Hunter's Legacy
Chapter 7

“Hi,” a chipper voice said above me. Pausing, before taking a bite of my chili burger, I looked up to see a young girl who looked about my age. She had peach-colored skin, and a head full of corkscrew, blonde, curls. “Is anyone sitting here?” she indicated the empty seat across from me. I looked over my shoulder, feeling as though I was about to be the target of some high school prank--even though we weren’t in high school, the others seemed to have made it their mission to make me feel like more of an outcast than I already was.

“No, go ahead,” I nodded to the chair. The girl set down her tray, and I got a look at the round steak and baked potato, smothered in butter and sour cream.

“Who sent you over?” I asked, dragging one of my French fries through the chili that had fallen from my burger and onto my plate.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening in confusion.

“Who sent you over?” I repeated my question, slower, nodding my head in the direction of the group of people behind me.

“No one,” she said, as she picked up her knife and started cutting into her steak. I could feel wary gazes upon my back, as though those behind me expected to whip around and start hissing at them.

“But you know who I am, right?” I asked, my eyebrow raised; I didn’t quite believe that no one had sent her to sit with me; it was some kind of sick, childish game. I never understood why they strive to humiliate me. Monsters, ghosts, witches, vampires, I could deal with them just fine. People…people were just crazy.

“Camille Anderson, nineteen. Piper and Eddie sprung you from Rosling psychiatric facility, after you’d been locked up there for four years. Your parents were killed by a demon in 1996, after that you were taken in by your grandparents, and, after their passing, you lived with your aunt. You ran away, to see your brother in college, where you met the same demon who had killed your parents, he tried to finish the job by killing you. Your brother locked you up after you had a nightmare, because he thought you were crazy for harping on the ‘demons killed our parents’ theory for so long,” she finished by blowing out a breath, and took a bite of her steak.

I leaned back in the chair, scrutinizing this girl; this girl who seemed to know my history, yet still chose to sit beside me and attempt to engage in conversation. Still, I had a funny feeling; the information that she spouted out about me was true—everybody knew about my stint in Rosling, that’s what repelled them—but the finer points, the details that no one else knew, how could she know them? How could anyone know them?

Without bothering to finish my food, I pushed my chair back and got up, walking out of the mess hall, and to the study.

“How long have you been watching me?” I asked Piper, as I came to a stop in front of the large oak desk that stood in front of a bookshelf in the study. This was where Piper spent most of her time; it was modeled after a study that would be seen in Victorian times—black leather furniture, a stone fireplace, the walls lined with bookshelves. If she wasn’t hunting or training, she was learning anything and everything that she could about the creatures that we fought.

“Since 1996,” Piper replied, looking up at me from whatever text she was studying now.

“Before or after my parents died?” I asked.

“We’d had our suspicions, when you were born—we kept an eye on your brother too—but our suspicions were confirmed after their deaths,” she replied.

“And you couldn’t have come and gotten me, sooner?” I asked, trying to keep my temper in check.

“We needed to know if you really believed or if your belief in monsters and the ‘boogie man’ were going to fade when you were older,” Piper explained, closing the book and getting up to place it back on the shelf behind her, “To the world, A demon killed my parents were just the musings of a terrified toddler, but we had our reasons to believe that you were a hunter.

“Children are clairvoyant, so they see what’s right in front of them, be it demons, angels, monsters, ghosts…but when they speak their mind, they’re told that ‘it’s not real’, so, a lot of the time, as they grow up, the person believes less and less, and then, one day, they accept that it isn’t real and they don’t see it anymore.

“You, Camille, you never stopped believing that what you saw that night was real, so, after your last fight with the demon, we knew that you had to come and start your training as a Hunter. Unfortunately, we couldn’t figure out how to get you out, so we sent Eddie in to infiltrate, get information so that you could get out,” Piper explained. Now, she was seated on the edge of her desk, her arms crossed over her chest and looking at me as if she was gauging my reaction.

“Yeah, well, this girl showed up and started talking about all this stuff that I never told anybody,” I said, getting aggravated with each word that left my mouth. Piper nodded and looked at the ground.

“I see you’ve met Natasha,” she said, “I gave her your file to read.”

“My file?” I asked, feeling my eyebrows shooting up into my hairline, “That’s all you have to say? Why does she need my file?” I didn’t even know that they had a file on me. Was it just me they had a file on, or was it every Hunter in the Bunker? The answer dawned on me, as to why this Natasha person need my file, “Don’t tell me that she’s—”

“—your partner,” Piper finished, “Yes, she is.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “No, I don’t want a partner, I’ve told you why and you said that you understood.”

“Camille, you had two broken ribs and a broken nose because you took on a nest of vampires by yourself,” Piper reminded me. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, as I slumped into one of the two chairs that faced the desk. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Yeah, but I’m alive,” I said, shrugging.

“You’re lucky to be,” Piper responded, “A lot of Hunters wouldn’t have made it out of there alive, even the best trained Hunter would’ve probably come out missing limb or two.”

