《From The Corpses of Babes》 Chapter One There was potential in the lives of infants. Energy there for the taking. That lifeblood flowed into Harrison as he slit the infant¡¯s throat, his last cry waning into the night. His body did not have the means to process it properly. Perhaps it was the fact that his heart had stopped beating long ago. Or, it could be the universe¡¯s way of declaring the wrongness of his actions. Neither mattered, only that what should have been a lifetime of potential only could sustain him for a short while. The last of the blood leached from the child¡¯s body, trickling between his fingers and vanishing before it hit the ground. He cradled the near weightless form to his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm, carrying it away from the quiet house. There was no reason its parents needed to find its corpse in the morning. No parent should awake to find their child dead. Missing was bad, but it would be a mercy. Perhaps they would think the fae had taken their child, or some other fantastical creature. They could have that belief. Not Harrison. He knew monsters didn¡¯t steal children, only men did. In a secluded copse of trees, surrounded by night flowers and veils of vines that tangled around the legs, Harrison laid the child down to rest. He tucked the small body into the leaves, caressing the side of its face. For a moment, he could feel the blood warm skin and shallow, soothing breaths, and could imagine himself to be standing over his Arabelle. Then the memory faded, and the cold returned. He turned away from the child, whispering a prayer for peace as he slinked through the night. He offered up a prayer for the child to find rest, as he¡¯d prayed over his own child, crying out to God in despair. The same prayer now propelled his dead body through the world, on the energy of murdered children. His heels dragged against the ground, every step coming with a weight and at the same time, a momentum he could not stop. He longed to lay down and rest, but he could not. He had one more man to kill. ***** The man was not hard to find, but he was hard to access, especially as a corpse. Even if Harrison did not look especially dead, there was an uncanny grayness to his skin and a levity to his steps that even the depressed living couldn¡¯t match. He pulled a cloak from a washing line as he walked into town, donning it before splitting between two houses to enter onto the main street. The cloak curled around his frame and over the peak of his balding head, the hair coming out in patches. If he¡¯d been better with this power, he would be able to keep his body looking natural. Unblemished.Stolen story; please report. But he didn¡¯t want to be good with this power. He didn¡¯t even want to know this power existed. In the light of day, he was an oddity, but the town was crowded enough he was able to slip by with little notice. If anyone did, it was more likely they¡¯d think he was a victim of pox or a curse. Tension strung high through the town, every movement wound tight. Women walked together in clumps, children clutched tightly in their grasp, knuckles going white around thin limbs. With a sigh that only brought his heels weighing harder into the soft earth, Harrison knew they must have heard. The tension of the town getting to him, Harrison stepped with heavy feet into a local tavern, the buzz of conversation hitting his ears the moment the doors opened. If there was anywhere he could learn what was happening in town without looking suspicious, it would be here. Liquor left the wooden floor tacky, stale beer and the scent of day old bile stinging the air. Evidently, Harrison hadn¡¯t chosen a reputable tavern. Or perhaps, reputable for all the wrong reasons. As he expected, news of his crimes reached his ears as he sat down at the bar, head tilted toward the conversation. ¡°...the babe was found outside Yjorm,¡± a man whispered, breaking only for a long draw of his beer. ¡°Completely dried up.¡± ¡°Dried up?¡± Harrison winced, covering up the motion as he flagged for the bartender. ¡°Like a husk! You¡¯d think it¡¯d been lying out there years, not two nights.¡± So it wasn¡¯t his victim from the night before. He¡¯d need to be careful, but Yjorm was far enough away he should be distant enough to avoid suspicion. ¡°Fae,¡± the speaker¡¯s companion spat. A weight shifted off Harrison¡¯s shoulders, hand sliding easily across the wooden bartop for his mug. They suspected the fae. ¡°Dunno, Merk. It¡¯s awful odd for fae action. It¡¯s gotta be something else.¡± ¡°What else is there?¡± the man scoffed. ¡°Something bad.¡± He stared into the dregs of his cup for a long moment, silent stretching before he chugged the rest. He slammed the mug to the counter, looking around for the barkeep, only for his eyes to land on Harrison. Harrison froze. He hadn¡¯t meant to stare. Blinking slowly, Harrison took his untouched mug and slid it down to the man. ¡°Here.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°You know something?