Night Fall Chapter 2

As the years passed, Mya’s body had begun to change and mature. Her breasts grew heavier, fuller, and attracted more attention than she was used to from the town boys, ones who believed themselves to be men worthy of her affections.

According to many, her backside was just as distracting, and she was solely to blame for the males who drooled over her like a piece of meat every time she simply left the house to run an errand. It was her fault for being curvier, womanly, and not procuring clothing to defer their gaze. Some even snickered behind her back that she craved the attention. Ah, yes, because it was Mya’s fault they could not stop themselves from staring at her. How she wished she could dig their eyeballs out of their heads—then they would really have something to blame her for.

To them, her silent indifference was her weakness, her admission of guilt. Their gossip soon turned cruel and painful, using her earth-toned skin to question her heritage, to spin the tale that she was a servant’s child, that she only claimed to be related to Gregori and Lucas and was not actually their kin. But the worst rumor of all was that she had set her sights on Erik to keep his money for herself.

After all, Mya was eighteen now. According to the villagers she was much too old to still be unmarried. There had to be a reason she had waited so long, especially with her child-bearing hips. How it sounded like they wished her to be nothing more than a cow for a man to breed.

But Mya knew that even without her appearance, she still would have been pursued by mothers and sons alike, just as her family was. She was connected to Erik, lord of the land. Who would not want to court and marry her? She could have any man she wanted at the drop of the hat, except the actual man she wanted, it seemed.

It had gone so far, that Gregori and Lucas had offered to escort her on her adventures into town, all to curb the horrible behaviors Mya was subjugated to, but she refused them both. Their supervision would have made it all the more real, hurtful, and embarrassing.

She hated it all.

Mya hated how men ruled the world. Her parents had always taught her that there were things a man could do and things only a woman could do, but that both were in equal power. Her mother and aunt had lived together, taking care of their entire home from cooking and cleaning, to protecting their land from men who wished to steal it, men who believed there was no way women could take care of such a property.

When Mya’s father, Henry, decided he wanted to marry her mother, Eleta, he had to fight to win her affection, but not just in the traditional sense. He had to better her mother’s life. She did not need him, so Henry had to make Eleta want him. He had to show her that he would never hold her back, only lift her up. He had to make her love him.

To Mya, that was how a courtship worked. That was the example of love she held all relationships to, and none of the men who harassed, belittled, and accused her, who threw their fathers’ dowries at her as if it was something for Mya to be impressed by, lived up to those standards.

No, her heart was reserved for Erik, and Mya did everything she could to be closer to him, to spend more time with him.

She left her wild hair long because she liked the way he played with it, twirling the strands around his fingertips as if he was searching for any reason to be close to her. She liked his scent and loved it even more when he came to her bedroom at night so she could drown herself in him before she went to sleep. She loved to watch Erik when he trained Gregori and Lucas, captivated by the way his muscles tensed and tendons squeezed when he threw a punch or kick, how his light blonde hair swayed around his shoulders as he ducked and rolled, parrying his opponents’ attacks. She was jealous of the sweat that rolled down his chest when he was done, and she had taken to embracing him whenever they were alone just to claim a piece of him, even if it was just a simple touch. She understood it was foolish, just as she now understood the name for her body’s reactions to him––desire.

Her attraction to him had grown into something she never knew she could feel. He was the only one she wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to do other things that she heard about from the married women in town. She wanted Erik to pleasure her, and she wanted to learn how to pleasure him, but the reality was it would never be. He was her guardian, and while she still did not understand the breadth of his feelings for her, she knew her thoughts were impure.

Mya respected Erik. She did her best to pretend that was all she felt, but she was tired of pretending. She did not care if it was wrong. She did not want to be pursued by anyone else, to possibly have to fake entertaining a suitor, or to continue to be on high alert every time she left their house just to fit into this time period.

There was something in her gut that told her it would only spell trouble if she continued, but for now that was the game she played as she donned the blue dress that had been carefully embroidered with golden filagree and small gems, coiled her hair and placed it into its typical net, picked her matching headdress and cloak, and went on her way, all while trying not to stomp her feet too hard while she walked.

Her tutor’s general scolding flashed through her head, and she had to force herself to straighten her spine, roll her shoulders back, and keep her chin up. Eventually, as the wind blew against her and the sunshine warmed her skin, Mya’s mood improved.

