THE DARK BONDS

The witch raised her head, eyes narrowing as she gazed at the blood moon. The air was thick with the scent of rust and burnt ash, a smell that churned her stomach. She placed a hand on her swollen belly. She wasn’t sure if it was nausea or a protective instinct that made her fingers curl around her abdomen. The latter was strange, given how often she had plotted the death of the child within her.

The wind whipped at her face, and she burrowed deeper into her black robes. It was cold where she stood, but the wooden house—beyond the swamp, at the end of the fields—was fully engulfed in flames. From her vantage point, she watched with chilling detachment as the wind fed the inferno. It was the dead of night, and the figures scrambling from the house in their pajamas looked impossibly small.

She felt no remorse. But she knew it was only a matter of time.

She didn’t just feel him coming; she knew.

He would come, and his fingers would wrap around her neck. He would show her his fangs as he spat his fury, his eyes piercing her.

He could kill her in a single move. He could drain her of her last drop of blood, savoring her suffering, then rip her head from her neck.

The most likely end would be her body thrown as feed to the animals lurking in the woods. Or perhaps he would discard her in the swamp ahead.

The sound rose from deep within the forest, and in the same instant, the very person she expected slammed her against a tree, his hand choking her. As the rough bark bit into her back and her feet dangled, the witch stared into her lover’s eyes.

His blood-red eyes glowed despite the darkness, and his fangs were bared like an animal’s in his rage. Worse, his grip was so tight it allowed her no air.

“Don’t...” the witch managed, her voice ragged. “You can’t,” she corrected. If she hadn’t been desperately fighting for breath, he would have seen the smile she couldn’t suppress.

If he had seen it, he truly would have killed her right then and there.

With a sound more like a snarl, he ripped her from the tree. His fingers tightened impossibly on her throat, and with all his strength, he hurled her to the ground.

The impact stole her breath again, but she immediately broke into a violent cough. The hood of her robe fell back, revealing her face in the moonlight. She tried to stand but couldn’t. With the weight of a child in her belly, the fall had shaken her more than she could have anticipated.

“Why?” the vampire roared. There wasn’t a trace of pity or sorrow in his eyes for the woman on the ground, the woman with whom he had once shared pleasure. Only pure, unadulterated hatred. “You’re a fool,” he hissed. “Is this a game of revenge? Do you have any sense at all?”

The witch winced. Gathering her breath, she asked, “Is this how you get out of it, my love?” She knew he hated when she called him that. It worked. His shoulders tensed.

He hid his tension with a harsh laugh. The veins in his throat bulged with rage. “You’re just a little brat who knows nothing of life,” he said. “We were never lovers. That never happened. You and I are not the same. You and your kind are witches who deserve to be burned. I am a vampire. I am nothing like you. I never was, and I never will be.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed as she watched him. Months ago, when what passed between them was happening, he had looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world. Now, he looked at her as if she were the most repulsive. The way he emphasized their differences, his pride in being a vampire—his ego—was on full display for the first time, and it made her skin crawl.

She rose to her feet and stood before him. “If that’s true, why did you promise me?” she shouted. “Aren’t you ashamed, calling me a brat who knows nothing of life? I was the one who told you we shouldn’t do it that day,” she said, articulating every word, though her voice trembled with rage. “You gave me your word. You said you would take full responsibility, no matter what—”

“When did I ever give you such a word, eh?” the vampire cut her off, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

“In bed,” the witch said, as if spitting. “That promise was in every scratch you left on my back. It echoed in every kick inside my womb.”

It was the vampire’s turn for his eyes to narrow. His pupils constricted, the red giving way to black.

“You tricked me that night.”

The witch laughed, her gaze dripping with contempt. “No. You wanted to be tricked. But yes, you’re right, Orpen. I’m the fool for believing that a failure who can’t even control his own prick would ever take care of me.” Her eyes, filled with hate, bypassed his face and focused over his shoulder on the burning house. “You never told me you had a family. You were a lying bastard from the start,” she spat. She turned her gaze back to him and smiled coldly. “Good thing our species aren’t the same. At least I’m not a despicable creature like you.”