¡± Harrison only hesitated for a moment before nodding. It was the truth, and that obscured more than any lie. ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Tell us.¡± ¡°It took my daughter,¡± he said, wishing now he hadn¡¯t given away his drink. He glanced around for the barkeeper, off taking orders in the corner of the room, before turning back to the watching man. ¡°Been hunting him ever since.¡± The suspicion faded from the man¡¯s face, and he looked at the mug regretfully. ¡°Sounds like you need this more than me, then.¡± ¡°Keep it,¡± Harrison said, throat dry. ¡°I should keep a level head.¡± ¡°I hope you find it, friend,¡± he said, tipping back his drink at Harrison. ¡°Bring it to an end for all of us.¡± ¡°That I will do,¡± he promised. Chapter Two The two men drifted away from the bar, leaving Harrison alone. He slumped against the bartop, wishing he could exhale, instead of constantly feeling like he was stuck between breaths. Before he had a chance to appreciate his relief, another form slid onto the stool beside him. He kept his eyes trained on the bar, avoiding making the same mistake as before. The figure cleared their voice. Curse me, Harrison thought, dread seeping in like a cold draft in the night. They¡¯re here for me. He turned around slowly, face peeking from beneath the hood of his stolen cloak. A woman sat beside him on a bar stool, anger woven across her brow. Tension caught in his chest, but nothing flared in her eyes when he met her gaze. The anger was more a fixture on a wall than an arrow aimed at him, for now. ¡°You know about the deaths?¡± He stared at her silently before nodding his head. There was only one type of death anyone spoke about recently. ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Tell me everything you know.¡± It wasn¡¯t a request. She made the demand, staring at him with barely contained fury behind her eyes, white knuckles wrapped around the hilt of a blade. No, not a blade, a kitchen knife. Mothers. He turned away from her. ¡°No.¡± Motion, and then a knife inches from his throat, a hand balled in the fabric of his cloak. His hood fell back, revealing a balding head of hair. Molars ground against each other so hard he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they cracked. I should never have opened my mouth. His eyes remained trained on the knife, remaining unnaturally still under her grip. If she cut him, even accidentally, his ruse would be up. Dead men didn¡¯t bleed. ¡°Woah, woah.¡± The bartender scurried over, the murmur of conversation throughout the room dying out as all eyes turned to the disturbance at the bar. ¡°No need for any of that.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The woman ignored him. Her eyes bore into Harrison, unwavering even as a slight tremor began in her hand. ¡°Tell me what you know,¡± she said. ¡°I heard you tell those men. Why not me?¡± ¡°Go home,¡± he said, his voice low. The last thing he needed was a grieving mother on his tail. ¡°Go back to your family.¡± Her lip curled back, something nasty coming to her tongue. ¡°What family?¡± she spat. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything anymore.¡± Harrison kicked out, striking her in the stomach and sending her stumbling back, forcing her to catch herself against the bar. The stool behind her clattered to the floor. ¡°Good thing you have the tools to make more.¡± He stood briskly, knocking his own stool back. He righted it and stomped out of the bar, leaving the woman behind. She, of course, followed him out. Once outside the bar, no one cared that she was coming after him with a knife, her face now red with anger. ¡°You have the tools to make more too,¡± she spat, waving the knife at his crotch. Despite the fact that it no longer worked, he winced out of instinct. ¡°Does that mean your child¡¯s death doesn¡¯t matter?¡± He stopped, turning in place to stare at the woman, leaving space between them in case she decided to stab him this time. ¡°My wife is dead.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked.¡± She took a step closer, lowering the knife. ¡°I need you to tell me what you know, because I¡¯m going to kill the man who took my child.¡± The cold set in, a roaring winter storm in his brain. So cold, a storm that locked him into the corpse of a house as a blizzard roared outside. A body, shriveled and curled in on itself, alone as he dragged his dying body across the floor toward it. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said, the chill creeping into his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll handle that.¡± As he watched her countenance harden, he knew she would not be so easily dissuaded. He would either have to kill her, evade her, or allow her to join. Thus far, she¡¯d been difficult to avoid, and killing a grown woman would be far more trouble than he wanted. She could fight back, and hiding a body that large would be an issue, especially considering people had already seen them interacting. If her body turned up, the first person they would look toward was him. He couldn¡¯t afford that. He turned on her, advancing with such speed she took half a step back as he towered over her. ¡°Why should I let you join me?