It lightened even more as she entered the local apothecary. Mya had taken up the study of medicine and anatomy privately, as she would never have been allowed to practice. The Black Plague still ran rampant among the poor. As a vampire, she did not need the medicine, but Mya wanted to protect those who had no way to receive the necessary medicine. The poor were subjugated to the filth at the hands of the rich, and it made Mya’s stomach ill. She knew she could not change the world, and would not be able to save everyone, but she would do all that she could to make a difference.

She was also fascinated by what medicine could do to her blood. Erik had supplied her with a space to practice her experiments, and he often assisted her in her thirst for knowledge by providing her herbs and the latest medical texts he could find. When he could not provide something she wanted, she stole it, and Erik supported her fully.

Mya took her time perusing the shelves before purchasing what she could without raising suspicion: a few herbs which held medicinal properties. She made a mental note of the herbs she would ask Erik to purchase for her, as well as a new rumored text based on the science of anatomy.

She was pleased when she left the apothecary, but the small skip in her step vanished when a door opened behind her and the Bennet twins stepped out, along with Richard Browne and Walter Godfrey. The Bennet twins were children of a noble who believed he and his family controlled the world and everything in it. They were brash. They stole, they lied, they harassed and assaulted women, and they viewed themselves above reproach. Their friends, Richard and Walter, believed the same.

Mya tried to scurry past them but was cut off by Walter. He attempted to grab her, but her vampire abilities made her faster than him. As she veered around one man, the next came from behind her. She turned, avoiding his grasp as well, and spun, but her basket of herbs unbalanced her and she found herself braced against the alley wall.

The breath rushed out of her as Randolph Bennet neared her, his brother, Gilbert, flanked to his side. She began to panic, not for her sake, but for theirs. It was imperative that no one find out she, her family, or Erik were vampires, and that meant Mya had to practice control in this situation. She had to monitor her emotions, not get too angry, too violent. Yet everything about these men told her that they were not going to let her go with a simple scare. They thought themselves to be powerful, but to her they were simply prey, and if they were not careful, she would catch them and eat them like the predator she was.

Mya stood straight against the wall, pressing back against it as much as possible to put space between herself and them. Before they could open their mouths, she said, “I am on my way home. Erik and the rest of my family are waiting for me. Please let me pass.”

Richard snickered while Randolph braced his arm above her head. “I am sure they will not miss you for a couple of minutes.”

“It will take longer than that to finish with her,” Gilbert said with a smirk.

Mya ignored him and stared Randolph straight in his eyes. “Let me go, Randolph. I am not worth the trouble.”

The boys behind him laughed, but Randolph’s eyes gleamed as if she had said the exact words he needed to hear. “I would be inclined to agree with you, but you have avoided me at every turn, and for that you have to be punished.”

“Randolph—”

“Enough, woman!” Randolph yelled, before he reared back and struck her.

The blow he dealt did not bruise her skin nor cause her any pain, but it shocked her. A feeling of injustice rose within her. How could they do this? Why had they done this? What harm had Mya ever caused them, or this world, to be forced to live such a life? Had she not been kind? Had she not kept to herself, done her best to not be a bother, to not bring trouble down upon others? Had she not tried to help others without asking for anything in return? Did she not deserve more?

You deserve more, a voice said to her.

Her voice. Her subconscious.

Pay attention now, it whispered. Take your retribution.

She blinked and the world came back into focus. Her face was against the timber panel of the alley while the men pushed and prodded her from behind. It took the four of them to shove her in place, their strength in numbers.

Air began to whip around her legs, and she gasped.

This was going to happen.

They were going to rape her.

Their laughs and hollers filled her ears, and her body turned numb.

What have I done to deserve this? Why is this happening to me?

Hands shoved her legs apart. She knew it, felt her body move, but reality seemed to distort itself. She was there and not there, just as they were there and not there. It was as if she was no longer in her body.

And yet their laughter remained. It grew louder, and their snide remarks followed as they argued about who would be the first to shove themselves inside of her and who would follow next, and after that, and after that.

Their laughter, their cheers as if they had won an honest victory, their cruelty, left a stain on her soul.

You are stronger than this, her subconscious growled.

Was she strong? No. She had always been weak. Had that not been why this world had been so barbaric toward her? Was that not why it had taken everything from her? It had taken her family, her way of life. Even something as simple as her studies and passions were unobtainable because she was a woman. And then there was her heart, so far locked away because she could never have the one person she wanted.

