BLOODBOUND HEARTS

The last light of evening was fading behind the hills when Alara stepped through the door of her family's small cottage, carrying an empty wicker basket.

The village of Bellmere was quiet at this hour.

Most of the villagers had already returned home from the day's work, and thin trails of smoke curled from chimneys into the cool evening air. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before falling silent.

Alara pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"Don't be long," her mother called from inside.

"I won't."

She turned back toward the cottage.

Her mother stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a linen cloth. There was a tiredness in her face that Alara had become accustomed to seeing over the years. Being the village healer meant there was rarely a day when her mother truly rested.

"We're nearly out of moonwort," her mother said. "I need enough to prepare the fever tonic for Mrs. Vale."

Alara nodded.

"I'll get it."

Her mother frowned.

"The forest?"

"The moonwort grows near the eastern stream."

"It's getting dark."

"I know."

"Alara."

She smiled.

"I'll be back before you have time to worry."

Her mother did not smile back.

For a moment, she simply stared at her daughter.

There was something strange in her expression. Something almost like fear.

Then it disappeared.

"Stay on the path," she said quietly. "And don't go deeper into the forest."

"I won't."

"And if the sun sets before you return-"

"I'll come straight home."

Her mother hesitated.

"Promise me."

Alara's smile softened.

"I promise."

She turned toward the forest.

The basket swung gently from her hand as she walked.

She had made the journey countless times before. The forest had never frightened her. It was simply another part of her life, like the herb garden behind their cottage or the shelves of dried plants lining her mother's little apothecary.

Still, tonight felt different.

Perhaps it was the silence.

The deeper she walked beneath the trees, the quieter the world became.

The sounds of the village disappeared first.

Then the birds.

Then even the wind seemed to vanish.

Alara slowed.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing.

She looked ahead.

The narrow path continued between the trees, washed in the pale silver light of the rising moon.

"Just moonwort," she whispered to herself.

She continued walking.

It took another ten minutes before she reached the stream.

Moonwort grew along its banks, its small pale leaves almost glowing beneath the moonlight.

Alara knelt and began gathering the herbs carefully.

One.

Two.

Three.

She smiled when she saw how much had grown since her last visit.

Her mother would be pleased.

She reached for another stem.

Then she heard it.

A sound.

Alara froze.

It had been faint.

Almost nothing.

She listened.

There it was again.

A low, uneven sound.

Breathing.

Someone was breathing nearby.

She slowly stood.

Her fingers tightened around the basket.

"Hello?"

No answer.

She should have left.

Her mother's warning echoed in her mind.

Stay on the path.

Don't go deeper.

But then she heard the breathing again.

It sounded painful.

Someone was hurt.

Alara set her basket down.

She followed the sound.

The trees grew thicker as she moved farther from the stream. Branches caught against her dress, and fallen leaves crunched beneath her shoes.

Then she saw him.

A man was sitting beneath an enormous oak tree.

At first, Alara thought he was dead.

He was completely still.

His dark clothes were torn and stained with blood. One hand rested against his side, pressed firmly against what appeared to be a deep wound.

Alara stopped.

She had never seen anyone dressed so finely.

Even covered in dirt and blood, there was something unmistakably refined about him.

He looked like a nobleman.

Perhaps even a lord.

But there was something else.

Something she couldn't explain.

The stranger seemed entirely out of place in the forest.

Alara took one cautious step toward him.

His head lifted.

And his eyes opened.

Alara forgot how to breathe.

They were blue.

Not the soft blue of a summer sky.

They were pale and cold, almost silver beneath the moonlight.

His gaze fixed upon her.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then the stranger's voice broke the silence.

"Leave."

It was low.

Deep.

And unmistakably commanding.

Alara swallowed.

"You are injured."

"I said leave."

She should have listened.

Any sensible person would have.

But Alara had spent her entire life watching her mother help people who were sick, wounded, frightened, and dying.

She couldn't simply walk away.

She stepped closer.

"I can help you."

Something changed in his expression.

Not gratitude.

Not relief.

Fear.

It was gone almost immediately, replaced by something colder.

"You cannot help me."

Alara frowned.

"You're bleeding."

"I am aware."

"Then allow me to look at the wound."

The stranger stared at her as though she had just said something absurd.

