Page 4 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

T he night air is thick and uncompromising. I was hoping a walk around the grounds would calm me down, make me feel less thirsty, and alleviate the dryness threatening to overtake me.

Nothing is working. I’m so anxious and overwhelmed. My head is spinning.

I’m not used to these feelings. I was anxious as a human (as a human) , but this is on another level. I can barely think straight.

I make my way around the corner of the manor, deciding that I won’t be able to get any kind of peace or self-care from this little excursion. I’m tired and I need to rest for my meeting with Lenore tomorrow morning. God knows what she wants to discuss. According to Zander, it’ll be regarding my princely duties: setting a good example, associating with ‘appropriate consorts,’ keeping my new identity a secret from the human demographic.

I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t even know such a fate could exist–and even if I did, I never would have chosen it for myself.

I should have stayed dead.

Now I’m stuck in this helpless and dreary alternate reality. I could end someone’s life–something I abhor–without even wanting to. In the blink of an eye, someone else’s fate could be ruined, all because of my impulses. Such a stark difference from when I was–

I turn my head to the right, looking behind me. I thought I heard something. But nothing is out there. The stillness of the night has morphed into a heavy blanket of the unknown. Instead of being peaceful, the evening air possesses a chill of dread. It makes sweat cling to my neck despite the Winter breeze.

I frown, wondering what I could possibly have to fear out here by myself. My nerves must be getting the better of me. I need to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

No matter how many times I say that to myself, it never happens. It’ll just be another day of desiring and despising blood. Hating who I am. Feeling helpless in my new life. Wishing I could be with my family. Loathing myself for the pain my death –no, my murder –inflicted on them.

Turning away from the shrubberies, I head for the fountains and bright lights that illuminate the manor’s snow-covered gardens in red, orange, and green.

Terror ensares my being, like I’ve been doused with frigid water. It’s as if every nerve in my body is forcing me to tread carefully. It’s almost impossible to move.

It takes everything in me to turn around, my limbs heavy and my skin covered in goosebumps.

Just as I do, an enormous black shape rises from the shadowy bushes, bright eyes lifted to mine.

It lunges.

I open my mouth to scream, but there isn’t time.

My back aches from my collapse to the wintry ground, my lungs refusing to sustain me. I forget about my breathlessness and the throbbing in my back when the creature on top of me digs into my shoulder.

Debilitating agony causes a short-winded yowl to escape from deep within my throat. Blood sprays everywhere. Black splotches capture my vision, while bile spews into my mouth.

Thick claws pin me to the icy terrain, tearing into my leather jacket and ripping into my skin, my ribs now on fire.

This black creature on top of me…

It must be a Korama.

A werewolf.

And it’s killing me.

Do I just let it get its way? If I die, there’s no way I can hurt anyone. According to Zander and Terry, it’s only a matter of time before I make my first kill. This would solve everything.

“Darren!”

The wolf’s large head shoots up. It dives for the incoming Vampyr–a man named Henry. He’s security detail for the manor. I jump, kicking my body backward despite the excruciating pain, when the Korama flings its front forepaw backward and then slices, ripping Henry’s head clean off his shoulders. The head flies down the disrupted snow, making my stomach heave.

The Korama lands on the snow, turning and glaring at me, blood spilling from its muzzle.

Even though it just killed Henry, which in and of itself is enough to break me, I know for sure that it didn’t come here for him.

It came for me.

It wants to kill me.

Dread doesn’t release its icy hold on me, manifesting in the form of hitched breathing and trembling fingertips against the frenzied snow.

Even though it might be best for everyone if I die, I’m still horrified at the prospect of such a painful demise.

Maybe I don’t want to die–or at least part of me doesn’t.

Just as I’m thinking this, the large black wolf is charging me, letting out a guttural howl that sounds like some kind of attack cry.

If I don’t do something soon, I’m dead.

Then I really will be leaving my family behind.

I’ll never find out why I was murdered in cold blood.

I’ve never hurt another living person before–human, animal, or otherwise. I know the wolf wanting my hide has a human form–a human with family, friends, a life. And now, I want to cause bodily harm to this creature–in the same way it wants to hurt me?

The wolf aims for me in mid-air, cutting off my dismal reverie. Instead of shutting my eyes, flinching, and letting the kill happen, I tap into the part of me that I’ve been suppressing all this time without truly realizing it: the Vampyr nature I have that wants to fight back, kill, terrify.

I can use that same nature in another way.

I suck in the fastest breath I’ve ever drawn and dodge the attack, my Vampyr speed barely enough to save me. The wolf’s jaws snap for me, grabbing a hold of my jacket and tearing it down the back. I falter but manage to free myself in what I think is record time.

I turn to face the Korama. This ebony wolf may be my opponent–but it’s certainly not by choice. This war has nothing to do with me. Mindless slaughter, pointless vendettas–

Vendettas.