¡± he demanded, voice as terrible as a thunderclap. ¡°Because my son is dead,¡± she said, pointing the knife at him like an accusing finger. ¡°And I¡¯m going to find the monster who did this, even if it means I have to go through you first. Or would could help each other and make sure the job gets done.¡± He stared at her, meeting the woman¡¯s unwavering gaze. None of this was part of the plan. This town wasn¡¯t his final stop, just a village he had to move through to reach the man who¡¯d ruined his life. No one was supposed to notice him, much less remember. No one was ever supposed to know this story. ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± ¡°What?¡± she blinked. ¡°What was his name?¡± Harrison repeated. ¡°Elijah.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s yours?¡± ¡°Rebekah.¡± ¡°Harrison,¡± he said, nodding at her. ¡°Keep up, or I will leave you behind.¡± Chapter Three The woman slowed him down. She didn¡¯t have supplies. She had to rest, breathe, eat. Worst of all, she asked questions. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Harrison stopped, eyes rolling so far back in his head he thought for a moment they might get stuck there. Lowering the cross bow to his side, he turned to face her. ¡°Clefton.¡± He nodded down the road, wagon tracks worn deep into the red clay. It was only the next town over, and he would have been there already and completed his task, if this woman hadn¡¯t attached herself to him. ¡°Clefton? But Clefton is a city,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Where would a monster hide?¡± ¡°I¡¯m assuming in a house,¡± Harrison said, dry as he turned back to the merchant. He handed over a handful of joins and took the crossbow and a stack of bolts, shoving them into Rebekah¡¯s arms. She let out a startled noise and stumbled backward, catching the load and managing not to drop a single bolt. ¡°A house.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a man,¡± Harrison said, meeting her level gaze. How could she be so blind that she couldn¡¯t see what he was, standing before her? How could she not see the blood on his hands, the gleaming blade at his waist, tucked into his belt. ¡°And he lives in Clefton.¡± Rebekah shook her head, feathers of dark hair falling free from the knot at the base of her skull. ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°He told me.¡± A knock sounded at the door. Harrison looked up, lantern light flickering across the page of the hand drawn picture book in his left hand. In his right, he held Arabelle against his chest, her tiny body trembling at every chorus of thunder. He rose, placing Arabelle gently on the floor atop a rug her mother had woven years before, and made his way to the door. ¡°He told you? You spoke to him?¡± Harrison opened the door, rain splattering his bare feet. A man stood before him on the doorstep, black cloak soaked to his frame. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a place to stay for the night,¡± the stranger said, clutching a hand to his side. His voice was strained, but behind it, Harrison could make out the deep timbre of a voice rich with command. Harrison glanced inside, looking at Arabelle sitting on the rug, staring up at him. He turned back to the stranger. ¡°Come in,¡± he said, opening the path inside. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Clyde Slate. Duke Clyde Slate.¡± ¡°Duke Clyde Slate?¡± Rebekah demanded, voice rising an octave. He looked back at her, frowning. ¡°You know that name?¡± he asked. ¡°Everyone knows that name,¡± Rebekah said, blinking at him. ¡°He¡¯s the seated protector of our land. He¡¯s not¡­ He can¡¯t be?¡± Uncertainty crept into her voice and lingered between them in the muted silence of booted feed on soft, damp earth. Harrison let the uncertainty linger, despite his own discomfort. The disbelief of a hero being the one to kill her child would ideally be enough to keep her suspicion away from him, even if it was a lie. Or, both a lie and not at the same time. Wood clunked against wood as Harrison dropped a bowl of soup in front of the man, no steam drifting from it. It had been put off the heat long ago enough now it was only a breath away from being truly cold, and the draft from the cottage¡¯s leaking windows wasn¡¯t helping. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Clyde, who¡¯d seemed shocked when Harrison didn¡¯t react to the name, pulled one hand from beneath his long cloak to eat. The other remained hidden in shadows, clutching at his side. When Harrison grabbed the lantern to move to the table, it reflected against something metallic and coated red. He placed the lantern on the table quickly and turned aside, hurrying back to his daughter. He crouched on the rug in front of her, blocking her from the man¡¯s view. The Duke¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t left her since he¡¯d walked through the door, one eye always on the baby, only barely old enough to sit on her own. Harrison swung the child up into his arms, holding her close, hair standing taught across his arms as though caught in a chill breeze. It was too cold in this room, he ought to lay her down for bed¡ª ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡± Harrison stopped, turning slowly on one heel to face the man once more. His ashen face met the light, something uncanny in the way he stared at Harrison. ¡°Arabelle.¡± ¡°Good name,¡± the Duke murmured, pulling eyes away for the first time and spinning his spoon through the cooling soup. ¡°I have a daughter of my own, not much older. Elisie.¡± ¡°Where is she?¡± Harrison asked, propriety demanding he respond to the comment against his better judgment. ¡°At home,¡± Clyde Slate said, words growing distant as he stared off through the dark window. ¡°With my wife. I¡¯m trying to get home to them.¡± He pulled the hand from beneath his cloak finally, and dripped dark, ichor blood onto Harrison¡¯s rug. Gears clicked into place as Harrison pulled back the trigger on Rebekah¡¯s crossbow, locking a bolt into place for her. She took the weapon and held it up, aiming at Harrison for half a second. He dodged out of the way, grabbing the barrel of the crossbow with a growl. ¡°Careful. That thing¡¯s loaded.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Rebekah said, lifting the weapon once more. She stared down the length of the crossbow, eyes narrow. ¡°Don¡¯t aim it at anyone you¡¯re not willing to kill.¡± ¡°I know,¡± she said again, grip tightening around the wooden grip. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill the man when he was inside your home?¡± Harrison grit his teeth together, hand falling to the rough metal hilt of his dagger. ¡°Because I¡¯d never killed before.¡± Cold. Harrison had never felt so cold, feeling himself freeze as he watched the blood seep into the rug. The last piece of weaving his wife had completed before her death. ¡°You¡¯re hurt.¡± It took him a moment to realize he spoke the words, the voice that of another man¡¯s. ¡°Had a bit of an accident,¡± Duke Clyde Slate said, rising from the kitchen chair. The movement pushed his cloak back, revealing his torso and leg soaked with dark blood, a dagger plunged into his side. ¡°The dark fae wanted my soul. Too bad, the knife only nicked it.¡± The adventurer¡¯s bloody hand wrapped around the wrought iron hilt, easing it a touch from his body. Blood oozed around the wound. ¡°I thought killing the fae would stop it, but it¡¯s still licking at my soul.¡± Harrison stepped back. ¡°You should go to a surgeon. Or a priest. I can¡¯t help you.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you can.¡± Harrison didn¡¯t have time. The adventurer lunged across the room with all the speed an injured man should not have, drawing the blade from his own stomach. It flashed through the air, iron and steel, and caught him across the forehead. Pain exploded across his face and he cried out, nearly dropping Arabelle in shock. It should not hurt so much, a tiny cut above his eye, no blood even leaking from it. ¡°Not enough¡­¡± The Duke kicked out, foot catching squarely against Harrison¡¯s knee. He buckled, screaming in pain as he dropped to the floor. A baby¡¯s cry his ears a moment later. His baby. He opened his eyes, forcing his vision to clear through the pain, just in time to see the blade drive through his daughter¡¯s frail chest. Harrison roared a sound no man should make and surged to his feet, shoving Clyde away, blade free from his grasp. The cry had stopped. ¡°Thank you,¡± Clyde gasped, stumbling away. Blood roared in Harrison¡¯s ears. The pain had stopped, frozen in time by a wound that would never heal. Arabelle bled onto the carpet, smaller than he ever remembered seeing her. No, no. She couldn¡¯t die like this. She couldn¡¯t be gone. Metal slinked against metal. Clyde drew a blade from his sheath, sword poised to strike. He grabbed the blade in his daughter¡¯s chest at the same moment as the Duke drove the sword through Harrison¡¯s chest. Chapter Four There was no pain. There was never any pain. Not from the moment Duke Clyde Slate had driven a blade through Harrison¡¯s chest, or from the moment he¡¯d awoken hours later, cursed blade clutched in a blood wrapped hand, an unnatural energy running through his body. It had not taken him long to learn that he was dead, and the energy running through his soul like kindling to a flame was that of his daughter¡¯s life. A flame he needed to feed. It itched at his soul, the blade a whisper in his mind begging for more. Since being nicked with the blade, the hunger had never gone away, the only true sensation he¡¯d been able to feel since being stabbed through the chest. Only he couldn¡¯t feed it. He stumbled into the tavern washroom, landing heavily against a metal basin, hands shaking. In the outer room, Rebekah was finding them rooms for the night, a stay Harrison didn¡¯t want to take. He didn¡¯t need to sleep. He needed to show up at the Duke¡¯s house and pay him back for every pain. Feed the hunger. A fist pounded against the door, shaking the weak wooden latch on the inside. ¡°Get out! I know you don¡¯t need that much time in there.