When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 266

“Soren,” calls a voice from the front of the Tavern, wobbly with the influence of alcohol. Glancing over my shoulder, I knit my brows together, hastening to make light of the silhouetted figure. The voice calls out once more, stopping for a minute to peer at me through the gloom before taking a long sniff, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He never was one for manners.

There in the dim haze of the oil lights, Fangorn plods out a little unsteadily. But despite the slight wobble to his movements, his eyes are as sharp as a falcon’s and twice as cunning. He may be drunk, but there is no cognition lost in that brain of his.

“It appears you have drunk a bit too much blood, Fangorn. You aren’t trying to sabotage our mission, are you?” I jest, but the tones of humour in my voice are half hearted at best. Flicking away my comment as he dashes away curious moths that dance around his horns, he tip toes further out towards me.

“I needed a drink,” he says simply. Lazily, he unsheathes the knife from his pocket, playing with it thoughtfully between his fingers. “Besides, it will all be out of my system by tomorrow. That scrappy amount of blood will be cycled through me in less than half a day,” he chuckles, as though expecting some reaction. But I have none to give.

Sensing that my mind is elsewhere, Fangorn takes another cautious step forward, glancing behind him quickly to ensure that no one else has left the Tavern. A sigh of relief is the only sign to tell me that they haven’t.

“Aren’t you coming in?” he calls once more as I turn my head back over my shoulder, gazing back out into the darkness. At a time like this, the darkness seems to empty around us, far from the rambunctious noise and cheer that had echoed perpetually out of the Great Forest after midnight revelries. Here, there is no noise whatsoever, just the breathy sighs of the wind and pale flashes of moonlight amongst the trees. Everything appears to be in hiding.

Exasperated, Fangorn tries once more.

“It’s getting late, don’t you at least want a bit of rest?”

“I can’t rest,” I sigh languorously, resting my hands underneath my chin in a brief moment of tranquillity. But it is short lived. “Not while she is out there, in the hands of my brother who is doing hell knows what.”

But, I think darkly to myself, a low snarl ripping from my throat.  It doesn’t take a genius to realise what he is up to, what he wants.

The tip tap of shoes against the ground tell me of Fangorn’s approach.

“She can look after herself,” Fangorn assures, slapping a firm hand over my shoulder as he straightens the collar of his shirt with the other. Even through the refreshing chill of the night, he reeks of blood. It leeches off his breath- that once pleasant aroma turned sour by one other.

To think I used to glutton myself on it, to drink and drink from the helpless creatures of the forest until my stomach was full and my head was heady with the stuff. How it used to drive me mad when I had not drunk anything for a day, and how quickly  her  scent, her blood had driven me to lust.

Nowadays, after her departure, I don’t have the appetite I once had. Most days, I barely drink at all. All I can think of is how grand her blood would taste in comparison, and that quickly puts me off my meal entirely.

Angrily, I wrinkle my nose.

“I know she is very capable. But so is my brother. I know exactly what he will want to do to her, and I detest it.”

Humming a little, Fangorn draws himself up beside me.

“Alright, then allow me to rationalise. You know that she can’t drink his blood because she is not fully turned,” Fangorn continues promptly, realising I am not going to answer. “And she can’t be effected by his magic because of the pendant. She is safe, Soren. She will be able to handle herself.”

Beneath me, my knuckles turn white as bone as my grip on the banisters hardens. Apprehensively, I chew on the inside of my cheek.

“I know, it’s just-”

“You are worried about her, I get it,” Fangorn sighs, at last coming to rest beside me, slumping over the bannister. Fiddling with a little acorn between his fingers, he inspects it for a moment, before throwing it back out into the night. Soon after he promptly begins to fiddle with the hilt of his knife once more, turning it in his fingers. Fangorn never had been one to sit still. I suppose that is what the years of running from creatures in the End does to you.

“I felt like that for years after Lilyana was sent away. Every day I was terrified she might be condemned to death by the angels, or another vampire might find her somehow, irrational as that was, because she could no longer fly. But she handled herself, she was strong. Yet your Serena is even stronger, she knows Azrael’s games well enough by now. I know she will be alright.”

Ponderously, I think over this in silence. Fangorn, the ancient vampire, as ever has a point. Serena might- no, is, the strongest person I know between vampire and angels alike. She is undoubtedly stronger than them both. And now with the assurance she has a margin of my protection covering her, and her own powers at her disposal, I feel a little more at ease with the situation. A little, but not quite enough.

Leaning back, I shoot Fangorn a grateful look, managing to flash a half hearted smile in his direction. But a lingering sadness still manages to tug at my mind.

It’s obvious isn’t it, you moron? A voice in my head chimes sarcastically, a voice which I had long since hoped to put away. You are heartbroken, you miss her. You are grieving.

And grieving I am. Whoever thought that the heart of a thousand year old vampire could be so easily cracked under the loss of a love.

“Coming?” Fangorn urges, stepping back under the canopy that covers the front of the tavern, ducking under as so not to hit his head on the lingering branches. I screw up my face in consideration, staring out into the night. Something, somewhere, nags at the insides of my heart, pulling at my heartstrings and planting my feet firmly in place, so that even when I think about moving, my feet simply won’t budge.

“I-”

Somewhere in the night, a wolf howls. At this, a tingling sensation runs up my forearm, eliciting shivers of blackness to extend off my body sending lanterns flickering out across the tavern ground. I narrow my eyes.

“On second thoughts, I am going to stay out here a bit longer,” I inform Fangorn, continuing to rest against the banisters as I stare out into the night, my eyes pinpointed in the direction of the sound.

“Are they back?” Fangorn says simply, trusting me to understand what he means. I bow my head.

“They are.”

Fangorn nods once, and then another time for certainty.

“Right,” he murmurs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he lends a furtive glance inside. Nobody seems to have taken any notice of the two ominous figures that linger outside, standing in the stagnant dark like bats in the night. And to be honest, I don’t take much notice of them either- I have no time for involving myself in such trivial mortal affairs. Not while I have souls to find.

“I will be inside when you want to come in, make sure to get some rest, okay Soren?”

“Right,” I mutter, not really listening. “I will be back inside soon.”

There is a little pause from behind me, a muffle of sounds as Fangorn opens his mouth, but he promptly closes his mouth again, finding no words are suitable. The heavy thuds of his foot falls soon fall away as he leads himself back into the tavern, squeaking open the door, lingering for a moment, before pulling it shut on himself.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he is worried about me. That man has seen many things, beheld many traumas, but I too have had my fair share of haunting events and am well aware of the dangers I have to face presently.

But it is nice, for once, to have someone else looking out for me, another person who has got my back. Good riddance to the days where he has to reside in that miserable little abode in the End. I hope, despite everything, he manages to enjoy his time as a free man.

Averting my consciousness back to the presence, I reach my hand out towards the darkness, once more feeling that prickle of my magic run across my skin.

“Come out,” I order quietly, beckoning towards the blackness. “There is no one left here. Come out.”