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  I told him little of myself, and what I did say was vague. He seldom questioned me, though he often expressed worry about my traveling alone so often at night. I assured him that I was less alone than he might think. Indeed, I often felt one of them hovering nearby on the nights I tarried there with him, watching me. I didn't understand what drew me there to sit with him, or why I craved his company almost as much as I craved his blood. I knew somehow that it would be sweet, not quite like that of a child, but precious, delicious. Near him, the hunger was cooled, the need appeased by his calming nature.

  His voice was almost magical, and the poetry he recited came to life with a beauty I had never experienced. His hands were large, soft. When they touched me, my heart raced and I ached with desires I didn't quite understand. When I saw those hands touch another, an irrational anger filled me. I guess one could say that I loved him, though this was different than the affection I had held for Crenoral or Adan. As we walked through his village, I imagined what it would be like to be a part of his world. Or, to make him a part of mine.

  It was late spring of the following year when I arrived shortly after sundown and he took me by the hand, leading me out of the village, through the poplar trees, to a small clearing near a pond that sat still and dark beneath a starry sky. He had spread a woven wool blanket on the ground and prepared a small meal. I was terror struck. I had never eaten human food, and was unsure if I even could eat it. I searched for an excuse, a reason, anything to get me away from him, but the smell of him was strong and he seemed so pleased with himself. I was trapped by my own affection for him. If he noticed my reluctance, my terror, he said nothing. He was warm and gentle as he led me to that blanket and handed me a wooden goblet filled with wine.

  I knew I would have to try it, despite my fear. Hesitantly I sipped, expecting to gag upon something that was decidedly not what my body wanted most. Instead, my mouth was filled with a warm, sweet rush of a delicate flavor that went beyond the mere taste. I swallowed quickly, feeling the heat of it flood through me. He smiled again and began setting out the food.

  I was like a child tasting sweets for the first time, as he set out a smoky cheese and fruits, bread still warm from baking and roasted duck. I tasted each in turn, savoring each morsel, awakening to each new sensation, every change of texture, aroma, and flavor.

  The cheese smelled and tasted of age, mellowed by smoke and lightly flavored. It crumbled on my tongue and stuck to my teeth as I chewed. There was a round fruit that seemed soft and fuzzy on the outside. When he cut it open, the inside was orange and juicy. The taste was somewhat tart, but not unpleasant. It was soft to the bite and the juices burned as they ran down my throat before I could swallow. He cut into the rind of a small melon, then broke it over his knee, scooping out the seeds before handing me half of the white flesh. This too was juicy, running down my chin as I devoured the soft, tenderly flavored meat.

  Even the duck, the very thought of which turned my stomach, was truly delicious. Somehow the taste transcended even my hunger for the blood, cooling the fire without slaking it, and arousing me. He watched as I ate, sipping on his wine, smiling at the obviously unexpected pleasure I found in each rapturous bite. I was aroused by his nearness, by the flavors, by the feeling of filling and heat that the food produced. It was more than I had ever felt, more so than even the killing had ever produced in me. I was hungry for more, so much more. My appetite had only whetted upon the mortal food.

  Adroushan touched my face in obvious affection and I could smell him, his life beating in those veins just beneath the skin. I turned to it, brushing my lips across the flesh, tasting the exquisite saltiness of his skin. He moaned and his arm slipped around me, bringing me in close as he kissed me. I knew I should resist, but the fire of his lips on mine burned away my resistance. I melted into him, my body hot with the wine and food and desire.

  Somewhere deep inside I could hear my own voice warning me, cautioning my passion, but I paid it no heed. I wanted him, in more ways than that which he was offering. His kisses and touches were dizzying, as hungry as my own, or more so. Frantically, we pulled at each other, lost in lust and passion, consummating our friendship in hasty desire. I never felt the coming of the Change, never realized my own error, until it was too late to recover. His heart roared in my ears, speaking to me as his poetry did, pulling at me. The hot touch of him upon my tongue was unlike anything I had ever tasted, so beautiful, so … much … more … I was breathless and full, and he lay beneath me, naked and dead, one jagged wound in his neck. His blood coursed through me beside the fever of the food and I howled into the night in anguish.