I bet this wolf is after me because I’m the new Vampyr Prince. Right around the time I was killed and then turned by Lenore, her second-youngest ‘son,’ Benoit Philippe Cardin-turned-Crané, was also murdered in cold blood–by Koramas.

Benoit is the real reason why Lenore’s other adoptive sons, Gabriel and Pierre, want nothing to do with me. And since Zander is younger than them yet higher up in nobility than I am– and he’s befriending me, to boot–they can’t stand him either.

Like them, this wolf is angry that I was chosen as the new prince. I’m just as outraged.

I never asked to be a part of this strange hierarchy. I never wanted to be immortal. I wanted to live a normal life: obtain my Master’s degree in Sociology, get married, have the three kids that I’ve always dreamed about. I even had a romantic prospect of sorts: my long-time friend Stephanie LeMieux. But once I was killed–

The black wolf aims for me once more, teeth strong enough to rip through concrete hurtling toward my body.

My Vampyr incisors are growing in response, dulling my gums and making my other teeth sensitive to the transformation. Even so, I resist the urge to attack. I don’t want to kill this wolf, even if every bone in my body is begging me to jump forward and tear at its jugular.

I can’t be that person! Even if I’m technically not a person any longer.

I can’t be that creature .

“Foux-moi la paix!”

The exclamation of French profanity makes me jerk my head to the side, and I see Lenore Crané approaching the chaos, her crimson dress blowing behind her, flaming-red hair eerily silhouetted against the moonlight.

The Korama wheels, likely recognizing the Vampyr Matriarch entering battle. Eyes that were deep and evil suddenly have a flicker of a different emotion: fear.

Terry lectured me about Koramas and Magicena during the first few days of my transition. Apparently, wolves have packs with very specific titles and functions. If this Korama is fearful of la Reine, then it probably isn’t the leader or in the upper ranks. Still, it’s strong, cunning, vicious.

I never thought I would be relieved to see Lenore here, ready to avenge me again, but I guess my survival instincts must have kicked in because I truly am grateful for her presence.

In a flash, she is propelling herself at an angle, ready to kill to protect her ‘adopted son.’ I guess this means I’ll have no choice but to give in and call her Maman like she expects of all the others.

Movement flashes in my peripheral vision. I slowly turn from side to side. Vampyrs appear, almost out of thin air. I didn’t see them earlier–hear them, sense them. I didn’t think anyone else was out here. Or maybe Lenore gave the word? Maybe Henry told them I was under attack before he–

This is an ambush.

They wanted to corner this Korama.

They were using me as bait.

Further proof that I don’t belong here–or anywhere.

I wish Lenore had left me for dead. This Vampyr royalty is too much for me.

I just want out.

The horde of Vampyrs closes in on the lone Korama, who is backing away from me and toward the shrubberies. Every hair on its back is raised, saliva dripping from its muzzle as snarls tear from its throat. It eyes each and every Vampyr in the space. The Korama may be outnumbered but it doesn’t look like the animal is ready to surrender. It may be afraid–something I saw earlier that was gone as quickly as it arrived–but it’s not giving up.

One Vampyr whose name I don’t know lunges at the wolf, and in one swift motion, the creature stands on its hind legs and rips the Vampyr’s head clean off his shoulders.

“Jean-Guy!” one of the Vampyr women hollers.

As if it picked up on her grief, the wolf pounces, snapping her neck with its fangs. It then picks her up by her side and flings her at the now-charging Vampyrs, knocking a few of them down like bowling pins.

The force of the Korama’s throw sends Vampyrs sailing through the air. Some crash into the brick wall of the Clair de Lune Manor. I notice that Lenore is angry, but she is no longer in an offensive position. Now that her servants are here to defend me, she is off to the side with a parade of Vampyrs surrounding her. The rest are trying to fend off the Korama–which means they’re either dead, recovering from being thrown, or still rushing headlong for the lone creature.

The Korama tramples over the last few Vampyrs who are still struggling to get up from being knocked out by one of their own. In a black blur, the Korama has disappeared.

But that doesn’t mean anything to the Vampyrs.

They take after the wolf in a blitz, their inhuman speed startling me.

I flinch when an arm wraps around my shoulders.

“Are you well, mon fils?”

Lenore’s cold green eyes cut through mine, but I don’t think her anger is with me. Still, I know now more than ever that I do not want to become one of her enemies. She has this impenetrable wall of mystery and frigidity, making it difficult to uncover anything about my murder or my new way of life. I get the notion that whatever she deigns to tell me will always be on her terms .

“Je vais bien,” I respond quietly. The excruciating pain at my side is dulling, subsiding. Despite the quick healing, emotional trauma lingers on my bones. The menacing eyes of the Korama will be boring into my mind for a lifetime (however long that may be).

