Over at her blog, Prophecy Of The Sisters author Michelle Zink hosts a thing called Thursday Night Write where she posts something – an image, a song maybe – and then we have to write for a set amount of time whatever is inspired by that image.
What came out of her latest Thursday Night Write was this, a short piece from the long history of Athanasios, a character mentioned repeatedly in Blood Bound, but doesn’t actually appear until the sequel.
Not that this story is from Athanasios’s POV, of course.
He clutched the make-shift stake so hard splinters embedded themselves in his skin. His other hand was empty, held over his heart as if to keep it from bursting in fear. His lips moved in silent prayer as he tried to quietly make his way down the streets. His shoes made a shuffling sound against the stones; the sound was as deafening as the blood pounding in his ears.
Blood. That was what they wanted.
Blood. That was why they had to be stopped.
Something moved in the corner of his vision. A door opened, and a shadow appeared. Then the shadow became a man – the man he was seeking. The man who came into town, strange little boy in tow, and never left his room during the day. He was pale, and the maid reported that he was cold, and he never came to church.
While the maid never officially mentioned the bite marks on her neck he knew that was what she was hiding. That was the confirmation he had needed.
And that was why the hunted was now stalking the hunter.
The monster saw him, smiled… then turned and walked back into the house. He made a point of leaving the door open. An invitation.
He could not pass up such an invitation. Perhaps if he had not been so eager to slay the monster he would have wondered why it would have let him get this far, and so easily. But instead all his thoughts were consumed with the deed he would have to do, and the rewards he would reap after.
The monster would not touch her again. And she would be so grateful to her hero. How could she not love him after that?
Inside the room was like a tomb, even more silent than the streets outside. It was just him, the monster and the strange little boy.
The child was the first to speak. Its accent was odd, and the language one he did not hear outside of church – he knew enough of it to understand what the boy was saying. “Father.” It was the whine of an impatient child, a child told to wait by a parent. The boy looked… hungry.
The monster placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, then nodded at the one who had come to kill him. “It seems you know what we are. I had hoped that we would leave without it having to come to this. The dead always make a mess of things.”
“Abomination!” he spat, raising the stake with both hands. He almost looked like a threat.
“You really should not have come alone,” the monster said after a moment’s consideration. “You really should not have come at all. But I suppose that cannot be helped now.”
“Father,” whined the child again. “I am hungry.” He fidgeted under the monster’s firm hold.
“Well, at least it is a good thing you are here now. A man has to feed his child one way or another.” He let go of the boy.
The boy smiled, revealing two long fangs.
The man merely sighed. After all, what good would screaming do?