  I could hear the others, Arda and Vahe and the rest, laughing from the trees. They had been watching, knowing my long restrained hunger would bring this to an ugly conclusion. I flew at them in a rage, lashing out at them in anger at myself, at my inability to control my desires. They allowed me to vent my emotion, circling me and letting me spend the remainder of my energy before they gathered me up and took me home.

  Crenoral paced around me, Mother hovering nearby as they relayed the incident, from the moment I had met Adroushan through that very night. I knelt where they had deposited me, on the floor of his room, still naked and shaking. It was silent a long while before he ushered them out.

  “Do you see, Little One, what becomes of you? Do you see now?”

  I didn't answer, just huddled further into myself.

  He came to kneel beside me. His anger and disappointment hung in the air around me. “They are not pets. They are vulgar, vile beings. They are not like us. They are mortal, cattle … nothing more. When will you accept this?”

  He sighed and stood to resume his pacing. “I'm tempted to lock you in your room for the next two hundred years, see if that brings you back to your senses. I don't know, Illari, what do we do with her?”

  Mother moved forward for the first time, her face paler than normal. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder and her dark eyes seemed to shimmer in the low light of the torches that lined the room. One hand lifted my chin almost gently and those eyes peered deeply into mine. It was more intimate than she had been with me in many years, though what she saw in my eyes I could not begin to know. So much about her was a mystery to me.

  “Hmmm … She is weak yet. So much of her is still like her father.” Something in her voice made me realize she meant the mortal man who had been her husband before Crenoral had called her. This seemed to anger Crenoral further. “Do not hold it against her, Love. She will come around. So much of her is like me as well. It is the mortal heart in her that holds her to them.”

  At that instant, that mortal heart seemed to be thundering with a life of its own, I could smell the humanity with me, the very essence that each of us in the Family craves. Crenoral turned, a strange look on his face. “That can be remedied,” he said, his voice low and menacing. The Change came upon him quickly and he flew at us. The air reverberated with his sudden fury. Mother stepped quickly between us, the Change taking what little humanity remained upon her face.

  “No!” They stood, locked in a stare that might have melted any mortal and filled the room with a sense of dread. I was afraid to move, lest I precipitate some further argument. They stayed that way from a long, long time. “You took that from me, Crenoral. I'll not let you take that from her as well.”

  “Step aside, Illari.”

  “Not this time. Remember that she was not offered a choice in what she is. You and I made that choice for her on the night you made me. If she chooses to hold on to what remains of who I once was before you, it is her right. If you wish to rip it from her, you will do so at the cost of losing me forever.”

  For a while longer, they stood in a silent battle of wills, but for once in her life, Mother was the stronger. His need for her companionship must have exceeded his anger that night. So suddenly that the room itself seemed to sigh, he gave in and stormed away. She hung her head, as if the confrontation had taken all her strength, then tur
ned to me and smiled. In that moment she was more maternal than I can recall her having been before or since.

  “Mother?” I said softly, reaching a hand out to her. She came, kneeling beside me and taking my hand. I didn't understand what had just happened.

  “Dovan was here,” she said, as if that explained everything. She touched my cheek and smiled, then the moment was over. She stood and was once more the cold, distant stranger.

  Chapter 3

  My mother sacrificed a great deal that night, and neither of us would ever have the same relationship with Crenoral again. I knew that from that moment on I would be watched, more so than in the past. My activities were reported back to Crenoral as if I were some criminal. I was afraid to visit the village, though I heard through Arda that they cursed our kind and vowed vengeance. It was Adan upon whom that vengeance would fall, nearly a hundred years later, caught feeding on one the village's children; he was driven into the fire at the shrine and burned alive. It sent ripples of fear through the Clan and the village was declared off limits.