"You should be afraid of me."

Alara's heart began beating faster.

Perhaps she should have been.

There was something frightening about him.

Not merely his size or his voice.

It was the way he looked at her.

As though he could see straight through her.

Still, she forced herself to remain calm.

"I don't know who you are," she said softly. "But you're hurt."

His eyes narrowed.

"And you are remarkably foolish."

"Perhaps."

For the first time, something almost like amusement flickered across his face.

It vanished before she could be certain she'd seen it.

Alara slowly crouched beside him.

The stranger tensed.

"Don't."

"I need to see the wound."

"You need to leave."

"And you need a healer."

"I don't need anything."

Alara looked at the blood staining his fingers.

"That is clearly not true."

Silence.

Then, unexpectedly, he allowed his hand to fall away from his side.

Alara leaned closer.

The wound was terrible.

Far worse than she'd first thought.

She had treated broken bones, deep cuts, burns, and infected wounds beside her mother.

But she had never seen anything like this.

The edges of the wound were dark.

Almost black.

And yet there was something stranger still.

The blood wasn't flowing as it should.

It was as though his body was fighting desperately to heal itself.

Alara reached into the small pouch attached to her belt and pulled out a strip of clean cloth.

"I can stop the bleeding."

His eyes remained fixed on her.

"You should not touch me."

"Why?"

He didn't answer.

Alara pressed the cloth gently against his wound.

The moment her fingers touched his skin, the stranger went completely still.

His eyes widened.

Alara felt it too.

A strange warmth passed through her fingertips.

The bleeding stopped.

She blinked.

The stranger looked down at his wound.

Then back at her.

For the first time since she had found him, he looked genuinely shocked.

"What are you?" he whispered.

Alara stared at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

He didn't answer.

His gaze had dropped to her hand.

To the tiny cut across her finger where one of the herbs had sliced her skin earlier.

A single bead of blood appeared.

The stranger's pupils widened.

His expression changed.

And suddenly, Alara was afraid.

Not because of his wound.

Not because of the forest.

But because she realized that the man beneath the tree had stopped looking at her like a stranger.

He was looking at her like something he had been searching for.

Something he had never expected to find.

And somewhere deep within the forest, a wolf began to howl.

The wolf howled again.

Alara's entire body went still.

The sound seemed to travel through the trees, low and mournful, before disappearing into the darkness.

She looked toward the forest.

Something moved between the trees.

She couldn't see what it was.

But she knew they were no longer alone.

The stranger beneath the oak seemed to sense it too.

His expression changed instantly.

The cold amusement disappeared from his face.

"Get up."

Alara looked at him.

"What?"

"Get up."

His voice was quieter this time, but somehow more frightening.

Alara slowly rose to her feet.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he pushed himself upright.

Alara immediately reached for his arm.

"You shouldn't move. You're badly wounded."

He looked down at her hand.

Then at her.

"Do you ever listen?"

"Not when people are bleeding to death."

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, to her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted.

Barely.

It wasn't quite a smile.

But it was the first sign that there was something human beneath his terrifying exterior.

"You're troublesome."

"So I've been told."

Another sound came from the trees.

Closer this time.

Alara's fingers tightened around his arm.

The stranger looked toward the darkness.

"We need to leave."

"Can you walk?"

"I can do more than walk."

Before Alara could ask what that meant, he stepped away from the tree.

He nearly stumbled.

Alara caught him.

His body was strangely cold beneath her fingers.

Not cool from the night air.

Cold.

Like ice.

She frowned.

"You have a fever."

"No."

"Then why are you freezing?"

His eyes flickered toward hers.

"Because I am not like you."

Alara didn't understand.

Before she could ask, a branch snapped somewhere behind them.

She turned.

Nothing.

"Who's there?"

The stranger moved so quickly that Alara barely saw him.

One moment he was standing beside her.

The next, he was in front of her.

His body shielded hers completely.

"Stay behind me."

Alara stared at his back.

Something about the way he'd said it made her obey.

The forest became silent again.

Then a low growl echoed through the trees.

Alara's heart hammered against her ribs.

A pair of pale eyes appeared in the darkness.

Then another.

And another.

Wolves.

Several of them.

They emerged slowly from between the trees, their bodies low to the ground.

Alara stepped backward.

The stranger didn't move.