But at least she had herself. She had her body, her mind, her soul, and now these men, these insignificant little creatures, were trying to take them from her.

She hated it. She hated England. She hated the rules she had to follow. She hated the women whose words cut her so deeply. She hated the men that treated her as if she was nothing more than an object available to them whenever and however they wanted.

But most of all, perhaps, she hated herself. She hated that nothing would change no matter what she did or how she did it. She hated that as a woman, she would always be expected to sacrifice for someone else.

Mya knew what she was going to do.

She was going to let her anger rule her. She was going to turn into a vampire, a horrible monster to mankind. She was going to kill these men, and her family would be the ones to pay for it. And she hated herself the most because she could not—would not—stop.

Mya deserved more, and she would take her retribution with a smile.

She grasped the wrist of the nearest man and twisted until he screamed so loudly the sound punctured her ear drums. She healed almost instantly from the injury, but the small flinch of pain only strengthened her resolve.

Her eyes glazed over, her blood lust growing stronger and clouding her vision, until she could only feel the pop of his joints and hear the agonizing screams tearing from his body as she broke his bones. She could taste his blood and smell his sweat in the air—salty and sour, tinged with fear.

When the smell of urine flooded her senses, she threw the man away. His head landed with a loud, wet whack against the stones. Mya smiled at the sound and the now fresh scent of oozing blood. It sharpened her predatory senses, and while she still could not see the faces of the other men in front of her, she could make out their forms as they processed the shock of the last few seconds.

Then they pushed, hit, and beat her, but she felt no pain. Their blows did nothing but anger her more. They were still invading her space as if they had the right, as if they owned it, owned her, and their feeble attempts to hurt her were accompanied by berating claims that she had asked for this.

Time seemed to slow around her, every action the speed of a tortoise’s next step. She parried each of their blows, moving so fast she could predict their next move from the rush of air that tickled the hair on her skin. It felt as if she was moving in the blink of an eye.

Why had she not done this sooner? This feeling, this freedom, was everything to her, and

Mya laughed loudly as she succumbed further. She lifted her arms, ready to push the men, already planning her next move. Maybe she would castrate them, make sure that they could never do this to another woman again. Perhaps she would just kill them outright, their lives payment for the atrocities she was sure they had forced upon other women. They should have never been brought into this world, and she, in her righteousness, would be their judge, jury, and executioner.

The sound of a door opening interrupted her thoughts, and she hissed at the intrusion.

“Aye! What are you boys doing?” a man shouted, before banging something against a metal pot. The sound stung her, so high pitched against her sensitive hearing that it made her head ring.

She looked up and could make out the face of the man, Tubert. He wobbled out of the door, using the frame to support himself on his wooden leg while he brandished the metal pot in an attempt to look intimidating.

Why had he inserted himself into this? Perhaps Tubert had nothing left to lose. Perhaps he wanted to be of importance to someone. Maybe he simply wanted to do something with his life, play at being the hero to raise his value in society. Perhaps he thought that saving her would garner him a reward.

Whatever was going through the man’s mind did not matter. No one would get in the way of her justice, not even this man who played at defending her. If he tried to stop her, she would kill him just as surely as she would delight in killing these men. Until she peered down to Tubert’s leg and saw Albin, Tubert’s seven-year-old son, standing behind his father.

That was what brought Mya back from the edge and curbed her rage. She could never put a child through what she had gone through; she could never rob a child of their parent.

The blood lust cleared from her eyes, allowing her to see. The men’s faces in front of her were white, their eyes wide and unblinking. Past them she saw Walter’s body—whether dead or just unconscious she did not know—and her stomach turned under the sick satisfaction that sight gave her.

She needed to leave, now, before she succumbed to her blood lust again.

Mya turned and ran. Shouts rang out behind her, but she did not stop. Instead, she ran faster, scared of what she would do, who she would become, and how much she would like it if she turned back. She had put her family in danger, and she fully believed that Gilbert and his group would do everything in their power to use what had just happened to their advantage.

Many people had converted under the power of the church. Erik may be lord of these lands, but the church would be quick to investigate a claim of demonism. One rumor would be enough to qualify the investigation. Any demand for further proof would seem suspicious, and with so many of the townspeople converting, Erik would fall under scrutiny for not reporting her condition himself. There were already those who wanted to challenge his position, and this one action could finally give them the ability to do so.

