The Frozen Moon - By J.D. Swinn Page 0,18
vampire’s face. The creature had hair black as night, and the matching eyes that all of his kind possessed.
The creature, she knew, felt nothing but fear for self-preservation. She knew the toll this fight would take on her weak body, only seconds ago snatched from death’s eager claws, but she cared for none of that. The sword she had picked up already in hand, she closed the gap between them with terrifying speed. The move the monster made for her neck was futile and nearly pitiful – nearly. The vampire had scarcely moved before her sword had plunged through its still chest, and its expression transformed into one of pure, vicious malice. Nameh’s only thought resounded as a wish that the monster could feel real emotion, that it could suffer a greater pain while writhing on the ground. She tried to control her rampant thoughts and aggravated desires, but could not. There was a vampire-like blood lust swelling within her. It died with a shriek, and she pushed the sword harder into it until every last breath the monster had drawn was forced out in the scream. Blood covered her hands, pouring out from the force of the blow, not a beating heart like a human; it was striking and terribly black. She took all of its energy, reclaiming what had been taken from her, the cruelty she felt was unfamiliar and comfortable all in one moment. Its lifeless eyes – though they had technically already been dead, she thought – stared up at the ceiling, dazed and unfocused. Her seemingly unquenchable thirst for cold revenge had been satiated.
The glimmer she saw at its chest brought her back to reality, a reminder of the world she had been away from for a time. She ripped the medallion from the carcass of the creature. The medal was small, cold, and foreign feeling; not a natural metal, for they could not bear most pure metals, but one created by magic. She carefully tucked it into the sheath to her dagger, now absent. For a moment, she panicked, where was it? A flood of relief greeted her as she realized she had given the knife to Cal. The relief drained from her as fast as it had come, like the blood stolen from her. She didn’t see Cal.
It wasn’t as though he was a child, as if he couldn’t take care of himself, so why was she suddenly panicked? He had clearly been trained well, for despite his lack of real experience, he had fought skillfully earlier. She took a breath to steady her breathing, silencing emotion as usual. When had she last seen him? Right before she was attacked, she concluded. What had happened to him after that? In the short time she had known him; she hadn’t taken him for one that would abandon her when she needed aid. These abnormalities in her thoughts were mildly concerning. Her usual detached calm was now mingled with feelings of…fear? Fear was not something that was often prevalent, but when others were involved, she began to be concerned.
She wiped the blood off of her sword; there was now a certain darkness to it, strange and foreign though it was her own, as if it were now tainted. Around her, bodies still ebbed and flowed in the seemingly endless and savage dance of battle. Screams hung in the air, thickening it so that one had to struggle to draw a breath into heavy lungs. The fact that she was nearly dead, maybe still dying was barely an inkling in her head. It was not only Cal missing. Mira, Max, Wyd, Talar, Seth, Cal, Gwen, Eve. How many of their faces had she seen for the last time full of life? No, she thought, she would not let a single one of them slip through her fingers; they all deserved better. Even if it killed her.
She cut through the crowd easily, even in her weakened state; slicing through opposition that hung like foliage in a forest. She tried to sense them one by one, but the magic here was too thick, and her mind too clouded with that blasted emotion. Her heart was beating faster, thumping at the inside of her ears. She searched faces, but found none that were familiar, and continued on. Seth was the one she sighted first, his strong, sharp features ablaze with intensity. He plunged through a pixie to his right before turning his eyes on her, his relief as clear