The vampire lunged forward. He seized her chin with one hand, his grip so tight she knew it would leave bruises.

“And what about you?” he asked, gritting his teeth. “You forget you have a boyfriend of your own.”

She shoved his hand away, driven by the pain and the desire to escape his gaze. “I told you about him!” she screamed, startling the birds from the trees. “You accepted me that way! But when I got pregnant, you turned your back on me, and suddenly I learn you have a family!” She struck his shoulder in fury, but he didn’t budge an inch. “You have a child my age, damn it! Weren’t you even a little disgusted when you were hitting on me?”

The vampire flinched and turned his head for a moment, but when he looked back, his face was a mask of loathing. He raised an index finger. “I told you to kill this child, and you didn’t listen to me!” he roared. “It’s just one spell, isn’t it?”

Yes. It would be so easy to kill it.

The witch stared at him without blinking. The familiar sting of disappointment had given way to pure darkness. “That’s not what you said that night.”

“Forget that night!” the vampire bellowed, running his hands through his hair as if going mad. “Don’t you know the rules? The alliance was forged years ago. The consequences are clear. What were you dreaming of?”

The witch shut her eyes tightly, her brow furrowing.

Today was an example of the consequences of the war between vampires and werewolves, a war that had lasted nearly a decade. Though the vampires were powerful and ruthless, they were severely outnumbered by the wolves. Inevitably, they grew weaker.

Thus, the witches and vampires had united. It was a necessity. For the witches, outcast for centuries, the vampires’ offer was impossible to refuse. Their combined strength forced the wolves to retreat, and the war ended. Borders were drawn sharply. The cards were redealt, and for the first time in history, the wolves were driven into the same holes the witches had once hidden in.

But vampires were never known for their kindness. The Witches’ Coven, in turn, was equally cautioned. This caution led them to be as vicious and ruthless as necessary.

Living together was accepted, but the species were forbidden fromeverbeing together. Vampires could only be with vampires, and witches only with witches.

Otherwise, the power that would emerge from such a union was a grave threat to both the Vampire Council and the Witches’ Coven.

She remembered the vampire and witch couple executed in the square just five years ago. If a relationship was discovered, they were punished harshly, turned into ‘Shadows’ so they could not use their powers. But if they had a child... the baby, the vampire, and the witch were all burned alive in front of everyone.

“You promised...” she said in a whisper. “We were going to run away...”

Despite her quiet voice, he heard her. She didn’t open her eyes to look at him, but she could clearly hear his intolerant breaths.

“I’m telling you for the last time, Nadra. Kill this child before you get us both fucking killed, do you hear me? It’s easy to pass it off as your witch boyfriend’s now, but what happens when it’s born? You can’t hide a vampire child. Witches don’t have fangs. Witches don’t feed on blood. Witches don’t writhe in the sun. Witches are not immortal.”

The witch opened her eyes and fixed them on him. “We don’t know if it will carry vampire traits. Maybe it won’t need any of them. It could just live as a witch, in hiding. It doesn’t have to die.”

The vampire recoiled, as if he’d stumbled. He recovered quickly.

“Nadra...” he said, his voice hesitant. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re not killing this child because you love it, and not just out of spite.”

The witch let out a laugh, but it was broken and full of pain. She didn’t understand the tears welling in her eyes. She turned her back to him, taking a few small steps, shaking her head as she continued to laugh.

“You’re too late, Orpen. You made me believe in a dream. You assured me I could be happy.” As she spoke, the tears vanished, the laugh died, and her voice became rigid. She turned slowly, glaring at him from under her furrowed brows. “You said you would pull me out of the swamp I was drowning in. It’s easy for you now, just watching someone sink when you already knew they were in the swamp.”

“You’re selfish, Nadra,” the vampire said harshly. “Because I couldn’t pull you out, now you want us to drown in the same swamp together.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “You mean I’m just too romantic,” she said mockingly.

