Foretold (St. Bastian Institute 1)

“I love you for the part of me that you bring out.”

? Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

1.

I was no more than a shadow.

The city was a dark canvas, and I melted into its fibres. The leaves on the trees lining the lamp-lit street didn’t rustle as I passed, neither did the rats and other vermin stir in their hiding spots down in the sewers. Nor did the patrons who gathered outside bars and clubs smoking bat an eyelid at the invisible girl who passed by.

I moved lithely, both swift and light on my feet as I stalked my prey.

He was several yards ahead, wearing a long winter coat, his shoulders wide and proud, head held high. I followed him discreetly, making sure to keep a good distance behind. I’d taken every precaution, wearing dark clothing, with my pale blonde hair hidden under a black beanie.

He turned left, disappearing down a dark alley. I didn’t hesitate to follow. I was primed to attack, and my prey had given me the perfect opportunity to corner him. I slunk low, keeping my head down, and my eyes peeled. Dark alleys in this city could contain all manner of predators far, far scarier than I.

A squeak distracted me, and I glanced down just as a rat the size of a small dog skittered past. I tried not to let it spook me. If I wanted to become a member of The Hawthorn Guard, I couldn’t go around allowing mere rodents to frighten me. Even if, admittedly, I did have to suppress a shudder at the enormous size of the thing.

I brought my attention back to my prey and frowned. He’d disappeared. What the hell?

A second later, a strong arm came across my throat, pulling me back into a hard, unyielding chest. I gritted my teeth, angry at myself for falling for such a simple trick, for so easily allowing him to get the upper hand.

“How did you know I was here?” I grunted, annoyed.

My father gave an affectionate chuckle. “You thought of almost everything, Darya, but you neglected to disguise your scent.”

Damn! How had I forgotten something so basic? Normally, I drowned myself in whatever perfume was popular amongst the human population so that my unique scent would meld with theirs, but somehow, I hadn’t thought of that tonight. Must’ve been distracted.

My dad loosened his hold, and I stepped away, turning to face him. “When did you catch wind of me?”

“A few streets back.”

“Fuck!”

“Mind your language, darling.”

I shot him a sheepish glance. “Sorry. I’m just annoyed at myself. I can’t believe I forgot something as obvious as scent.”

“It’s rare that we don’t forget something,” he reassured, throwing his arm over my shoulders and guiding me back out onto the street. “Especially when we’re still learning.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll get you next time,” I huffed.

“I have no doubt that you will,” he replied fondly.

Ever since I turned twelve, my dad had been training me like this, teaching me how to hunt, how to tap into my vampire side, and use my extra senses. It wasn’t exactly conventional, but it was our special way of bonding and spending time together.

“By the way,” Dad went on. “You’re overdue to visit Angela. We’ll stop by her house on our way home.”

Angela was a witch and my regular blood donor. Since I was a dhampir, half vampire/half human, I needed both regular food and blood for survival, but not nearly as much blood as a fully-fledged vampire. When I was a baby, the vampires and the magical families of Tribane came to a mutually beneficial agreement, one that would protect the human population from becoming addicted to vampire bites.

Witches and warlocks, who could cast spells to regenerate from blood loss and defend against addiction, would partner up with a vampire or dhampir and donate blood in exchange for protection. It meant that we didn’t need to feed from humans, who, for the most part, wouldn’t be interested in being regularly fed from by a vampire.

As far as they were concerned, we were the stuff of nightmares and myth, and it was best for everyone if things stayed that way.

It didn’t take long for us to reach Angela’s house. She lived on the north side of the Hawthorn River and was only a year older than me. We both attended St. Bastian’s Institute, where I went out of my way to make sure nobody messed with her. It was a matter of pride to ensure your blood donor had an easy, stress-free existence. It was the least we could do in exchange for the blood they provided.

“I’ll wait out here,” Dad said when we reached the house. I opened the gate before going up to knock on the door. A few moments later, Angela appeared. She seemed spooked, her face pale and her eyes wide. Something was off.