Page 38 of The Vampire Curse

Clara

I lieawake in the predawn light of morning. Outside the window, a dreary gray swallows the entire sky.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, unrelenting after a countless number of parties. I have attended a lifetime’s worth—at least one each night that I’ve been here. Though, I’ve managed to get out of a few by feigning fainting spells or illness. With every passing day, I find I fit in less and less here. Always surrounded by people I don’t know and don’t care to know. It’s lonely in a way I’ve never experienced before.

I’ve found peace on those free nights. Sitting in the meager library and reading by the light of a tallow candle—the flickering light allowing me to transport to another, more familiar place.

Even with guilt prickling at my conscience for not being there for Kathrine, I know it is for the best. Since that first party, I have become more attuned to how the people of Littlemire see me. Before, I was unseen. Invisible. Now, my life has been touched by that of a vampire, and I’m tainted.

Which should bother me, but it doesn’t. I don’t care about the simpering idiots in this town.

This is the life I once fought to have, and I have hated every minute of it.

I blink at the suddenly blurry ceiling and roll to my side.

The window of this room looks out to the northwest, toward the border of the Shade Forest. I’ve only ever ventured into the eastern edge. These trees don’t make me think of the countless days I spent wandering there, learning to lay traps, and shoot an arrow well enough to kill the occasional animal. Instead, the purples and reds bruising the sky and peeking through the spaces between branches remind me of a different forest. One full of greater demons…

A single hot tear rolls down the side of my cheek and seeps into the pillow.

A loud series of knocks pull me from my darkening mood and signal the third wolf hunt in as many days. While the hunts are a break from the parties with far too many people, it is a sickening ritual.

I don’t understand how huntingbabywolves burdened by contraptions meant to hobble it down is supposed to bring good fortune and fertility to the married couple.It seems more like an excuse to boost the egos of those who can’t hunt by giving them an unsporting chance.

My stomach rolls from repulsion. At least when I hunted, it was out of necessity and not sport.

The first day the pup managed to escape. Kathrine sulked, convinced it was a bad omen for her marriage.

Then yesterday, the wolf was caught and killed. The pelt was carried away to make a gift for the wedding night. I don’t want to know what it could be.

Today is the final hunt and the day before the wedding. If I could get out of this, I would. This month-long affair has only reinforced how much I don’t belong.

I rise from bed and dress. My fingers are cold and shake as I button up the bright yellow hunting jacket. The swallowtail hangs down to the back of my knees. The tan leather breeches fit snug but allow me to move. Finally, I slip my feet into the kneehigh, black riding boots.

After tomorrow, these parties and hunts will be done with, and I will be able to begin my search for a new future.

By the time I get out to the stables, everyone has already mounted up—all twelve of them. Kathrine, Abraham, his brother Watson, the Lord Byron of Progsdale, his wife along with the mayor of Durford, and several others I don’t know.

I take the reins from the stablehand and mount my mare, then guide her to where everyone is waiting. We all walk to the edge of the forest and line up.

Two of the men are laughing and making a wager on which of them will be the one to kill the wolf.

Ahead, the stablehand sets down a metal wire cage, quiet whimpers come from within.

“Are you sure you don’t want a pistol?” Watson asks from beside me.

I smile wanly and shake my head. “No… No. I’m still getting used to staying in the saddle with both my hands. I don’t think I can manage to stay seated while holding anything,” I say playing up my lack of riding experience.

“That’s all right,” Abraham says, reaching over to pat me on the shoulder. “Gives me more of a chance to catch the thing for my lovely bride.”

He saysthingas if it’s not an animal just because it’s a wolf. It's nothing more than an old fear of shifters, dating back to when they were blamed for the horrible acts of demons. They are still seen as less than animals.

Oblivious to my distaste for this event, Abraham and Kathrine share a sweet look. He already seems smitten with her, and despite how many times she’s insisted otherwise, I think she is falling for him.

The stablehand releases the latch of the cage and brings a whistle to his lips then blows. A shrill noise sounds and a wolf pup with ruddy brown fur limps out of the cage. The poor thing cowers into a pile of damp leaves as soon as it spots us.

The man swings his foot and kicks the pup into motion. It runs into the edge of the forest with an uneven gait.

We wait atop horses that shift in place as the stablehand’s eyes are glued to a pocket watch.