She began to walk backward, her eyes never leaving his. The vampire watched her, wary. This sudden calm, this acceptance of defeat, was not what he expected.

The witch took another step, then stopped, her expression resolute. She lifted her chin, looking past him to the black smoke rising from the now-ashing house, to the flames leaping to the garden trees, and finally, to the blood moon.

“You’re a coward, Orpen,” she said thoughtfully. Though her gaze was on the moon, his was on her. He had sharp ears; he would hear her, no matter how quietly she spoke. “You called it a revenge game, but this wasn’t revenge.” She finally lowered her eyes to him. “It just crossed my mind, you know, I didn’t want to leave it unsaid. I wanted to hurt someone today. You just seemed... available.” The witch laughed, and the vampire’s brow furrowed in unease.

There was something chilling about a witch’s laugh.

The witch sighed and began to inspect her long, sharp fingernails. “My nature is flawed, what can you do? Sometimes I just want to kill.”

“What are you talking about, Nadra? Have you lost your mind?” the vampire finally exploded.

She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “This is the last time you’ll see me,my love,” she said. “Your dreams are coming true. But I want my dreams to come true, too.”

She raised a finger to the moon, bouncing on her heels with joy. This was the image he was used to seeing.

“Look,” the witch said, staring at the sky with a rapt expression. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

The vampire didn’t bother to lift his head. He just kept staring at her, trying to make sense of it.

The witch lowered her head, her attention fixed on him. Her eyes weren’t smiling anymore; they were empty, as if she’d grown bored.

She slowly brought her raised hand to her chest, then took one step forward.

“I touched your soul, Orpen,” she said, her voice as soft as a prayer. “You don’t need to fear the swamps or those ruthless councils anymore. You may not have been able to protect me, but I will take care of you.”

The vampire took a step back, then shuddered. It felt as if someone was looking out from inside him. He couldn’t move his legs.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice high-pitched.

The woman calmly closed her eyes. Her lips moved.

She was whispering.

The tongue was ancient.

The wind suddenly changed direction.

“Erua animam eius sub luna sanguinea.”

Moonlight began to pool around her. The wind howled, a great wave of power whipping her hair. The earth beneath her feet began to tremble. She opened her eyes and looked at her lover.

For someone who had just been boasting about his species, he looked utterly pathetic. This stroked the witch’s pride, causing her lips to curl into a warm smile. The feeling of satisfaction was so intense that she had to grin, baring her teeth.

It was a crude gesture. After all, before her was a vampire who would now writhe in an eternal, dark void. Orpen would never die; he would wander forever, his soul ripped from his body. No one would see, hear, or feel him.

Only she would know.

“You don’t want to die,” the witch began. Orpen’s physical body lay on the ground like a corpse, but Nadra could feel his soul. It was still here. “Now, no one will kill you unless I wish it.” She bowed her head, smiling to herself. “I have cursed you. No shadow will hide you. Blood will not heal you. Nightmares will pour from your eyes when you sleep. And every second your heart beats, it will belong to me.”

She moved slowly toward his prone body. She could feel Orpen’s struggling soul inside her head. She would never tell him this, not until the day she died, but when he suffered—and he would suffer for eternity—Nadra would feel his pain, too.

She bent down and stroked the locks of hair from her lover’s forehead. “No one can kill you unless I wish it,” she said, her voice flat. “I don’t want you to die. But I am content for you to die every day.”

Burning his house wasn’t the revenge game. A witch’s revenge could never be that simple.This was the real revenge. This was the game. Now, she had taught him.

In the middle of the swamp, three Palurste watched it all unfold. Their long, black hair fell over their white dresses, reaching their hips, before they glided away and vanished into the marsh. The whispers in the forest grew louder, rising, until finally, as if from a single mouth, they continued to sing the same words until the dawn.

“The one whose blood is split in two, who unites the magic with the moon, shall spark the ancient war anew.”