. It was the last free human village anyone knew of, hidden deep enough and careful enough to stay beneath vampire notice for years. No marked roads led to it. No fires burned high enough to be seen from far away. Every life there depended on silence, secrecy, and never leaving a trail.

“Something does not feel right,” Elodie whispered.

Ryan gave her a look over his shoulder, his jaw tight with impatience. “You are being stupid. If we are going to grab the antibiotics and get back before dark, then we need to go now.”

Elodie hated the way the words landed, but she hated even more that he was right about one thing. The antibiotics mattered. They mattered more than her fear, more than the sick twist in her stomach, more than the warning crawling beneath her skin.

Little Isabelle needed them.

That was why Elodie had come at all. Ryan had sworn his source knew there were still supplies hidden somewhere in town, sealed away before the place had been emptied out. But whenever Elodie had asked who had told him, he had refused to give up a name. He had only said they were trustworthy, and with Isabelle burning through fever and coughing herself weak, Elodie had not had the luxury of arguing.

Still, something about it felt fishy. Too easy. Too neat. A town abandoned for this long should not have had anything useful left behind, especially not medicine.

Reluctantly, Elodie nodded. “Fine. But we move fast, and if anything feels wrong, we leave.”

Ryan did not answer. He was already slipping out from behind the building, keeping low as he darted across the street.

Elodie followed a heartbeat later, her boots crunching softly over glass and grit as she ran after him. The empty windows on either side of the road seemed to watch them pass, black and hollow like open mouths.

They reached the long-forgotten pharmacy with barely a sound. Its sign hung crooked above the door, the paint so faded that only a few ghostly letters remained. The front windows had been smashed long ago, and the shelves inside had been stripped bare, their contents scattered, stolen, or ground into the filthy floor.

“Check the back,” Ryan said, breathing hard as he glanced into the dim interior.

Elodie looked at him. “Me?”

Ryan’s mouth tightened. “You wanted to be careful. So be careful.”

That was not an answer, and they both knew it.

Elodie swallowed the protest rising in her throat and stepped through the broken doorway. The pharmacy smelled of damp paper, mildew, and something metallic underneath, sharp enough to make her stomach clench.

Her boots disturbed a layer of dust so thick it rose in pale clouds around her ankles. Empty bottles rolled beneath the counters. Torn labels clung to cracked jars. The old till had been forced open and left hanging like a broken jaw.

Behind her, Ryan remained near the entrance, one hand resting against the doorframe as he watched the street instead of helping her search.

Elodie noticed.

“You said they were in the back,” she whispered.

“Then check the back,” Ryan replied, too quickly.

The uneasy feeling in Elodie’s chest twisted tighter, but Isabelle’s fever-bright face flashed through her mind, small and pale beneath the blankets. Elodie forced herself forward.

A narrow doorway led behind the counter. Beyond it, the room was darker, colder, and crowded with collapsed shelves and boxes swollen from years of damp. Elodie slipped through sideways, keeping one hand against the wall for balance.

Something crunched under her boot.

She froze.

Slowly, Elodie lifted her foot and looked down. It was not glass. It was a small brown medicine bottle, crushed flat beneath her heel, its label too faded to read.

Her heart beat harder. If bottles had been left here, then maybe Ryan had been telling the truth after all.

Or maybe someone wanted her to believe he had.

Elodie forced herself to keep moving.

The back of the pharmacy narrowed around her with every step, the shelves closing in on either side like ribs. Most of them had been gutted years ago, their drawers yanked open, their glass fronts smashed, their contents long stolen or spoiled. Still, Elodie began to search, because there was nothing else she could do.

She tugged at the nearest drawer. It stuck at first, swollen from damp, then jerked free with a scrape that sounded far too loud in the dead store. Inside were brittle paper packets, cracked vials, and a spoon blackened with old residue. No antibiotics.

Elodie pushed it shut and opened another. Then another. Each one gave up only dust, mould, and the sour smell of medicines that had gone bad long before she was desperate enough to need them.

The farther she went, the darker it became. The weak daylight from the front windows thinned behind her until it was little more than a grey smear on the floor. Shadows gathered in the corners, thick and unmoving, clinging to the lower shelves and pooling beneath the counters.

Elodie reached up to feel along a high shelf, her fingers brushing over damp cardboard, loose pills, and the jagged edge of a broken jar. Somewhere above her, water dripped steadily through the damaged roof, each drop landing with a soft tap that made her nerves jump.

“Ryan?” she called quietly, not taking her eyes off the darkness ahead.

No answer came at first.

