Bound To The Cursed Vampire King...

The forest at night was full of danger, but nothing frightened me more than the sound of my brother's weak cough.

I slowly dropped to both knees in the freezing mud. The cold, wet ground quickly soaked through my faded cotton dress, sending a chill through my body. My heart pounded hard against my chest, each beat loud in my ears, but I forced my shaking hands to keep moving.

A few steps ahead, partly hidden under the thick root of a rotten oak tree, a small patch of wild silver-mint shone softly under the pale moonlight. Its silvery leaves looked almost magical in the darkness.

"Just a little more," I whispered to myself, my voice so soft it was almost lost in the quiet night. "Please... just enough."

Milo was only twelve years old. Every hour, his breathing became weaker. He was running out of time, and this herb was the only thing left that could help clear his lungs and give him a chance to live.

My grandmother had taught me about herbs when I was little. She showed me how to recognize healing plants by their leaves, scent, and flowers, and how to prepare them properly.

I had spent years watching her make simple remedies, so those lessons had stayed with me. But this case it was bigger than i thought I had ran to the village doctor.

The village doctor had turned us away three days ago because we didn't have a single copper coin left to pay him. A kind old washerwoman had quietly pulled me aside before I left.

"Find wild silver-mint in the border woods," she had whispered. "Boil the leaves and let him drink the tea. It will stop the bleeding in his chest."

Those words were the only hope I had left. So before the sun went down, I ran into the forbidden woods, praying I would find the herb before it was too late.

I slowly reached forward and carefully picked one of the leafy stems. But my hand moved too quickly in the darkness. Before I could stop, a long, sharp thorn from a nearby briar scratched deeply across my palm.

"Ah!" I cried out, quickly pulling my hand back against my chest.

A sharp, burning pain spread across my hand. Bright red blood immediately filled the deep cut, looking dark and thick under the moonlight. I sucked in a shaky breath and quickly turned my injured hand away, making sure not a single drop of blood touched the precious silver-mint leaves lying safely inside my small basket.

"No, no... stay off the leaves," I muttered, pressing my injured hand tightly against my dusty apron while using my other hand to gather the rest of the herbs into the basket. "Milo needs these to stay clean."

I grabbed the basket, pushed myself to my feet, and ran.

My wet boots splashed through the muddy path, and my lungs burned with every breath. I didn't care about the sharp branches pulling at my hair or the painful cut on my hand. The only thing I could think about was Milo. I pictured his small, weak body curled up on the old mattress inside our tiny cottage, struggling to breathe while he waited for me.

When I burst through the front door, the sound of Milo's rough, wheezing cough filled the little room.

"Liora?" he called weakly, but another harsh, wet cough cut off his words. His whole body shook with the effort. "Is... is that you?"

"I'm here, Milo! I'm right here!" I cried. I kicked the door shut behind me, dropped the heavy wooden latch into place, and hurried to the small stove in the corner.

He lay curled beneath a thin wool blanket. His face was so pale it almost looked blue in the dim light of the oil lamp. A clean white cloth beside his mouth was stained with small spots of fresh blood, making my stomach twist with fear.

"Just hold on a little longer, buddy," I said, placing a small pot of water over the glowing embers. I quickly washed the silver-mint leaves with fresh water from the pitcher before dropping them into the pot. "This is going to help you. I promise."

"It hurts to breathe, Liora," Milo whispered. His frightened eyes shone in the soft light of the lamp. "My chest feels like... like someone is sitting on it."

"I know, sweetie. I know." I hurried back to his side and pulled the old wooden chair closer to the bed. Taking his cold, thin hand in my uninjured one, I held it gently. "Look at me, Milo. Keep your eyes on me. The tea is almost ready. Just take slow, little breaths. I'm not leaving you.”

"Did you... did you get hurt?" he asked, lifting a small, trembling finger toward my apron, where a fresh red stain had soaked through the worn fabric.