  I wasn't allowed out alone for years after that. Crenoral was convinced that I had taught the people of the village how to kill us. No mortal had taken one of his children before. No one spoke to me for a long time, not even Mother, though I was forced to accompany Crenoral and the others and participate in their blood baths, to feed gluttonously when they felt I had not fed enough on my own.

  Of course, there was a part of me that reveled in the killing, a part of me that was complete and whole only when feeling a human life fade beneath my touch. Otherwise it would have been rather difficult to force me to it. I am a stubborn creature and seldom submit to such coercion if my own nature is truly set against it. So it was that they drew me back to them, brought me to temporarily set aside my guilt and fit myself into the role they would have me play.

  The time came however, when my thoughts returned to my previous plans of escape. It was the time of the Birth, when we celebrated the making of Bestin, the eldest of the brothers, into the monster he became. All I knew of Bestin was the stories told of his Birth, many of which had already transcended from truth to myth to legend by the time I heard them. It was said that he was sleeping beneath a tree, having set out on a journey to retrieve a stallion for stud, when the shaking of the earth awakened him. From the ground sprang a creature so vile that the scent of him caused plants to wilt and Bestin was said to have challenged him. They fought and Bestin held his own for several hours before the creature bit him and he fell to the ground dead, only to rise several hours later, changed forever. There were other variations of the story, none more believable. It was said that the tree still existed on the road leading up to the home Bestin now claimed for his clan.

  It was Bestin who had brought it, the cursed gift of eternal life, to his brothers, Crenoral and Dovan. Each of the three had created Clans of their own, spreading out in the world to keep the feeding fields from depleting. I had seldom met either of the other brothers, but to celebrate the three thousandth year since the Birth, Bestin called the three Clans together at the ancestral home of the Family, three nights' journey to the north and two nights' journey east of Arakatz. This began the Great Hunt, seven nights of gathering hundreds of victims, from as far away as could be reached, including many gathered on the journey. They were held in a fortress built on the very ground where Bestin and his brothers had lived.

  So it was, far from our home and all that I knew, I distanced myself from my Clan, trying to stay out of the way and planning a trip out with the hunters to disappear. I made my move the night before the celebration, slipping away and making good time into the dark, but it was not to be. Crenoral must have suspected or missed me. It matters little, what mattered was only that he found me, trying to find shelter against the coming day. His eyes were filled with an emotion I can only describe as disappointment as he brought me back to the fortress. I expected another lecture, a long day of his self-important criticism of my shortcomings. I was surprised then when he sank with a sigh beside me on the sleeping pallet. “What is it, Amara? Why are you not happy?” he asked softly.

  I could almost believe he truly cared at that moment, that were my reasons good enough … he might let me go to seek out what happiness I might find. I too sighed. “I … don't know, Father.” I replied just as softly. “My heart is heavy within me. I do not wish to kill.”

  “You will die without it … you know that?”

  “I will die if I continue. I do not understand it.” I stood and paced the little room. He looked so small, so defeated there on that bed, his head hung, his eyes closed. It made me pity him, to want to comfort him, to stay. That of course, was his charm. “Let me go, Father.” I said it so softly, more whispered from my mind to his than actually spoken.

  His head snapped up and suddenly the life returned to his eyes. I could feel him swell with anger. “Let you go? Go where? Ungrateful wench!” His hand snapped across my face, bringing tears to my eyes. “You embarrass me, and my Clan. How dare you behave like this now … here? You will go nowhere! You are my daughter and you will stand with me tonight. I shall think of a suitable punishment for you when we have returned home.”

