My father laughs—a deep, rumbling laugh that’s so rare to me I can’t help but smile. “Divine deliver us! No concern you’ll be seeing color any time soon.”
I laugh along with him at the sheer absurdity. Even before the wall fell, I wasn’t prone to flights of romanticism, but since the attack hollowed me out, I’ve filled every empty inch of space inside of me with simmering anger. Every time Stefan makes his snide comments. Every time I think about the Carrenwells merrily ruling over Lunameade with no consequences. Every time I have to perform some official duty as heir and feel Holly’s loss all over again.
Kyrin’s ears perk up and the fur on his back rises as he glances down the wall. He bares his teeth and lets out a low growl.
Bells ring out in a familiar pattern. This frantic, drawn-out clangingmeans a breach. The Drained have breached the wall. Two more short trills ring out.
“Hunter down!”
The shout comes from the darkness down the wall to our left, and Kyrin takes off toward it, growling.
Fear arrives before any of my other senses can register what’s happening. It’s there and gone so fast—shoved away by years of training and the intimate knowledge of what happens to hunters who panic when the Drained attack.
My father is already in motion, one hand holding out a blade, the other pouring well water down the edge of it. I follow him, coating my blades as we sprint along the top of the wall toward the sound of claws and steel meeting.
We pass four torches, and the scent of blood and rot hits me just before the fight comes into view.
Two hunters are fighting off four Drained. Their movements flicker in and out of shadows. I’d almost rather fight in full dark. The stuttered, dancing torchlight and the illusion of being able to see something are distractions.
I cut my father off, forcing him to stay behind me as I charge into the fight. It’s the least I should do. If I were wise, I’d send him away. But the head of Mountain Haven can’t be seen running from a fight.
I recognize the hunter closest to me, Pelan Langley. He’s guarding someone wounded on the ground. It’s a technique we all use, called blood baiting. When the Drained are near fresh blood, they’re so desperate to get to it that they will always take the shortest path. It’s easier to fight a wild beast off if you know its motivation.
Their appearance is humanoid since they were once humans. I never quite get used to their eerie appearance. After turning, the Drained grow more hunched and animalistic, their skin going gray, their bodies gaunt, and their eyes black as night. Their fingers lengthen into dark claws and their teeth turn viciously sharp.
The beast roars in my face as I step between it and the wounded hunter. Its breath smells like iron and carrion. I grip the hilt of my sword until it hurts so that there’s no room for the fear that scent evokes.
Kyrin snaps at the Drained one’s ankle, but it swipes its claws at me. I dart left and run my sword across its ribs.
It screeches as the well water sizzles on its skin. It stumbles back, and I shove my blade up between its ribs and into its heart.
The Drained lets out a loud wail and curls forward. Its whole body crackles as it lets out one last screech and disintegrates into ashes.
I turn just in time to see my father shove a beast back off his blade and over the edge of the wall.
Pelan has finished off his beast as well, as has the other hunter, who. I now recognize as Kayleen Reyas. She nods to me as she kneels beside Pelan to tend to the wounded man.
Finally, I turn my gaze on the injured hunter. Maxime Palemore. He’s one of the fiercest men in the entire fort, five years older than me and still in his prime at thirty-eight.
Kyrin paces back and forth beside the guards.
“Did they bite him?” I ask.
Maxime shakes his head, but we can never take a victim’s word for it. We always have to check. While their claws can maim, a Drained one’s bite transfers the disease. It starts with a fever and then an almost deathlike state where the heart slows so much, its beat is barely perceptible. Then they wake, violent and hungry.
We’ve only seen hunters survive a bite three times. The rest have all either been killed as they were transforming, or shortly after. A bite from the Drained is largely considered a death blow.
However, it’s not uncommon for men to deny it and only admit later what happened. That threatens the safety of the entire fort.
Pelan looks up from the wound along Maxime’s stomach. “No bite. Just claws, but it’s deep. He needs a healer before he gets down.”
I glance at the bell beside the nearest torch and ring it five times in quick succession to call for a healer. There are at least three healers stationed at the level one wall at all times so they can respond to emergencies like this.
My father nods to Pelan and Kayleen. “Clear the area. Make sure there are no more. We’ll hold this spot and Henry can work on him until the healer arrives.”
The two hunters split and walk in opposite directions in the protocol we use to ensure there are no further breaches.
My father kneels beside Maxime, and I walk to the wall. “Listen for the mist. Then help him.”