"It's only a scratch from a briar," I said, giving him a quick, gentle smile even though my palm was still throbbing with pain. "It's nothing to worry about. You know me. I'm always clumsy when I walk through the woods in the dark."

"You shouldn't go out there at night," Milo wheezed. His eyes slowly drifted shut for a moment before he forced them open again. "The forest... it isn't safe."

"I would walk through fire if it meant bringing you your medicine," I said softly. I brushed a few damp strands of hair away from his forehead before gently kissing his warm, sweaty skin. "Now, no more talking. You need to save your strength."

A soft whistle came from the kettle. I quickly stood up, wrapped a clean rag around the hot handle, and carefully poured the steaming green tea into a cracked wooden mug. The fresh, cool smell of the silver-mint quickly filled the small room, pushing away the stale, heavy air.

"Here," I said as I returned to his bedside. Slipping one arm behind his shoulders, I carefully helped him sit up. "Take a small sip. Nice and slow. It's still very hot."

Milo wrapped his small hands around mine as I held the mug for him. He leaned forward and took a careful sip. The warm steam brushed against his face. He swallowed with difficulty, closed his eyes for a moment, and then took another sip, a little bigger than the first.

"It feels warm," he whispered after a few long swallows. "It... it doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"That's good," I whispered, holding the mug steady until he finished every last drop. "That's it. You did so well."

I set the empty mug on the floor and gently helped him lie back on his thin pillow. Almost at once, the harsh rattling in his chest began to fade. His short, frightened breaths slowly became deeper and calmer. With every breath, a little more colour returned to his pale cheeks, and for the first time in days, a small spark of hope warmed my heart….

"Liora?" he murmured, his eyelids growing heavier as the warm herbal tea slowly began to work.

"I'm right here," I whispered, gently running my fingers through his dark, messy hair, soothing him the same way our mother used to whenever we were scared.

"Will you stay... right here?"

"I'm not going anywhere," I promised with a soft smile. "I'll be sitting in this chair all night. Now close your eyes, Milo."

He let out a long, peaceful sigh. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Within a few minutes, his small body relaxed completely, slipping into a deep, healing sleep.

I stayed beside him for a long time, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. The fear that had been squeezing my heart all evening slowly faded away, replaced by a heavy wave of exhaustion.

"Thank goodness," I whispered, letting out a long, shaky breath.

I carefully stood from the wooden chair, moving as quietly as I could so I wouldn't wake him. Crossing the small room, I stopped beside the stone fireplace, where the last few logs glowed with a faint orange light. My hands were filthy, stained with dried mud and my own dried blood.

I poured a little water from the clay jug into a small bowl beside the hearth. Dipping my uninjured hand into the cool water, I washed away the ground before reaching toward the towel resting on the mantel.

As I stretched out my hand, my fingers moved to my neck without thinking. It was a habit I had carried for years whenever I needed comfort or courage.

My fingertips touched bare skin.I froze.My heart seemed to stop.

My hand flew back to my neck. I searched around my collar, then down the front of my dress.

Nothing.

"No," I whispered, the word catching painfully in my throat. "No... no, no."

My eyes dropped to my chest.

A short piece of broken silver chain hung loosely from the top button of my collar.

The chain had snapped.

My grandmother's silver locket—the last gift she had ever given me, the only thing I had left to remember my family by, and the only thing we owned that held any real value—was gone.

I stared at the broken chain hanging against my dress while panic crashed over me. The cold silver brushed against my trembling fingers.

It wasn't on the cottage floor.It wasn't beside the stove.

It wasn't near the wash bowl.It was still out there.

Somewhere in the cold, dark forest.

Somewhere beneath the rotten oak tree where I had knelt to gather the silver-mint.

My chest tightened as I leaned closer to the faint glow of the fire,

lifting the broken end of the chain to inspect it.

My breath caught.The chain hadn't been pulled apart.

It hadn't snapped on a branch.

The silver link had been cut. Cleanly.Straight through by a blade.