Hunted

It was the night of Hallows Eve. Four centuries ago on this date, Lady Shelley of the World Under, had met her would-be wife under a blood moon and the shelter of an oaken tree. Shelley fell in love with Aethen immediately. It was the way the moonlight had danced in her opal black eyes, and the purity of her soul (if any vampire had a soul, it would be Aethen of the North.)

But there were hunters. Monster hunters. They didn’t kill monsters, they destroyed them.

Lady Shelley lost the one woman she would have ever spent eternity with. A promise of forever together, torn apart. Torn apart by a monster hunter, with the name of Richard Nightingale. The Nightingales had become notorious for their kills. Dragons, werewolves, dark elves. However, the monsters they held the most hate for were vampires. Aethen had been thrown from the cliffs of Arthorn, and her cracked body burned to nothing but ash, swept away by the wind. Lady Shelley’s wife, taken away from her forever. She would never again meet those opal gems she had for eyes. Never again hear her lover call her name, or watch the moonlight bathe her.

But Lady Shelley was capable of other things. She could watch the life drain from Nightingale's eyes, feel his mortal blood seep from his pathetic, mortal body. She couldn’t bring Aethen back, but she would find her killer and she would slaughter him.

The search for the Nightingale’s had been tiring, Shelley’s horde of vampire-bats were itching for the taste of blood. She stroked a pale hand across scaly wings, muttering to them.

“My lady?” A voice came from the shadows, and Shelley turned her red eyes to the intruder.

“Caelan. Anything to report?”

“Yes, my lady. The hunters. We have found them.”

Shelley’s eyes burned like fire. Her horde of bats swarmed around her, waiting for command.

“A mountain, east of the Hollow Hills. A castle sits, and we have confirmed that the Nightingales have taken residence there.”

The steel, double doors opened for Shelley, and she shot into the night sky, her horde at her feet. They reached Hollow Hill just as the sky was melting into a rich scarlet and purple. Beautiful night for killing. It was almost too easy. Richard Nightingale sat in a candle-lit room. Unarmed. Unaware.

Shelley burst the glass of the windows and seized the monster hunter by the collar, pinning him to the floor. Overcome with rage, her nails dug into his skin.

“Richard Nightingale.”

The man’s small eyes were lit up with shock, and he trembled. Still, he couldn’t help his bigotry, so he spat:

“Vampire.” His eyes now full of hate, mirrored in Shelley’s own. Her bats swarmed outside, shrilling and roaring, begging for his blood.

“My name is Lady Shelley. You murdered my wife. Now, should I rip your throat where you lie, and risk staining this pretty carpet, or do I hand you to my lovely pets outside, and watch them rip you to pieces?”

“You’ll regret this. You can’t hurt me vampire-scum. This house is full of monster hunters. We’ll have you burned in minutes. Just like your wife.”

Now, that was a mistake. Shelley pummeled him, and for good measure she tore his left eye out and threw it behind her. One of her bats squawked happily. Nightingale roared in agony, no doubt regretting his words. He kept screaming, so Shelley heaved him up, away from the others. She’ll deal with them later, when the hunger grows. She carried him out of the window, not caring when the remaining glass shards ripped his skin. His face dripped with blood, and bats swarmed them, gnashing their little fangs happily. He wasn’t talking anymore, Shelley delighted in his pain and silence.

“You shouldn't have gone after my wife, Nightingale. You should’ve known I would come. You call yourself a monster hunter, hm? You people are the true monsters. And I intend on ridding this world of them, one by one.”

She laughed at his scream, as she dropped him to the bottom of the mountain, where he lay, shattered and bloody. The drop didn’t kill him though. But, when Lady Shelley slashed his ribcage open the last thing Richard Nightingale saw was a vampiress eating his own heart, with a huge grin on her beautiful, pale face.

The screams of the Nightingales were one of the most beautiful things Lady Shelley had heard, in all of her 900 years.