Weekly Drabble #230: Blessed Silver, Running Red (Patreon)

Hope you all had a very happy New Year's! We're starting 2022 off with a drabble, prompts courtesy of Knightress with 'snowy day', Stormblessed with 'fresh blood' and Pyro Hawk with 'darkest light'. We continue the tale of our as-yet unnamed vampire hunter and his vampiress lover, picking up after the end of the last drabble. Hope you all enjoy!

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Blessed Silver, Running Red

Steam pulsed through the nostrils and teeth of the hunter’s wolf mask as he marched resolutely onwards under the setting moon. His vampire companion was draped unconscious across his shoulders. If not for the short, shallow breaths, the occasional pained moan she was making, and the struggling of her half-dead heart he could feel through his back, he would have thought her already dead. She would be soon though, if he couldn’t get her back home before dawn.

He forced each foot ahead of the other, knowing that if he stopped, he would fall and if he fell, he would not be able to get up again. He could feel wetness running down his left thigh, warm and sticky. The limb was losing sensation. His chest burned, and not only from exertion. He was sure he had fractured ribs. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving, God damn you!

The shadows the moon was casting across the snow were growing longer and the night was starting to fade. The sun was coming. An hour, maybe two. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t dare slow or look up to check.

The Feral vampire had been dealt with. It had been an unholy mixture of man, vampire and rat, its hulking body twisted into grotesque musculature twitching with bestial instincts. Just as the pair had intended, they’d caught it slumbering but this beast’s sleep had been abnormally light, much more than the daytime torpor that other vampires experienced. As he’d been about to bring his axes down on its neck, it had awoken, knocking him out of the way with a blow from its hind leg. Fortunately,his padded coat and armour had kept those filthy claws from cutting into his skin, but the force of the kick had still sent him sprawling and bruised, probably even fractured, his ribs. His comrade had leapt on it next, slashing with her claws and darting under its jaws to get its throat, but she hadn’t cut deep enough. Shrieking in pain and gagging on its own blood, the Feral had recoiled, springing forward to seize its assailant’s right arm in its mouth, its rows of sharp teeth shredding her limb. Before it could rip her arm off entirely, the Hound was back on his feet, driving the blade atop his axe between its ribs, but he wasn’t able to get the heart.

Releasing its vampire attacker, the Feral had rounded on the Hound next, swiping at him with its hooked claws. He’d split one of its hands open with the blade of his axe, but another had gotten through his guard, skating off his armour, but the beast had been a whirlwind, and more and more of its attacks had started to break through. He remembered the cold rush as its claws cut into his thigh and tore through his brigandine.

He’d been knocked to the ground, the Feral’s slavering jaws parting to seize him, its reeking breath almost overpowering. Then, a black-clad blur as his companion darted in, once again aiming for the Feral’s throat, but once again it was faster than expected and shifted its attack from the Hound to her. It caught her in its mouth, holding her aloft as its jaws closed around her torso, jerking its head back and forth to rip the wounds it made wide.

The beast gulped greedily as it drank from her perforated body, eyelids fluttering in bliss as it swallowed mouthfuls of vampire blood. In that moment, it was distracted and the Hound was on his feet in an instant, slashing his axe across its throat and opening it to the bone. The Feral dropped its prey, rearing back in shock and pain, exposing its chest. The hunter had sprung the hidden stake from his axe’s shaft and thrust it, straight and true, right into the mutant vampire’s corrupt heart. Its mindless red eyes bulged, its drooling mouth gaped in pained surprise and then it fell, collapsing to the cavern floor as heavily as an oversized bag of flour. It didn’t even make any final whimpers or gurgles, but lay completely still. Nonetheless, the Hound took no chances and cleaved its head from its body. There would be no resurrection for this beast.

He’d turned to his companion, finding her crumpled against the cave wall where the Feral had thrown her. She was badly injured; her arm and lower torso were lacerated by the beast’s teeth and she had suffered many broken bones and internal injuries from the violent impact against the stone. A human would have already been dead. They certainly would never have left the cave alive. Vampires were more resilient, but even they had their limits. Cuts from silver weapons didn’t heal, wooden stakes could kill them as effectively as anything else, but inflict enough damage and even a vampire’s inhuman durability could be pushed past its limits.

The hunter could see that in his lover’s body. She was dying.

The Feral was already beginning to decay, its pale skin withering, glazed eyes turning milky and bones becoming brittle. Soon enough, little would be left of it. The same would happen to her if she wasn’t able to feed soon. That was the only thing that could save her. There were casks of animal blood in her house, but it was a long journey. Even if he weren’t injured, he wouldn’t be able to get there and back in time. Worse, the townsfolk were gathering a party to follow him. The sun was setting; they wouldn’t be foolish enough to come at night, but once dawn came and he didn’t return, they’d set out to finish the job. If they came across the cave, they’d find a helpless vampiress within it... and he knew full well what would happen then.

She was coughing blood, trying to stand but unable to do so. “Go,” she burbled, red froth spilling from her lips. She could smell the blood on him, knew that he was injured as well. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait here. I’ll wait...”

She wasn’t going to be fine. They both knew that. She managed to stay conscious until sunset as he tried to treat her injuries, binding his own ribs and pouring silver nitrate into his cuts. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she too started to fade.

Fire shot through the hunter’s body as he bent down, lifting the vampire up over his shoulders. She screamed in agony, her shriek making his ears ring and completely drowning out his own pained cry. She’d passed out then, hanging limp across his shoulders. Wobbling on his feet, the hunter took one step... and then another. And another. He left the cave, walking out beneath the winter moon and headed towards safety.

Just a little farther.That was his mantra, the one thought pounding over and over in his head as he marched through the seemingly endless forest. Just a little farther. Just a little farther. He kept telling himself as the cold slipped in from outside, through the holes in his tunic and deeper into his flesh through his injuries. The trees and snow fell away to become a single point in front of him that each step brought him no closer to, but he refused to stop moving towards.

Just a little farther.

Step after step as the moon climbed to its apex, then began its descent towards the horizon. Just a little farther.He ignored the pain, ignored the cold. Nothing mattered but getting home.

He tried. He gave everything he had and possibly more, but in the end he was only human. His legs wouldn’t hold his weight any longer and the spreading numbness in his torso finally won out.

He couldn’t go any farther and had to stop. She moaned as he carefully slid her off his shoulders, propping her up against a tree trunk. Her clothes, her skin and her hair were all soaked with blood and she was even paler than usual. His own injuries had taken their toll. He slid down next to her. Less than half-conscious, she murmured softly. She wasn’t even aware of his presence.

“I can’t...” he breathed. “I can’t.” The shame of failure burnt almost as much as his wounds. He couldn’t keep going. He couldn’t even stand.

Her breathing was turning shallower. She didn’t have much longer. The Hound looked at his lover’s ashen face, pasty with sweat and blood. She wasn’t healing fast enough. For that, she needed to feed. It was the only chance she had, but there was no source of blood nearby.

No source but one.

“God forgive me,” he said as he pulled his left glove off. He pulled a knife from his jacket. This was a risk. Vampires didn’t have to kill their prey to drink from them, but as wounded as she was, his lover wouldn’t be able to stop herself if she started to gorge and he didn’t have the strength to push her away if she started taking too much. She could – possibly even would – kill him.

He didn’t hesitate, slicing the blade deeply across his arm. He pressed his wrist up under her nose. Her mouth parted as she caught the scent. Her eyes still didn’t open, but she mewed softly, leaning forward. She closed her lips around the wound and started to feed.