The largest wolf stepped forward.

Its lips curled back, revealing sharp teeth.

Alara's breath caught.

"Run," the stranger said.

She looked at him.

"What?"

"Run."

"But you-"

"Alara."

She froze.

He had said her name.

She had never told him.

Her blood turned cold.

"How do you know my name?"

His expression remained unreadable.

"Run."

The wolves lunged.

Alara screamed.

But the stranger moved first.

He caught the largest wolf by the throat.

There was a blur of movement.

A terrible sound.

Then the animal was thrown several feet through the air.

Alara stood frozen.

The stranger turned toward the others.

And then Alara saw something she would remember for the rest of her life.

His eyes were no longer blue.

They were red.

Brilliant, unnatural red.

His teeth had changed too.

Two sharp fangs rested against his lower lip.

Alara couldn't breathe.

The stories.

The old stories her mother had told her when she was a child.

Stories about creatures that lived beyond the villages.

Creatures that walked among men.

Creatures that drank blood.

Vampires.

The stranger looked back at her.

He saw the realization in her eyes.

"Now," he said quietly, "you may be afraid."

Alara stumbled backward.

"No."

The word escaped her before she could stop it.

The stranger's expression hardened.

"You should go."

She couldn't move.

He was a vampire.

A real vampire.

And she had been touching him.

She had treated his wound.

She had-

Something crashed through the trees.

The vampire turned.

Three wolves rushed toward him at once.

He disappeared.

Alara gasped.

He was suddenly behind them.

One wolf was thrown against a tree.

Another fell before it could turn.

The third fled into the darkness.

The vampire stood motionless.

His chest rose and fell.

Then his eyes slowly returned to blue.

Alara stared at him.

He turned toward her.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

He took one step closer.

She stepped back.

He stopped.

Something flashed across his face.

Pain.

Or perhaps disappointment.

Alara couldn't tell.

"You should leave," he said.

This time, she listened.

She grabbed her basket from the ground and turned toward the path.

She took only three steps before dizziness swept over her.

She reached for a tree.

The world tilted.

The vampire caught her before she fell.

His arms wrapped around her waist.

Alara looked up.

Those blue eyes were staring down at her.

She could hear his heartbeat.

Slow.

Far too slow.

"You are pale," he murmured.

"I am fine."

"You are lying."

"I don't think you have the right to accuse me of lying."

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

Even now, she had enough courage to argue with him.

He almost smiled again.

Then his gaze dropped.

There was blood on her hand.

The small cut from earlier had opened again.

A single crimson line ran down her finger.

The vampire went completely still.

Alara noticed.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer.

His eyes were fixed on the blood.

Something dark passed through his expression.

Hunger.

It was unmistakable.

His grip around her tightened for half a second before he released her.

"Go home."

His voice was different now.

Strained.

Alara stepped away.

"Are you all right?"

"Go."

She hesitated.

Then she nodded.

She turned and hurried toward the path.

She didn't see him watching her.

She didn't see the way his jaw tightened as he fought against an instinct he had spent centuries mastering.

And she didn't see him reach down and touch the place on his side where her blood had stopped his wound.

The injury was almost completely healed.

Impossible.

His gaze followed the path where she had disappeared.

Alara.

He had heard the name before.

But never attached to her.

Never attached to that face.

Never attached to that blood.

A distant bell began ringing from somewhere beyond the forest.

One.

Two.

Three times.

The vampire's expression hardened.

They were looking for him.

His guards.

His kingdom.

His people.

His hand closed into a fist.

He should return.

He should forget the girl.

He should never see her again.

Instead, he looked toward the path.

For the first time in centuries, the king of the vampires found himself wanting something he could not explain.

And somewhere far away, beneath the roof of a small cottage, Alara's mother suddenly dropped the cup she was holding.

It shattered across the floor.

She stood perfectly still.

Her face had gone white.

Because she had felt it.

Something had changed.

And deep inside her heart, she knew exactly what it meant.

They had found her daughter.

Alara did not stop running until she saw the warm glow of the village lights.

Her breathing came in short, frightened bursts as she hurried along the familiar path, clutching her basket against her chest.

She had left the moonwort behind.

She had left the stranger behind.

The vampire.

The thought made her stomach twist.

She could still see his eyes.