“That ravageur will be eliminated. It won’t trouble you again.” Lenore stares out into the blackness, practically hissing at the now-quiet perimeter of the manor.

“Why did it come for me?” I can’t help but ask.

“You are le nouveau prince. They will keep coming for you.” She gives me a look that I can only translate to, duh . “You should keep yourself hidden, or at least be more careful, mon fils. Until then–” she releases me and looks at the Vampyr guards, who are waiting obediently for her to give the word. She says something to them in lightning-fast French. I can only catch a few words. I think she’s telling them to inform her of the results of the Korama hunt.

A guard with a hard expression slips a phone out of his trench coat pocket and begins dialling. I’m about to try and find out the results for myself–maybe hang back and wait–but Lenore turns to me again.

“Bonne nuit, mon amour.”

Her words are brief and final, almost too cold for being supposedly affectionate. But I know better than to contradict her.

I give her a slight nod and finally clear my throat, bidding her ‘goodnight’ and ‘thank you for rescuing me’ in French.

My bedroom is the same as I left it earlier this evening. I approach the gray duvet and slowly wipe the sweat from my brow. I thought I’d feel better about surviving the fight. But part of me…

I honestly feel bad for the wolf. I know it killed at least three Vampyrs while planning to murder me, but part of me wonders if the Queen’s arsenal brought that on themselves. If they hadn’t gotten involved, I would have been the only casualty. The Korama was merely defending itself–but then again, it didn’t have to annihilate the dead Vampyrs, either.

I suppose there’s no way out of this war. The Korama didn’t hesitate to end the lives of those that attacked it, and the Vampyrs were quick to plan a raid and even use me, a new member of their community, as some kind of bait. Maybe they knew that a Korama would be hunting me tonight. I’m not sure how–perhaps that’s just what happens every full moon. After all, Benoit died on a full moon four months ago…

I bring my hand to my bedside table, once again realizing my gray beanie is still nowhere to be found. It’s not like I have very many mementos from my previous life. The only thing that I took with me was that beanie–and that was only because I was wearing it the night I was jumped from behind and ultimately murdered.

Where did it go?

I sink onto the bed and place my tattered leather jacket beside me, the too-soft mattress making me stiff and uneasy. I pull my phone out of my pocket so it doesn’t dig into my hip. I scroll onto social media. I was never one for engaging in those things–I had the accounts but never the time nor desire to participate. But when I was turned, I made new, ambiguous accounts for one reason and one reason only: to try and stay in one-sided touch with my family and friends.

Thankfully, Sierra’s accounts are public. I’m not brainless enough to add her as a friend, but I’ve seen her through the eyes of a stranger–which isn’t nearly enough, but at least it’s something. She’s dating a new boy. Her Grade Eleven Band Class is going on a field trip to Toronto. She seems happy.

My parents don’t have social media, so every now and then, I see a random picture of Sierra with them. It leaves a gaping wound, seeing the lack of a fourth member in those photos. They’re smiling and content, but somewhere in their eyes is a glimmer of sadness, of grief.

Stephanie’s profiles and accounts are private due to an incident involving an ex-boyfriend. She and I were friends since grade school. After a while, I began to develop romantic feelings for her.

In fact, it was Stephanie who made me recognize my true self. For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me. I hit puberty but never had an attraction to men or women. But one day, I spent time with Stephanie after school and realized I wanted to be closer with her. Some research told me that there was a reason, a definition, for such a thing: demisexuality.

Knowing that Stephanie helped me discover my sexual orientation, and also understanding that I’ll never have the chance to tell her how I feel, are difficult pills to swallow. But now that I’m a hideous monster, a creature of the night, that part of me is dead. I can never go back. Never look her up or pine for her. Her world is not my own. Maybe it never was. Even though I never had the courage to tell Stephanie that I was in love with her, deep down, I knew she never reciprocated.

I log out of my social media accounts and place my new phone onto the bedside table, wiping a solitary tear from my eye.

So much has changed.

I’m no longer human.

I’m a walking target for Koramas.

If they’re hunting me down in the night, what will the Magicena do during the day?

I don’t want to be a part of this war, or this Vampyr hierarchy.

But I can’t go back. I don’t have a choice.

This is my new reality.

I lean against my pillows, wondering once again about the Magicena. We are told to fear them and avoid them, yet Lenore has never once told me to steer clear of their border. Zander warned me about both races, but it seems as though the Vampyrs’ main quarrel is with the Koramas. Is there a reason for that? Are the Koramas more of an immediate threat? Wouldn’t magic-wielding beings be more dangerous (in a way) than wolves who can only turn the night of a full moon?

I fall asleep confused, feeling the start of a migraine clawing at my senses.