Shevamp - The Dark One
Common Enemy

When they arrived, Rowan noticed some guards in the towers and men on the walls. A natural precaution on Marcus’ part, but now there were none, and the night appeared to have swallowed them. Only the day walkers could have come this close without their notice. If she were superstitious, she would contribute this to some strange magic.

She stared numbly at Price. The human saved her life. He allowed her to become one of his soldiers and even promoted her to lieutenant when he noticed her leadership ability.

Even though he reluctantly remained at camp because they refused to risk his life, their precautions proved futile.

The men and women whose lives she shared and who became her family these last two years were all gone, just like everyone who ever extended a hand in friendship to her.

Bitterness threatened to consume her, laced with guilt, regret, and anger forged by a lifetime of conditioning.

With two powerful lunges, Rowan moved at vampire speed and launched the head over the wall with all her strength and a roar of raw fury.

The ache in her heart nearly tore her in two.

Every time she allowed people into her life, she promised herself not to get attached and keep it impersonal, and, without fail, she ended up having to grieve for someone.

When would she learn?

Would she become as callous as the man who sired and abandoned her?

***

Hollow laughter echoed from the darkness, and fading hoof beats pounded the earth that didn’t belong to horses. Striker reared, pawing the ground and whinnying shrilly.

How did the creatures get so near this well-guarded castle without alerting them to danger? And how did they dispatch those supposed to guard these walls in absolute silence?

“Stand,” Rowan ordered, and the panicked horses were slow to obey, but they quieted down, shying from the blackness outside the gates.

The whites of their eyes showed, but Striker eyed her too, reacting to the roller coaster of emotions broiling in her chest as he responded to their odd connection.

Some impulse made her dive and roll, and she cast herself behind the horses with a single bound. An arrow slammed into something wooden where she had stood moments earlier.

A horse whinnied and screamed, falling heavily, and again the sound of hooves disturbed the night, but this time it belonged to horses.

Instinct barely saved her life.

Worry made her surge to her feet, fearing for Striker, but although he managed to snap his reins, he wasn’t hurt.

Experience should have taught her to anticipate the unforeseen, she admitted angrily.

Nothing else happened, and the night sounds returned one by one. It was a clumsy attempt, almost more of a warning than a serious threat.

The wounded horse lay on its side, breathing heavily.

An arrow stuck in its belly, penetrating so deeply that only the feathers protruded, and pink fluid frothed around the hole.

Whatever strange quality had possessed the night, lifted.

***

Rowan hesitated before kneeling beside the animal. Her instincts assured her their enemies were gone, but she didn’t trust them much after what happened. She gently put her hand on its side, knowing she couldn’t save it.

Her heart contorted with some strange emotion, and when that sentiment cleared, only a glittering hardness remained.

She shifted her position and adroitly avoided the straggling hooves. With one swift movement, she turned the head and broke its neck. The beasts’ struggle seized, but for a few more jerks and spasms.

A deafening silence followed in the wake of this last act of violence but for the night sounds and the remaining horses’ uneasy breathing.

They shivered at the odor of blood, moving restlessly, but Striker calmed quickly.

His ears shifted constantly, but she found reassurance in his composure.

***

Rowan almost forgot about Marcus and Alena. She strode over to them and noticed that they stood closer to the doors, where they must have taken refuge.

Their composed expression didn’t successfully hide their turmoiled emotions.

Marcus made his way to the bottom of the shallow stairs. Even though he carried only a dagger, his posture was that of a warrior and a strong one. Everything happened so fast that there was barely time to react, but it seemed like time slowed for her.

“Who was the man?” Marcus asked, but Rowan rudely interrupted him.

“Where are your guards?” The urgent demand made him frown, his eyes darkening as he scanned the empty parapets and towers.

The posts were silent, quiet, unattended, and his expression betrayed his understanding.

“Terri? Clark? Mason?” Marcus clearly didn’t expect an answer, and no response issued from the darkness.

“Terri? Where are you?” he tried again, louder this time.

Nothing happened.

“Where are there rest of your people?”

A frown tugged at his handsome brow.

“They already left to attend court for the summer,” he said, sounding distracted. “They took our guards while we stood here.”

Anger marked his voice, but also unease.

A man like him didn’t fear much of anything, and it was unsettling.