“I don’t want anybody else’s death on my hands,” I said. Before Piper could respond, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Piper answered. The door opened to reveal the object of our conversation—Natasha. She carried a manila folder clutched to her chest, and her eyes never left Piper, as she spoke.

“I’m here to return this,” Natasha said, handing over the folder.

“Thank you,” Piper responded, laying the folder on the desk behind her.

“Can you fight?” I asked, suddenly. Natasha turned and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Yes, I’ve been trained very well,” Natasha responded.

“Then, let’s go,” I said, pushing myself up and out of the chair. I walked to the door and, when I didn’t hear anyone following me, I turned to face Piper and Natasha, who were exchanging a look with each other.

“Is she serious?” Natasha asked Piper.

“Yeah, she is,” Piper sighed, and stepped forward, walking to the door and opening it. Walking out and taking the lead, I led the way to the weight room. I shrugged off my jacket and started wrapping my hands. Natasha waited for a second before she followed my lead, wrapping her hands and pulling her curls into a ponytail at the back of her head. With helmets on and mouth-guards in, we jumped into the boxing ring.

She met me move for move; I took a swing and she blocked it and vice versa. Kicking and punching were getting us nowhere; Natasha took a swing at me and I squatted down, putting all my weight on my hands, thrusting my leg out and sweeping it under hers, causing her to fall flat on her back.

I stood up and walked over, standing over her head. I knelt down and she looked up, narrowing her eyes at me.

“You’re good, honestly, one of the best trainees here,” I said, looking over at Piper to see f she was in agreeance with me; I assumed she would be, considering that it was Piper, herself, who teamed Natasha with me.

I didn’t see Piper until she was right next to me. I watched, seemingly in slow motion, as Piper took my hand, running her trusty blade across my palm and allowing a line of blood to bloom at the surface.

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed, looking up at Piper with wide eyes, as I held my hand to my chest. Piper looked at me with a neutral expression, and the nodded to Natasha. I looked over and I hardly dared to believe my eyes.

Natasha’s pupil dilated until her whole eye was black; dark veins started branching out from under her eye, and, when she opened her mouth, I saw her canines elongated a couple of inches. Natasha snapped and snarled, for a second before my instincts kicked in. I jumped over, keeping her on the ground, and grabbed Piper’s blade, putting the tip of the blade against Natasha’s chest.

“How did you get through the wards?” I snarled. It was then I realized that Natasha’s eyes were no longer black, and there were no black veins running down her face. I didn’t back up though; Natasha was a vampire by all means, she could turn at any moment and there was no way that I was letting my guard down.

“Let me up and I’ll show you,” Natasha said, in a calm voice.

“Nope,” I replied, pressing my elbow more into her throat.

“That’s enough,” Piper said, in a sharp tone. I didn’t let up, and the next thing I know, I’m being hauled back, Piper’s taking the knife out of my hand, and she was helping Natasha up, “Let’s go to the study, get cleaned up and let Natasha explain.”

“And you,” I added, scowling at Piper, as I still held my injured hand to my chest.

“And me,” Piper said, letting out a sigh and leading the way back to the study.

In the study, Piper pulled out her first aid kit and started pulling out the supplies that she needed, while Natasha sat in the seat beside me. Piper pulled the high-backed leather chair around the desk and started doctoring my hand.

“So, what’s your story?” I asked, as Piper put some stinging alcohol on the sliced skin.

“I’m Natasha Volkov,” she said, and my head whipped around, so I could stare at her, in surprise.

“That name sounds Russian, are you Russian?” I asked, a sharp intake of breath leaving my lips as Piper applied another swab of alcohol to the wound.

“Yes, I am,” Natasha said, and she took a breath before continuing, “In 1865, my mother, father, and younger brother lived in a village. My family was well known in the village for their kindness and willingness helping people.

“One night, the village got a visit from a couple of travelers. Both were tall with dark hair and dark gazes; they seemed to enjoy their time, eating our food, listening to our music, joining in our dance, conversing with our village people. At the end of the night, my parents offered up shelter to them. Our house was fairly large, especially for a village back then, with two rooms, and a big open space for us to cook, eat, and enjoy stories.

“As usual, I awoke before my parents, for it was my job to look after our livestock. Our animals were in a pen that was set up about a mile up the street. I was careful not to wake anyone as I crept out of the house, shutting the door securely behind me.

“The sun had nearly risen by the time that I came back, but I knew that something was off when I got a few feet away from my house. Normally, I could smell my mother’s cooking about a mile away, but this morning, something was different.

“I walked in and was surprised when I didn’t see my mother up and getting ready to go and check on the crops. I walked further inside to find that there was only quiet. I walked into my parents’ bedroom, thinking that they were just late I waking.

"When I opened the door, I screamed, as my parents’ blood-covered bodies met my eyes. I went over to them, hoping that I was dreaming, and I lifting my mother by the shoulder; her head lolled back and I came to the conclusion that her neck was broken—both their necks were broken. I hurried out of the room and went to the one that I shared with my brother, but I was met with the same sight—broken neck and blood-covered clothes.

