THE FOX
No matter how much distance I put between me and Rowland, I can’t seem to shake the feel of him. The weight of his expectations. Of his betrayal.
But it’s not really a betrayal, is it? Not by the truest meaning of the word. And that’s the part that hurts the most. Because if it was just him that I could be mad with this would all be easier, but unfortunately, he’s not the person I fault most.
Everything he said was true. I’ve kept him at a distance our entire lives. What did I expect to happen? That he’d be content with our arrangement for the rest of his life? He’s the leader of an ever-growing community. He has big dreams about the possibilities of the future, he has endless hope for mankind and optimism for his research.
He doesn’t just want to survive.
Rowland wants to live.
I have no doubt he wants to take a wife someday, make a family. And I don’t fit into that vision for his future. I never have. I’ve never wanted to.
So then why does it feel as if someone has taken a chisel to my heart and pounded it straight through?
I do my best not to think too hard about it. The last thing I need is to be distracted.
Night has fallen and these streets will be more dangerous than they were before. I already almost lost my life once today; I don’t plan on tempting fate again.
I probably should’ve taken Rowland up on his offer and waited out the moon, but I needed to get out of that compound. I needed fresh air and for the walls to stop pressing in on me.
“That’s not the life I want,” I whisper to myself, the words barely making it past my lips, I utter them so softly. “This is where I belong.”
Steeling myself to the terrors that roam about, I pause at an undisturbed doorstep and hold one of my ears up.
The streets are quiet, vacant as usual. There’s something about it that’s soothing, as if I’m the only soul left alive in this forsaken place. Like it’s just me, the rubble of a society long-since destroyed, and the glowing half-halo of light that I can just barely make out over the tops of the buildings.
I move forward, making my way to the well again, careful to avoid the rubble cluttering my path. Rowland has clearly instructed his people to leave this area untampered with, a wise choice to ensure that any noctis who venture this way will be less inclined to think that anyone lives here, let alone frequents it enough that it would be a worthy stake-out location.
The state of the place reminds me of all that the humans have lost. Our ancestors ended demonkind and reclaimed their Arcathainian territories, only for a new monster to bring them to their ruin.
They should’ve killed them all when they had a chance.
While magic still existed, the once-celebratedHero of Arcathain, Halira Devonshire, should’ve used the druid magic she still had at her disposal to conjure her powerful cyclones and blow each and every one of the bloodsuckers back into the bowels from which they came.
Instead, she let the monsters live.
Instead, she let the usurper king—herbrother—live and condemned us all.
That’swhere I channel my energy. Not to Rowland and the news of his unborn child. Not to Elison, my own fletcher, and the fact that I’m risking my life to save hers right now. I channel all of my anger, all of my frustration, toward the Devonshires.
After all, it was King Tor himself who laid waste to Hulbeck. It was on his orders that the Crimson Guard were in Hulbeck that day. I might not have seen him do it, but I know it was his sharp incisors that ripped through Agnes’ throat and laughed while she choked and gurgled on her own blood.
Just as the molten rage is beginning to harden like an impenetrable shield around my aching heart, a cry cuts through the air from somewhere up ahead.
“Help…” A hoarse voice, possibly female, whimpers from the dark. “Is anyone there? Please.”
I don’t have to glance around to know where the safest, closest hiding spot is because I’ve been making note of that with every step I’ve taken since I left Hulbeck ten years ago.
Currently, it’s the building at the end of this corner, through a doorless doorway on my right.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
In one swift motion, I leap through the doorway, Sable drawn. I crouch low, slinking across the dark room, acutely aware of the lack of crashing coming from inside. If a ghoul had been in here, it would’ve leapt into action. Even a noctis or another human would startle at my sudden entrance, so at least I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that at least I’m not in danger in here.
But whoever’s screaming, they could already know I’m here.
I creep my way to the that window faces out toward the raucous. Only once I’m certain I won’t be spotted do I chance taking a peek.