“Ryan?” Elodie called again, a little louder this time.

As her voice faded into the dark, her gaze caught on something above the doorway she had just come through. High on a narrow shelf, almost hidden in shadow, a few bottles stood untouched and intact, lined up as if someone had forgotten them there years ago.

For one breath, Ryan was forgotten.

Elodie stretched up on her toes, fingers scraping the edge of the shelf until she managed to hook one bottle, then another. They were cool and dusty in her hands, their labels rubbed away by time until there was nothing left to read.

She shoved them into her pack anyway, praying they were what Isabelle needed. Praying they were not useless. Praying she had not come all this way for nothing.

With the bottles secured, Elodie backed out of the dark room and made her way toward the broken front of the pharmacy.

Ryan was standing outside where she had left him, but something about him had changed. His shoulders were hunched, his face pale, and he would not quite meet her eyes.

Elodie slowed. “Ryan?”

His throat bobbed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

For a second, Elodie did not understand.

Then figures moved from the alleys, the shattered shopfronts, the hollow shells of neighbouring buildings. They came silently and all at once, dressed in tactical gear, weapons raised, their red eyes fixed on her through the gathering dusk.

Vampire enforcers. Not bitten shadows dragged out after dusk, but the kind allowed to hunt in daylight, armoured and trained and trusted by the ones who ruled from above. The red in their eyes marked them for what they were, and Elodie knew at once that Ryan had not led her to medicine by accident.

Elodie’s blood turned cold.

“Hands up,” one of them ordered.

Elodie lifted her hands slowly, forcing her fingers to loosen even though every instinct in her body screamed at her to run.

Her pack pressed against her spine, the stolen bottles inside knocking softly together with the movement. The sound was tiny, almost nothing, but to Elodie it was louder than the order, louder than the wind, louder than the blood rushing in her ears.

“Do not make this harder than it needs to be,” one of the men said, stepping closer.

Elodie kept her eyes wide, her breathing shallow, her hands raised as if she had already given up. She let him believe it. Let him come close enough to reach for her arm.

Then she moved.

Her elbow drove hard into the inside of his wrist, knocking his grip away before it could close. At the same time, she twisted, hooked her foot behind his ankle, and shoved with everything she had.

The man stumbled, more surprised than hurt, but surprise was all she needed.

Elodie had learned enough self-defence to know where to strike and how to break a hold, but she also knew the truth with a cold certainty. She was nowhere near strong enough to take on these men. Not one of them properly. Definitely not all of them.

So she ran.

Shouts erupted behind her. Boots struck broken glass. Someone cursed. Someone else barked an order.

“Elodie!” Ryan cried. “Elodie, please!”

She ignored him.

The antibiotics bounced against her back as she tore down the ruined street, past the sagging shopfronts and the empty windows, past the dark patches on the ground she no longer had time to avoid.

The woods rose ahead of her, black and dense at the town’s edge.

The sun was dropping faster than she would have liked, sinking behind the crooked rooftops and dragging the last of the grey light with it. Elodie knew better than to set foot in the woods at night. Every human knew that. The bitten ones came out when the shadows thickened, hungry and desperate, and the forests belonged to things that could smell fear through the trees.

But Elodie had no choice.

She plunged between the trees, branches whipping at her face and snagging at her coat. Behind her, the men followed. She could hear them crashing through the undergrowth, hear how quickly they were gaining.

They were faster than her. Stronger than her. Built for this in a way she was not.

Still, Elodie did not give up.

She did not stop.

She could hear them behind her, not just following but pacing themselves, letting their boots break branches and crush leaves loudly enough for her to know exactly where they were.

A terrible certainty settled over her as she ran. They could catch her whenever they wanted. If they truly meant to end the chase, one hard burst of speed would have them on her back, dragging her down into the dirt before she could take another breath.

But they did not.

They were enjoying it.

The thought almost made her stumble. Elodie dug her nails into her palms and forced herself onward, lungs burning, throat raw from the cold air. Every breath tasted of wet leaves, rot, and panic.

Then another sound rose from deeper in the trees.

A low growl rolled through the darkness, answered by another somewhere to her left. Not the controlled pursuit of the enforcers. Not the steady, disciplined tread of trained soldiers. These sounds were ragged, hungry, and wild.

The feral ones had scented her too.

Elodie’s heart slammed harder. Behind her were the enforcers, sharp-eyed and patient, savouring every second of her fear. Around her, hidden among the trees, were the bitten creatures that no longer remembered enough of themselves to do anything but hunt.

She had run from one nightmare straight into another.