Page 9 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

This time I obeyed.

Spinning on my heel, I took off, fleeing from him like a doe from a ravenous wolf. My boots echoed unevenly against the cobblestones as I hurtled into the connecting alley, sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me in the direction of the castle. The staccato of heavy footsteps behind me warned me that he was on my heels. When I glanced over my shoulder, I regretted it instantly.

Ewan’s movements jolted violently as if he were a marionette dangling from a string, and his hand was still raised, the blade aimed at me. I splashed through a puddle and snapped my head forward, but he was faster. His fingers curled around the tail of my cloak, hauling me backward. I hit the ground like a sack of grain, my skull smacking against the cobblestones so hard that the impact echoed through the alley. I wheezed, struggling to sit up.

Ewan leered over me, his weapon outstretched.

“Help!” I screamed into the empty alley.

No one answered.

I scrambled backward, desperately trying to put as much distance between us as I could. “Ewan,” I pleaded as he advanced, “stop.”

For the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered and his grip on the blade slackened.

Then he lunged, slicing the blade through the air in an arc. I rolled away, avoiding him narrowly. I aimed my foot wildly into the space above me, and a grunt escaped him as it landed squarely in his stomach. He careened backward.

My power surged through me then, erupting in a burst of air that shoved Ewan down onto the ground with unseen hands. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, staggering forward with his arms outstretched. My vision blurred as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, his hot, wet breath putrid in my face.

But I refused to die today.

I fought him like a fox caught in a trap, clawing and kicking at anything I could get my hands on. My ears rang as he slapped me across the face, stunning me. Taking advantage of the split second that I stopped struggling, he lunged again, this time aiming for my heart.

But the blow didn’t land. Instead, a sickening squelch echoed through the alley … shortly before I was splattered with warm blood.

My stomach heaved as I found myself eye to eye with a hand clutching what I could only imagine were the remains of Ewan’s throat. My gaze flicked to Ewan, finding his eyes glazed over. He gurgled, releasing a further spray of blood and spittle into my face just before his body slumped, sinew snapping as he hit the ground beside me.

The coppery scent of death was nearly suffocating as blood seeped out of the lifeless body and onto the cobblestones. Shock paralyzed me, leaving me unable to even scream. A voice sounded above my head, its words barely discernible over the deafening pulse in my ears. “Are you hurt?”

I raised my chin slowly, choking down bile. Above me stood another hooded figure. He uncurled his fingers, letting the remains of Ewan’s throat fall to the ground. I watched, voiceless, as he plucked a handkerchief from his lapel to mop blood and sinew from his ivory skin. The figure was tall and muscular, with jet-black hair that fell like a waterfall over his broad shoulders. My eyes traced the sharp lines of his cheekbones to eyes that glittered like freshly mined obsidian.

“I know you,” I croaked.

“Are you hurt?” he repeated.

He let the once-white cloth fall as he stooped, his hood pulling away from his angular face. If I had any sense at all, I would’ve cast my eyes downward like an obedient servant.

And yet, I couldn’t look away.

“You have nothing to fear,” he said gently, as if he hadn’t held nearly a quarter of Ewan’s spine in his grasp a few moments ago. “What is your name?”

It took all my effort to speak, like my tongue had been locked away behind my teeth and the key thrown away. “Finwal,” I whispered. “Finn.”

“Do you remember what happened tonight, Finn?” he asked. The rich timbre of his voice was remarkably soothing.

My eyes drifted to the carnage at our feet. I wouldn’t forget this in a hurry. “He came out of nowhere,” was all I could manage. I inhaled sharply as my rescuer’s cold fingers swept under my chin, dragging my gaze back to him. It was as if he held a block of ice in his palm, and the cold seeped into my skin with his touch. His eyes were impossibly dark, like the pools at the bottom of a cave.

“Do you know this man?” the vampire asked.

“I know him.” I paused, glancing with a shudder at the corpse that lay before me. “I knew him.”

“Who was he?” he pressed. Who was he? He was Ewan. A sweet boy from the Lakes Region who made me laugh. A man with whom I had lain but refused to let into my heart. A friend, more than anything.

“His name is Ewan,” I said finally. “He’s Caleb Brummings’s apprentice.”

“The blacksmith?”

I nodded wordlessly.