  He flew from the room, slamming the door behind him. I heard something heavy dragged in front of it and knew I was trapped. I was at his side then, as it began. Over a hundred men and women were led before the blood-hungry Family. Bestin stood before them and chose for himself a beautiful young lady. She was brought before him and held tightly. She shook; I could see it even from my place fifty or sixty yards away. Her fear was palpable, but it was nothing compared to what it would be in seconds. The Change swept through him, and his face became contorted with fury. He bared his teeth, hissing through his fangs as he bent to her neck. Her scream echoed through the great hall, bouncing off the walls and lifting on the night air, before it was cut short and he raised a bloody face from her and dropped her like an empty sack to the floor.

  He lifted his arms and a cheer went up around us. As one the Family fell to it, with his encouragement in our ears, “Feed Children, Feed.”

  I was swept alongside Crenoral as he chose our victims, holding mine, a young man of perhaps fourteen, beautiful and trying to be brave. I hid his face as I did the deed, knowing I would never leave this place while he lived. My heart danced in dreadful rhythm with his, his fear coursing through me as his mind whispered images of his family and home to mine. The blood was hot and it burned as I swallowed, echoing the shame burning in my heart. I sent apologies after his soul as I felt him go and looked up to find Crenoral set upon his own victim.

  I set my thoughts upon escape to a quieter place then, at least to getting out of the blood, the death, but Crenoral clamped one powerful hand over my arm and held me to the spot. I refused to participate further, closing my eyes against the sight of so much death, lest it entice me to feed again; trying to cover my ears and heart against the cries and screams of the dying, lest I come undone. The scent of blood around me was dizzying, and appealing to my body's desires. There was no blocking it out, no escape.

  My eyes searched the hall almost frantically for something to divert me from the madness that surrounded me. I felt a tug upon my attention and found eyes locked upon me from across the room. I blinked to clear my vision, and found Dovan watching me, his lips red with blood, the Change completely gone from him. He seemed to nod in my direction, and I could feel something shared pass between us, something friendly and warm. I wanted suddenly to run to him, feel his arms wrap around me. Crenoral rose from his last victim, his eyes dancing between his brother and me. Then, he stepped in front of me, blocking me from Dovan. I don't remember ever seeing him as furious as he was just then.

  When it was over, I spent the next day once again locked in the small room, before I was dragged from it by Crenoral and held by his side the entire trip home. The punishment was severe when at last we were home, and I somehow imagined it had more to do with that one moment with Dovan than with
all the rest. The beating was bad enough to keep me well behaved for many long years after that.

  He became my constant shadow, this Father who had taught me to kill. To avoid his wrath, I retreated into a world of relative quiet, teaching myself to read the symbols that Adroushan had first introduced me to, collecting the tablets and later scrolls as I hunted and killed, taking them from my victims, or their homes. I went out early to dine and returned quickly to secret myself away in my room far beneath the earth to read the words of mortal poets, prophets. and storytellers.

  As I read and studied, I learned of the mortal world, and I watched. It would be nearly three centuries before my relationship with Crenoral eased again and he relinquished his control a degree or two. His attention was diverted by the plans of the latest members of the Clan, two brothers, Tova and Urel. They had come from the cities to the south, found by Crenoral asleep in the pass to the south. He had brought them into the Family after the older pleaded for the life of his brother and offered to build Crenoral a home like the powerful men of the mortal world possessed.

  I knew I was still watched. I could feel the eyes and ears of them following me at night. For awhile, I was content to bide my time and wait. I played the dutiful daughter, obeying the house rules and never stepping over the line. Still, I made plans, those long nights shut up in my room. I had learned from careful conversations and silent observation which of the trinkets I stole from my victims were worth trade, and which to leave behind. I watched and waited, knowing that the time would present itself. I was right.

  The manor was nearly complete, a dark, hulking house built of stone and wood. The main hall was nearly the size of the former building, standing empty and cold and all around it were mammoth rooms filled with furniture no one ever used. Three stories rose from the ground, covering the holes where we lived. The entrance to the caves where the clan still spent their days was hidden by a simple wooden door in a hallway behind the main hall. The Clan had grown to nearly a dozen, probably more than was wise considering the scattering population of the towns below us. Too many years of death from above had driven many away.