Mya had caused this. She had brought this trouble into her home.

But what was the alternative?

Should she have stood there and let them rape her? Was that all she was good for? No. This was a situation where the circumstances would never have been in her favor, and her family would understand that. They would support her actions, she knew that deep in her soul, but she did not want them to endure her decisions as well.

If you kill the men who hurt you, they will not have to, the voice within her said.

Unconsciously, her pace slowed until she halted near a wooden wall.

Was that an option? Could that be her only option?

Yes, the voice hissed, begging her.

Mya could kill them. She could wait for them to be alone and then hunt them down one by one. She could easily find them. Walter’s blood was still on her gown, and where he was the others would be sure to follow. She lifted the gown to her nose and inhaled. The blood was so sweet, so delectable, that her heart pounded in her chest.

Mya grasped onto the wall as her blood lust began to take her over once more. Could she do it? Could she take their lives to spare her family the consequences of her actions?

You will only kill those who deserve it. No one else.

It sounded too good to be true, but as she tossed the thought over in her mind, she knew it was the only way. If she killed them, no one else would know. Her family would be safe and she could leave, go somewhere else, perhaps back to Spain. That thought gave her so much warmth, satisfaction, and pleasure, that it sealed her fate.

Mya turned, a smirk tugging her lips. She gave into her blood lust and her vision faded to red. She took one step and pressed her toes to the path, ready to jump, to soar along the roofs of the buildings until she reached her prey. She lowered herself, feeling her energy build, and then—

An arm wrapped around her torso, the heavy weight keeping her still. Before she could even think to struggle, she was pulled back into the shadow of the alley.

The scent of pine, ash, smoke, and cinnamon hit her on her next inhale, and she froze.

Erik.

He cannot see me like this, she thought. He cannot know.

But he stood in front of her, plain as day, and his stare was as tangible as the fingers he ran over the torn areas of her gown.

She tried to speak to him, to tell him to leave her, to let her go, but she was not in control. The words came out garbled, incomprehensible, and it only shamed her more.

“Who touched you, fagr skjaldmær min?” he asked, his voice low, so calm and deadly that her skin broke out in chills.

Mya could not tell him. Not only because she could not voice the words, but because it pained her too. Erik’s presence had always made her feel safe, as if he were her home. She trusted him to always come to her aid, but the thought of him doing so now threw her into a panic. If she told him, he would take on her battle. He would kill the men she was meant to kill, and therein lay the problem.

This was not for him to solve. This was not for him to do. She could not rely on him this time, and she refused to let him interfere. Too much could go wrong, and she would not let him implicate himself in his act of heroism. She wanted to prove to herself, to him, that she was just as much as a warrior as he, that she could be just as ruthless, calculating, and brave.

She would not miss this chance.

She would not let those men win.

Her blood lust pulsed under her emotions, twisting her desires into a desperate need for survival. The weight of her embarrassment, shame, guilt, anger, disappointment, hatred, and love merged into something ugly, and for the first time in her life she fought against Erik. She tried to push him away. When that did not work, she tried to hit and punch him, but he simply grabbed her hands by her wrists and shoved her back against the wall. The movement only made her fight more. Her consciousness ached because she could not break out of her blood lust.

She felt outside of her body again, and the sight she saw devastated her. She did not recognize the woman struggling against Erik. She was so lost, so chaotic, her jaw snapping at him as she tried to free her hands and claw at his skin. Mya would have never tried to hurt Erik. She did not want to rely on him, and she wanted him to let her go, but not like this. This was not her, but she did not know how to regain her senses.

Tears dropped from her lashes as she realized that even with this power, she was weak. If she could not use her mind and be in control of her heart and body, what good was she to anyone?

She tried again to speak to Erik. The words were even more garbled now, coming out as feral, animalistic sounds and snarls, but somehow he knew. Erik used his body to keep her pinned against the wall. He grabbed hold of her neck, grasping it between his thumb and pointer finger. His hands were so large that his fingers reached under her ear, but his touch was gentle as he whispered, “I will not let you suffer this, fagr skjaldmær min. Forgive me.”

His free hand slid into her hair, fisting the strands at her scalp. He tilted her face to his, holding her in place and then his lips came down against hers.

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