¡± Harrison growled, pushing off the basin and spinning toward the door. Rebekah shot a glare at him as the door opened, shoving their supplies into his arms and pushing past him into the washroom. ¡°Room¡¯s upstairs. I¡¯m taking the bed.¡± She slammed the door behind herself. Harrison made his way upstairs, finding their room and laying down on the floor. With no need to sleep, all he could do was lie on his back and plan. When he could take the waiting no more, he sat up, grabbing his dagger and attaching it to his belt once more. He wasn¡¯t sure how long he¡¯d been laying down, only that Rebekah¡¯s snores had accompanied him so long his ears had grown numb to the sound. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He kicked the foot of her bed, jostling her from sleep. ¡°Up,¡± he growled, towering over the woman. She opened one eye, glaring at him from the cot. ¡°It¡¯s pitch black out.¡± ¡°We need to scout the area,¡± Harrison said, pacing to the door. He couldn¡¯t wait anymore. They were so close he could practically feel the man¡¯s presence, calling to him. ¡°I¡¯m going.¡± He drew the dark cloak tight around his body, moving through the tavern like a whisper and stepping out into the dark before dawn. Before he made it ten paces down the street, the tavern door opened again. The woman had followed. A piece of him had hoped he¡¯d be able to get away from her and finish the Duke off without any interference, but she seemed intent on following. He would have to kill her after the fact. The Duke¡¯s mansion sat outside the city of Clefton, like a castle presiding over a city. Harrison walked around the length of the home, peering in curtained windows, peeking through cracks in the coverage to stare down empty hallways. Duke Clyde Slate was home, but not awake. Harrison needed for him to wake. Retreating, he found shelter beneath a large oak as the sun peeked over the horizon, crossing his legs and resting his dagger atop his knees. Rebekah sprinted across the lawn to him. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± ¡°For him to awake.¡± ¡°Why not kill him now?¡± He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. ¡°Do you want to kill a sleeping man?¡± ¡°He killed my sleeping child.¡± Harrison shook his head. ¡°I¡¯d rather him know exactly why I¡¯m killing him.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Rebekah stood beside him, carrying her crossbow in one hand, fingering the trigger anxiously. Harrison understood, his own hunger growled in his soul, fingers itching to attack. But he remained perfectly still, balancing the dagger on one finger, weighted perfectly from hilt to blade. A light flicked on inside the dark mansion, and Harrison rose to his feet, stalking toward the front door without a word. Reaching the door, he tipped back his hood, revealing his face to the rising sun, and hammered against his with his fist. He pounded on the door until it swung inward, fist stopping in the air as a man opened the door. Only it wasn¡¯t the same man who¡¯d killed his daughter. His skin was flushed and full of life, eyes alight and alert. No hunger, no sweat, just a simple smile on the aging man¡¯s face, a child in his arms. How dare he? ¡°Hello,¡± he said, flashing a smile of white, polished teeth. ¡°What can I do for you?¡± The blade in Harrison¡¯s hand flashed as it raised it to the hero¡¯s neck. ¡°Get inside.¡± Chapter Five Rebekah had seen Duke Clyde Slate before. In years prior, he would pass through each city he protected, often stopping to speak with people and make conversation. It had been several years since she¡¯d seen the Duke, and she¡¯d grown of age, married, had a child and lost a child in that time. Being told the Duke of Hysted was the one who killed her child was a hard truth to swallow, but one that came from the only person she¡¯d found thus far with any knowledge on the killings. If the adventurer was no longer the hero he¡¯d always appeared to be, she knew damn well she had it in her to kill the man. Whatever morals had ruled her life before had grown quiet from the moment she found her child¡¯s bed missing, dying away to nothing but a murmur in the back of her mind as she followed Harrison to the Duke¡¯s house. But seeing him open the door to his mansion with a child in his arms brought every human decency screaming to the surface once more. Her grip on the crossbow faltered, finger slipping away from the trigger. A pair of huge round eyes stared at her, innocence shining like stars, the girl¡¯s hands curled into the loose fabric of the Duke¡¯s top. Harrison lunged at the man with his knife. Clyde Slate lurched backward, slamming the door on Harrison. It shut against his arm and bounced open as Harrison growled and followed the man inside, making noises like a rabid animal. He has a daughter, her mind protested, latching onto the sound as the child began to cry. It twisted into her gut like a knife, each wail a stabbing pain. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He killed my son, she fired back at the thought, and surged inside. She raised her crossbow to eye level and stared down the length, tracking the Duke. He¡¯d dropped his daughter, shoving her behind him as he drew his sword, forcing distance between himself and Harrison. With a sharp inhale, Rebekah brought her finger to the trigger and plunged it down. Air whistled as the bolt exploded from the shaft of the crossbow, wound so tight it pierced through the Duke¡¯s shoulder and out the other side with a splatter of blood. The little girl screamed, red splattered across her face and white dress. Rebekah¡¯s stomach dropped, bile rising up in the back of her throat. What am I doing? ¡°Stop,¡± Clyde gasped, dropping his sword to press a hand to his shoulder, stemming the tide of blood. ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Harrison stilled, unnaturally so in the quiet room. A chill went straight to her bones as Rebekah watched him, gripping a crossbow she couldn¡¯t load. Sweat pooled across her palms, growing cold in the stillness of the room as everyone waited for Harrison to respond. ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡± he asked in a dry whisper. He held up his dagger, not aiming it at the man. Instead, he presented it like a gift, face up in his palm. ¡°You came into my home, and drew this dagger from your own chest and killed my daughter with it.¡± Recognition flashed across the man¡¯s face as he stumbled, sinking low onto a chair. His skin went pale, either from blood loss or from fear. He shook his head. ¡°You should be dead. I killed you.¡± Harrison reached up, knife to his own throat, and pulled at the top of his shirt. Buttons snapped and flew across the room as he drew it down, and Rebekah¡¯s stomach flipped at the sight. Black, rotted skin twisted and plunged inward to a gaping, browning hole in his chest. Bones scarred white peeked from the wound, blood dried around them. ¡°You didn¡¯t try hard enough.¡± Chapter Six Cold. Numb. Rebekah nearly dropped the crossbow as she stared at Harrison, disgust crawling up her back like spider¡¯s legs. How had she never noticed? How had he never said? What was he? Duke Clyde Slate shook his head, the motion continuous, as if couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°No, no. I killed all those monsters. The curse should be dead. I¡¯m sorry. This never should have happened to you.¡± The words chilled Rebekah as she watched the unfolding scene, unable to move, mind moving too slow to truly question. Curse? ¡°Put the blade down,¡± Clyde said, pushing himself slowly off the chair. ¡°I can put you out of your misery. I can end this. You don¡¯t have to keep going like this¡ª¡± Harrison laughed, a bitter, crawling sound rattling around his broken chest. ¡°You think I came all this way for you to fix what you did? No. I¡¯m here to make you pay.¡± He kicked out, sending the man back into the chair with a cry of pain, and sprinted around the room. Rebekah let out a cry, body suddenly unfreezing as he grabbed the little girl by the hair, tipping her neck so far back she cried out in pain. Harrison flipped the blade around, setting it to the child¡¯s neck. ¡°You killed my daughter. I¡¯m here to kill yours.¡± Clyde Slate cried out, sliding out of the chair and sinking to his knees. ¡°No, please. She¡¯s done nothing to you! Kill me. It was my mistake. One mistake. Please.¡± Rebekah¡¯s ears rang with the words, repeating again and again in her mind. One mistake. She found her grip on the crossbow once more, hands clammy against the wood. ¡°You killed my son,¡± she said, hardly audible. He shook his head. ¡°It was the curse,¡± Clyde slate, planting his hands against the floor, eyes never leaving his daughter. ¡°A cursed blade, feeding on the souls of the living to sustain the dead. They stabbed me with it. I had to find something else to feed it. Please, this is my mistake. Kill me.¡± A calm settled over her body as Rebekah reached to her sheath of bolts and drew one out, placing it in the crossbow. ¡°Who killed my son?¡± Harrison turned his head, light glinting off his eyes as he looked at her. No. ¡°You told me he was the monster.¡± She cranked the lever on the side of the crossbow, straining against the weight of it as she fought to load the weapon once more. Why had she fired at the Duke? Of course he wasn¡¯t the one who¡¯d killed her son. Harrison had all the answers. He had a good story, a good plan, a man to kill¡­ Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. And all the while, he was the one who killed her son. ¡°He turned me into this,¡± Harrison growled, lifting his knife. The Duke shied away from it, flinching back from the jagged edge. I need to get that knife away from him. Baring her teeth, she cranked the crossbow again, muscles burning. She needed time. Needed to kill him. ¡°Why?