“I backed away, and then I abruptly felt arms wind around me. It was the two men, to whom we had given shelter. I opened my mouth to scream, but one of them put their hand over my mouth. My instincts kicked in, and I bit the inside of his hand, hard enough to break the skin, and I tasted the coppery blood as it filled my mouth. He let go of me, and I stumbled away from him, spinning around and spitting the mix of blood and saliva on this man’s blood-covered face.

“We struggled, he bested me and then broke my neck, leaving me for dead. I don’t know how long, but later on, I woke up and rubbed my head, the headache I had was beyond anything I’d ever felt before. My ears were ringing, and colors seemed a lot brighter, as I stood up in the middle of this clearing. I had gotten up and trudged my way over to where I heard people.

“I came upon a group of them around my own age—seventeen, at the time—and”—Natasha took a deep breath—“I slaughtered them all. The blood lust was that intense, I couldn’t control it.”

“That’s a nice story,” I said, sarcastically, “But you haven’t told me, yet, how you got here.”

“Patients,” Piper said, and I rolled my eyes.

“Over the years,” Natasha continued like she hadn’t been interrupted, “I met vampires and learned how to not go on killing sprees. I also searched for the vampire who did this to me.

“A few years ago, I met Piper on a Hunt. We both were looking for a ghost that was haunting a local high school—a restless spirit. When she saw the same change in me as you did, her reaction was the same, but when she saw how quickly I controlled my hunger, she heard my story. At the end, she offered for me to come here and train with her Hunters—of course, you, Camille, are the only one who knows my true nature.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to wrap my mind around everything that I had just learned, “So, if you’re a vampire, how do you survive in the sunlight?”

“With this,” Natasha said, and she pulled a gold chain out from the collar of her shirt. She wore a golden rose, “A witch spelled it so that I could walk in the sun and not get burned.”

“How many people have you killed?” I asked, once Piper had finished wrapping my hand.

“Before I could control my hunger, I killed too many to count,” Natasha said, shaking her head as though she didn’t wish to remember it—hell, if I were her, I wouldn’t want to remember either, “Now, I survive solely on blood bags, I have no need to kill anyone.”

“What do you do if you run low?” I asked.

“When I get down to three blood bags, I restock,” she answered, easily.

“Have you ever gotten caught?” I asked.

“No,” Piper answered this time, “I go and pick up some blood bags for her; I call as another hospital needing blood, and they spare a few bags that we keep in the cooler. Plus, the Bunker’s doctor has a whole freezer full of blood bags. Natasha doesn’t go through them too quickly though.”

“I can eat human food—such as the steak—but I don’t really taste it, it's bland and flavorless,” she scrunched up her face, as if she found the whole thing rather revolting.

“What is going to happen when you finally find this vampire that has turned you?” I asked, and it seemed to be the million-dollar question.

“May I?” Natasha asked, gesturing to Piper’s computer. Piper nodded and I watched as Natasha walked around the desk and opened Piper’s laptop. She typed for a few minutes, and then turned the computer, showing several pictures of a tall, dark-haired man. He looked the same in all the pictures—like he was in his early-mid twenties. “He has gone by many names, but, when I met him he said that his name was Alexi Fedorov. After he left me for dead, I lost him for a bit, it wasn’t until massacres—the same massacres that happened to my family—started happening again. I had managed to link him to every single one, but, by the time I was ready to confront him, he had disappeared again.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on him?” I asked, studying the pictures.

“Yes, very close ones,” Natasha replied.

“Does he know that you lived?” I asked. If this vampire knew that Natasha was alive, she could be doing all of this for nothing, because he might kill her before she gets a chance to confront him.

“No, I’ve been very careful, changing my name and appearance every so often,” Natasha said.

“Do you know how old he is?” I asked, looking closer at the picture.

“Not really, no,” Natasha responded, shaking her head, hopelessly, “When I last saw him, this was his picture.” She pointed to the one of him sporting his short cut hair, white polo shirt, and a pair a nice pair of khakis. I leaned forward and used the mouse to scroll down.

Modern day photos turned into paintings, the italicized writing under them being the date that it was painted. The last one was dated 1450; in each painted portrait, this Alexi Fedorov portrayed a fierceness that only a painting could pull off.

“Look at this,” I said, causing Natasha and Piper to lean closer.

“What am I looking at?” Natasha asked, shaking her head at the picture.

“This painting looks almost exactly like the photos,” I said.

“And?” Natasha asked. I sighed.

“And, we can probably discern that he either got turned around the fourteenth century, or he’s one of the First vampires.”

“If he’s a First vampire and he dies, you could die too,” Piper said, looking at Natasha, “Are you ready for that?”

“I am,” Natasha said, nodding once.

“Well, while you are waiting, the two of you have a Hunt to go on,” Piper responded, handing a folder to me. I opened the folder and saw the word Banshee stamped in black, bold, letters across the top of the first paper.

“In Arizona,” Piper said, even though I’d already read that part and passed the top sheet to Natasha, “I’m interested to see how the two of you work together.”

“You and me both,” I mumbled, flipping through pictures of the crime scene. It was going to be a long road ahead.

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