Blue at first.

Then red.

She reached the cottage and pushed the door open.

"Mother?"

Silence.

Alara shut the door behind her.

"Mother?"

Her mother appeared from the adjoining room.

The moment she saw Alara, the color drained from her face.

"You came back."

Alara frowned.

"Of course I came back."

Her mother's eyes moved quickly over her daughter.

Her face.

Her arms.

Her dress.

Her hands.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Her mother stepped closer and took Alara's hands.

Her fingers trembled.

"Where were you?"

"The forest."

"I know you were in the forest."

Something in her mother's voice made Alara pause.

Her mother released her hands.

"You're late."

Alara stared at her.

"Mother, I found someone."

Her mother's expression changed.

"Who?"

"A man."

The silence that followed was so complete that Alara could hear the fire crackling in the hearth.

"He was injured," she continued. "Very badly."

Her mother looked away.

"What did he look like?"

Alara hesitated.

"Dark hair."

Her mother's breathing changed.

"Blue eyes."

The cloth in her mother's hand slipped to the floor.

"Mother?"

"Did he tell you his name?"

"No."

"Did he touch you?"

Alara thought of his arms catching her when she nearly fell.

"Yes."

Her mother closed her eyes.

"Did you give him your blood?"

"What?"

"Alara."

"I cut my finger gathering the herbs."

Her mother's face went pale.

"But I didn't give him anything."

Her mother turned toward the fireplace.

"Thank God."

Alara's confusion grew.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

Her mother looked back at her.

For the first time in Alara's life, she saw something in her mother's eyes that she had never seen before.

Fear.

Not ordinary fear.

Terror.

"Mother," Alara whispered, "who was that man?"

Her mother didn't answer.

Alara stepped closer.

"Was he a vampire?"

Her mother flinched.

That was answer enough.

Alara's heart began to race.

"They're real."

Her mother remained silent.

"I thought they were stories."

"They are not stories."

"Then why have you never told me?"

"Because I wanted you safe."

Alara stared at her.

"Safe from what?"

Her mother looked toward the window.

Outside, the village was quiet.

Too quiet.

"From them." her mother said.

"Why would they care about me?"

Her mother swallowed.

"They shouldn't."

The words were barely audible.

Alara felt a chill run through her.

"What does that mean?"

Her mother walked toward the door and locked it.

Then she checked the windows.

She pulled the curtains closed.

Alara watched her in silence.

"Mother."

Her mother finally turned.

"There are things about our family that you don't know."

Alara's heart sank.

"What things?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because knowing them could put you in danger."

"But I'm already in danger."

Her mother looked at her.

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

For a moment, her mother looked as though she might speak.

Instead, she crossed the room and pulled Alara into her arms.

It was such an unexpected gesture that Alara froze.

Her mother rarely hugged her.

Not because she wasn't loving.

She simply wasn't a woman who expressed affection easily.

Now she held Alara as though she were afraid to let go.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

Alara's eyes filled with tears.

"Why are you apologizing?"

Her mother didn't answer.

A sound came from outside.

Three slow knocks.

Alara pulled away.

Her mother froze.

They looked at the door.

Another knock.

Alara's heart pounded.

"Who is it?"

Her mother grabbed her wrist.

"Don't."

The knock came again.

Three times.

Slow.

Patient.

Her mother moved toward the window and carefully lifted the curtain.

She looked outside.

Then she stepped backward.

"What is it?"

Her mother's face had gone white.

"There is no one there."

Alara stared at the door.

Neither of them moved.

Finally, after several minutes, her mother unlocked it.

The village street was empty.

Only the cold night remained.

But something had been left on the doorstep.

A black rose.

Alara stared at it.

Her mother did not move.

"What does it mean?"

Her mother whispered the words so quietly that Alara almost didn't hear them.

"It means he knows."

"Who?"

Her mother closed her eyes.

"The king."

Alara's blood ran cold.

She looked toward the dark forest.

The stranger's face appeared in her mind.

His icy eyes.

His red gaze.

His voice telling her to run.

She had thought she had left him behind.

But somehow, she knew that was not true.

The stranger had found her.

And now, whatever secret her family had spent decades hiding was no longer hidden.

Somewhere beyond the village, something was coming.

And Alara's mother knew exactly what it was.