¡± she asked, raising her voice to a shout. ¡°Why did you kill my son?¡± Harrison didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Because¡­¡± Clyde breathed hard, panting as he shuffled backwards away from Harrison, pushing his daughter behind him. The girl had grown silent, frozen against the wall as she stared at the man turned monster towering over them both. ¡°Because that blade is cursed, and it¡¯s hungry. Starving. Once it tastes blood, that¡¯s it. You¡¯re done. And if you don¡¯t feed it, it feeds on you. I don¡¯t know what it does if you¡¯re dead.¡± Horror broke his voice as he stared at the monster he¡¯d created. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you dead?¡± Rebekah cranked the crossbow again. Harrison lunged. He shoved his daughter toward the door, croaking out a ¡°run¡± before taking a knife to the throat. The blood immediately stopped flowing, draining into the knife as the hero who¡¯d protected her land her entire life and caused all this pain shriveled into a husk before her eyes. One last crank on the crossbow, and the bolt clicked into place. She raised the weapon, aiming at Harrison as a final thought flit through her mind. I never wanted to be a killer. She plunged the trigger. Jerked aside at the last second, the bolt sunk deep into Harrison¡¯s hand. He cried out as the weapon dropped, blade clattering to the floor, rattling discordantly against the stained wood. She leapt forward as Harrison released an inhuman growl. The moment her hand touched the hilt of the blade, a jolt raced through her body, impulses dark and bitter transforming from a spark to a bonfire. She would burn this place to the ground. Harrison leapt across the room, slicing at her with the crossbow bolt in his hand. She staggered back, not in time to avoid a gash to the face. Blood poured down her cheek, hot and metallic, leaving her nauseous as she backed away from the man. ¡°No!¡± The girl¡¯s voice caught her attention as she backed toward the door, and her fingers snagged on the back of the girl¡¯s dress. She dragged her close, small body pressed against her knees, one hand entwined in her nightgown, the other resting on her shoulder, blade gripped between sweaty fingers. She was bleeding too much. Her energy waned, chest heaving as she pressed it up against the wall. Across the room, Harrison crouched like a caged animal, his eyes wide. He pulled the bolt from his hand, throwing it across the room. She flinched even as it hit the ground, clattering to her feet. ¡°Give me back the blade and let me kill the girl,¡± he whispered. ¡°A life for a life. His daughter for mine.¡± Her grip tightened reflexively at the words. I could kill her, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. She could kill the girl and use that energy to kill Harrison. That would put an end to it all. Wouldn¡¯t it? The knife slipped from her grip as she stepped away from the girl. ¡°What am I thinking?¡± Harrison moved, but before he could reach her, she stomped on the knife, pinning it beneath her boot. She wouldn¡¯t let him touch it again. ¡°No,¡± she said, towering over the man, pain pouring from her in waves. It was as though every piece of anger she¡¯d carried since finding her son¡¯s bed empty had evaporated, the bandage over her gaping wounds gone. Now she bled freely, staining the ground around her. ¡°He¡¯s dead. You killed him. That¡¯s enough.¡± She kicked the knife away. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± Chapter Seven Rebekah pressed a hand against her cheek, feeling the pulse throb beneath her palm, blood slipping between her fingers. The Duke¡¯s daughter ran from the room, leaving nothing but her panting into the silence, staring at Harrison as he knelt over the man¡¯s body. She ought to kill him. She ought to leave. She didn¡¯t, sinking until she was eye level with the man, sitting on the ground. Harrison stared at her, all the hunger gone from his gaze. She¡¯d thought it was anger. Maybe it had been, but it was also that curse, whatever dark magic was keeping his body running. If she tried to kill him, would she even be able? ¡°Why?¡± she asked, the question coming to her lips unbidden. ¡°Why do all this?¡± ¡°He took my life from me.¡± ¡°Why my son?¡± She was a normal woman, or she had been. Her husband died from a plague she¡¯d survived as a child, leaving her alone with an infant. He was such a bright thing, always smiling. She¡¯d just gotten him to sleep through the night. ¡°I needed to get to Clefton.¡± He said the words so simply, as if they weren¡¯t the most ridiculous reason she could imagine for killing a child. ¡°My body¡­ it couldn¡¯t keep going.¡± ¡°Right.¡± The blood stopped flowing. Was this death, then? She let her hand fall to her side, then moved it into her lap. Pressing two fingers to her wrist, she made out the pulsing beneath it. Not death, then. What am I supposed to do now? ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± Harrison rasped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He shifted to his feet, staring down at the body. His face twisted, then blanked, and he stepped over Clyde. He moved toward the knife, and Rebekah leapt up, putting her body between himself and the cursed blade. She wouldn¡¯t let this continue. ¡°You¡¯re not going to kill anyone else,¡± she said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning on it.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± ¡°Probably, yes,¡± Rebekah said, shifting in place. ¡°Then get it over with.¡± He shut his eyes, tipping his head back toward the ceiling. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± She stared at him, fingers twitching. Did he, what? Expect her to kill him? Rebekah took a step back, not quite willing to put him out of her sight as she leaned down to scoop up the blade. It flared in her mind again, its presence immediate. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. She shuddered. She wouldn¡¯t use this on him. What if it turned her into a monster like that? Rebekah tucked the dagger into her belt. She needed to figure out what to do with this, but she wouldn¡¯t use it. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± His voice rose, eyes popping open and locking on her as she took a step toward the front door. Could she even go home now? She hadn¡¯t killed Duke Clyde Slate, but she¡¯d shot him. Do I even want to go home? There was nothing waiting for her there. An empty house, empty rooms. Empty life. What did she have waiting for her, if she wasn¡¯t a mother? ¡°Where is my son?¡± She lifted her eyes, staring at the man she¡¯d thought would lead him to answers. He had, but not the ones she wanted. ¡°You don¡¯t want to see him.¡± ¡°I do,¡± Rebekah said, the words hard. It didn¡¯t matter how much it hurt. She hadn¡¯t seen her son since she laid him to rest the night everything went wrong, and she needed to hold him in her arms one last time. Even if he was gone. ¡°Bring me to him.¡± Harrison opened his mouth, then deflated. ¡°If that¡¯s what you want. Follow me.¡± He limped out the door, tucking his injured hand beneath the folds of his cloak. It didn¡¯t bleed, but the wound gaped. She followed behind him, head spinning as she began to walk. She pushed through the sensation, unwilling to stop. She was going to bury her son. And then¡­ Then she was going to make sure this monster never hurt anyone ever again. They walked through the day, circumventing Clefton and avoiding the road. They hiked into the night, Harrison never stopping, while Rebekah stumbled and tripped in her exhaustion. She caught herself against a tree, breathing hard as her body trembled. Then she pushed off, forcing the exhaustion down to keep up with the undead. Sometime in the night, Rebekah began to recognize the forests around them. The trees split apart, growing fewer and far between as her eyes landed on the tiny village of Khul. It wasn¡¯t much, hardly enough to qualify a dot on the map. When she¡¯d left the village, she never intended on going back, assuming¡ªat least in the back of her mind¡ªthat she would die somewhere along the way. I¡¯m still not certain I haven¡¯t, she thought. ¡°Where did you put my son?¡± The words were hoarse, the first words she¡¯d spoken in¡­ she wasn¡¯t certain how long. More than a day, at the least. ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± He led them out of the town, through quiet, barren streets and back into the forest that coated much of the land. She¡¯d always been told there were monsters among the trees, something she¡¯d never quite believed. Perhaps she should have. He stopped amid a small clump of trees, vines forming a curtain between low branches, and turned to face her. In the time since he¡¯d killed Clyde, his face had grown sunken and yellow. He was no longer the exhausted, anger-torn man she¡¯d mistaken him to be in that tavern. He was now a shell, a corpse on feet, somehow still moving despite dying long ago. ¡°He¡¯s there,¡± Harrison said, nodding to the bushes. Rebekah moved around him, careful to keep distance between their bodies, and knelt in the grass. Her hands trembled, something she decided was from exhaustion, not fear, as they hovered over the mound of grass. She almost stood up and walked away. This was as good a place as any to remain, surrounded by trees and a curtain of vines, flowers blooming in the moonlight. But that was her son. Steadying herself, Rebekah reached into the grass and felt him. Skin cold, hard against her touch. A sob broke in her throat as she scooped her hands beneath the small body, cradling him to her chest. Her breast throbbed, somehow knowing this was her boy, longing to feed him. Her body couldn¡¯t understand that he was gone. Rebekah stumbled to her feet, shaking as she turned back to Harrison. ¡°Dig,¡± she commanded. He turned and did as he was told.