***

His eyes wandered from the open gate to the trail of human blood as it crossed the puddle of horse blood. He glanced at the dead animal, his nostrils flared, and his jaw set in a firm line.

“Why didn’t they destroy us all? The creatures killed your men, my people, and those at our camp. What leads you to believe there’s anything you can do?” Rowan asked, almost sounding as if she blamed him for this.

Enraged by her intonation, he glanced at her, yet his arrogance in summoning her caused so much death.

Why would someone go through this much trouble to send a message if they hadn’t stumbled onto something important, and why not just kill them?

“I can do nothing to stop this,” she assured him, and the intense emotions she kept so rigorously in check were perilously near the surface.

Grief for her humans showed in her eyes, but her guilt was even more evident as if she had caused this unfortunate situation.

“Maybe we can do something,” he admitted, hating that he sounded uncertain of himself, and she frowned at him.

He squared his shoulders, not a man who faltered or caved to either distress or defeat.

“How many men do you have?” he asked, and a stillness came over her face as her glance darted to the gate.

Before she spoke, he realized the answer.

“There were ten here and another fifty at our camp.”

The certainty in her voice came from experience, and he moved to speak, but Alena interpreted what he didn’t immediately grasp.

“All of hers and all of ours are dead,” she clarified.

“Why are we still alive?” Rowan asked the question preying heavily on his mind, shivering slightly and folding her arms across her chest as if to ward off a chill.

“Perhaps our efforts amuse him,” Alena murmured, and their glances raced to her before darting away.

Was she right?

The silence after those words left them even more uneasy, and her insight presented a chilling and haunting thought.

Marcus took control of himself by subtly gripping the knife retrieved from his boot.

***

“Him?” Rowan asked suspiciously.

The vampires kept watching the open gates, where a soundless, unseen enemy took both humans and vampires.

“That is a conversation best had inside,” Marcus said.

His attention still settled on the gloom but continually shifted with the expectation of a danger coming from everywhere and nowhere.

“The creatures are gone,” she assured him, her stride businesslike and purposeful.

“How do you know that? Despite our ability to see in the dark, we saw nothing.”

A touch of testiness born of reaction colored Alena’s voice.

“Trust me,” Rowan answered with equal testiness and no trace of doubt.

How could she explain to them that the oppression of earlier and her sense of foreboding was gone?

Earlier, she should have paid more attention to the sensation of someone watching them but had trusted her senses and skills too much, getting her friends killed.

“But you didn’t realize they were here when you came?” Alena demanded bitingly.

“Although I suspected someone was watching us, I thought they were yours and you were taking precautions. Being a mercenary, I am aware that you have enemies,” her voice revealed no emotion.

***

“Yet you stayed anyway?” Alena scoffed, freely admitting to herself that she would not have.

Personally, she wouldn’t expose herself to an enemy in such a way.

“Experience said you wouldn’t kill me if you needed me.”

Rowan’s calm answer made her scowl as she followed them inside.

“And if it was a trap?” she challenged, intrigued despite herself.

Rowan’s existence had been part of her consciousness for so long, and she often wondered about the halfling, sometimes hating her… yet fascinated in equal measure.

Most of her negative emotions toward Rowan originated from Carla’s opinions and her end.

“Then I would be dead,” Rowan answered, seeming unbothered.

Did she not fear death?

Had she lived in its shadow for so long that she would welcome its release? Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Alena didn’t like the idea.

“And that was the only reason?” she asked, still annoyed.

Did Rowan even wonder about her and her life? She closed the doors behind them, and Marcus put the beam in place.

Did the dhampir hate her?

“The study or the library?” Marcus asked.

“The library,” she decided.

Why did the idea of Rowan hating her hurt?

Yet, how could the woman not hate her?

Why did she choose to wear a dress when more practical attire seemed wiser?

The vampire princess was not the ideal guise for her current role.

“No. I came out of hope and curiosity.”

Rowan answered her question, and Alena froze mid-stride, troubled by the halfling’s honesty. Her sibling didn’t play games or pull punches; that much was easy to see.

Rowan came despite grasping the truth and knowing what they could do to her.

The thought made her uncomfortable, and how was it that this halfling didn’t fit the mental picture she forged for herself? Had she chosen to see the dhampir as a raging misfit to soothe her conscience?

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