I had just sunk my teeth into a fat, sluggish moth—one of those rare bloated bastards who practically screams "eat me" with every lazy flap. Still warm, still twitching. My reward for another night circling the dead forest like a curse with wings.

I was savoring it. Wings curled like a cape. Eyes half-lidded. Everything was perfect. Until he started.

Again.

That miserable sack of bones and lace, crooning up at the moon like it owed him child support. Every other night, without fail, he dragged his sorry ass onto the rooftop and wailed like someone had broken his antique mirror. Again.

The first time, I was concerned. The third time, I was annoyed. By the seventeenth, I fantasized about dropping guano directly into his mouth mid-sonnet.

Tonight’s tragedy? “The agony of memory.” Kill me.

I licked moth juice from my claws and sighed. He was winding up to some dramatic climax when I heard something worse than his voice.

Footsteps. Light. Sneaky. Human.

I twisted toward the window. And there she was. Again.

Annaith Suntome.

Small frame. Big problem. Same idiotic wooden stake clamped between her teeth like she thought she was the protagonist in a revenge high fantasy novel.

She scaled the castle wall with all the grace of a drunk squirrel. Slipped. Cursed. Grabbed at the stone like it owed her a refund.

I watched her spiral with the same distant pity I reserve for dead birds that don’t know they’re dead yet.

“You’re going to fall,” I muttered, mostly to myself. The night wind was cruel enough to carry it.

She did fall. Just a little. Enough to shame a person. Not enough to kill her, unfortunately. But enough for her knee to smack into stone, hard. She sat there, hand clutched around it, breathing heavily through her teeth. She looked like she wanted to scream and cry and fight, all at once.

Still, I stayed perched, watching her try again. Grappling hook this time. Tied with a bow.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I sighed, dragging a claw down my face. “You have the survival instincts of a teacup.”

The hook slipped and clattered to the ground. She glared up at the window like she could feel me judging her.

Which I was. Proudly.

Above us, the vampire hit his high note, lamenting his endless solitude.

Annaith groaned.

I snorted. “Now you know how I feel.”

She dropped to the dirt, frustrated. Sat like she was posing for a dramatic grave portrait. Somewhere, a wolf howled.

Probably laughing.

I peeled myself from the windowsill and flitted upward, wings slicing through the cold. I landed beside the vampire, who had just collapsed into a tragic pose against the chimney, chest heaving like a damn Victorian fainting maiden.

“She’s back,” I said flatly.

His eyes stayed closed. “Let her come. I deserve it.”

“You threw her off the roof last time.”

“I apologized.”

I gave him a long, slow blink. “Your kind are the reason bats get bad PR.”

He sighed. “She’ll never kill me.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

And then—movement.

I went still. Something glided across the courtyard. A human girl. Not Annaith. Different shape. Different smell. Clutching something wrapped in cloth—meat? Bread? A book?

She moved with purpose. The vampire twitched.

“A vision,” he whispered. “An angel.”

“More like a side dish,” I muttered. “You’re drooling.”

And like that, he vanished into the dark. Silk and shadows. Off to seduce his next regret.

I didn’t follow immediately. No. I hovered above for a moment longer, watching Annaith pick her way through the hedges below. Determined. Dumb.

I dove at her like a curse in flight. Screeched just above her head, claws skimming her bun.

“Go home, little mosquito,” I hissed. “No monologues tonight.”

She screamed. Ran. I chased her to the garden gates and circled back.

Then I went to watch the show.

I perched in the dining hall rafters. Candlelight flickered across lace and cheekbones and polished wood. The girl laughed. A local. Barely grown, just over 26. Soft eyes, messy hair. She brought food. And a book. The way her fingers trembled when she handed it to him. She knew what he was. But she was in no danger so she kept coming back. Why? I had no idea.

I dangled upside down and dozed.

When I woke, the girl was pale and wide-eyed.

He fed her stories.

I watched them. Listened. He smiled in that hollow way he does. Not because he meant it. Because he wanted to, she could seem to see the hunter behind the mask.

Then she said, “I’d stay, you know. If you asked.”

And he did. With his eyes first. Then his mouth. Real smile. with teeth “Let me give you eternity.”

I hoped his smile would be enough to snap her to sense but instead, she leaned forward and breathlessly said yes.

I should’ve flown away. Should’ve turned my back on the whole cursed scene. But I didn’t.

I stayed.

What happened next wasn’t romantic. It was carnage. Blood sprayed the floor in hot arcs. He tore into her like a starving dog, not a lover. Her screams echoed off the stained glass. Her eyes bulged before rolling back.

I’d seen animals die cleaner.

He fed. Then gave his wrist.

She jerked, foamed, and spasmed. Bones snapped. Her nails blackened and split. She shrieked—inhuman. Her first breath was a scream.

A newborn monster. Mouth red. Eyes wrong. And worst of all—she smiled at him, looking for approval before her eyes slid shut and she tumbled into stasis.

And I wasn’t alone in watching.

I didn’t warn him.

Let her see.

Out in the shadows, just beyond the garden—Annaith had returned. She stood frozen, wide-eyed, her wooden stake trembling in her hand. And then she ran. This time, not toward the castle. No. She fled back to town.

I flew after her.

She hit the village fast.

She screamed.

“The Vampire! The Vampire! That devil on the hill turned the baker’s daughter into a monster!”

As her screams rose, people gathered. Bells rang. People screamed back. Torches. Weapons. Chaos blooming like rot.

The castle wouldn’t last the night. and neither would the townspeople.

Kaya Yahzid

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