The Devourer: A Vampire's Curse

Raina's POV

Blood. It was everywhere—splattered across the walls, pooled on the floor, even smeared across the doors. The metallic tang of it filled the air, sharp and nauseating. My pulse quickened, each beat hammering against my ribs as unease crept through me. Swallowing hard, I began moving through the house, each step tentative, searching for the cause of this horrifying scene.

I had come to deliver a package to Miss Agnes, as I did every week. She was always in the backyard when I arrived, waiting with a smile. My routine was simple: knock, enter, leave the package in the kitchen, and then head out back to chat for a few minutes before going on my way. But today, something was horribly wrong. The house felt lifeless, heavy with silence, except for the ominous presence of blood everywhere I looked.

I had already combed through the downstairs room, my breath catching at the sight of bloody handprints smeared on the furniture, but there was no sign of Miss Agnes. My instincts screamed at me to leave, to run and call for help, but she lived alone. If this blood was hers, then she needed me. I couldn't just walk away.

Keeping my footsteps light, I crept toward the staircase. Yelling her name felt too dangerous—what if someone else was here? Someone responsible for all this? I clenched my fists, steeling myself as I ascended the stairs, every creak of the wooden boards beneath my feet setting my nerves on edge.

The upstairs hallway stretched before me, dim and eerie. Four doors lined the corridor, with the faintest glimmer of moonlight spilling in from a veranda at the far end. I reached the first door and pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest. The room was cluttered with old furniture and forgotten trinkets, but no blood. No sign of Miss Agnes. Swallowing back the tightness in my throat, I closed the door and turned to the one opposite.

Just when my hand grazed the handle, a sound cut through the oppressive silence—a low, guttural wail. It came from the last room, near the veranda. My breath hitched, dread pooling in my stomach as I moved toward it, fists clenched and ready for anything.

The door was slightly ajar. I peeked inside.

Miss Agnes lay crumpled on the floor, her lifeless body illuminated by a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window. Her neck had been torn open, the wound jagged and grotesque. Only a sliver of flesh kept her head connected to her body. I froze, bile rising in my throat, but then I saw him.

He knelt beside her, his head bowed, with dark blood dripping from his hand and down his chin. He wasn't just kneeling—he seemed to be feeding. My first instinct was to run, to flee this nightmare, but before I could move, his head snapped up.

His eyes locked onto mine. Black pupils consumed his irises entirely, as if staring into the abyss. His face was pale, almost chalky, but hauntingly beautiful—sharp cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose, and a jawline that could cut glass. His lips, though stained with blood, held a faint rosiness that contrasted against his ashen complexion. And his hair—sleek, dark, and pulled into a bun—was streaked with silver strands that caught the moonlight.

Before I could scream, he moved. One moment, he was crouched over Miss Agnes; the next, he was in front of me, his cold hands gripping my shoulders.

I gasped, my back slamming into the wall. His grip was firm, vice-like, yet oddly gentle, like though he didn't want to hurt me.

“You never saw me here,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something cold and commanding. His eyes bore into mine, unblinking, as if he could compel me to obey through sheer will.

The spell broke. My body reacted on instinct. I raised my fists and brought them down hard on his hands. He released me, startled, clutching his wrist with a bewildered expression. Not wasting a second, I swung at him again, aiming for his face, but he dodged effortlessly, his movements a blur.

I dropped low, attempting to sweep his legs, but he leaped back with inhuman speed. My heart raced. No one had ever been faster than me before. I wasn't about to lose now.

I launched a flurry of punches and kicks, driving him back with relentless determination. He dodged every attack, but I managed to push him close to the window. One more kick, and he'd crash through it. I smirked, adrenaline surging through me.

His gaze flickered toward Miss Agnes's body, a moment of hesitation that sent fury rushing through me.

“Don't even think about it,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

He turned back to me, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he retreated, until his back brushed against the wall beneath the window.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my fists still raised.

He didn't answer. Instead, he tilted his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. Without warning, he jumped onto the window sill and leaped backward.

“What the—” I rushed to the window, expecting to see him sprawled on the ground below.

But, I saw him land gracefully on the rooftop of the house opposite, his silhouette sharply outlined against the night sky. He stood there for a moment, his pale skin almost glowing under the moonlight. His eyes found mine, and his expression hardened, a silent promise lingering in his gaze.

Then, with a powerful leap, he launched himself into the air, disappearing into the shadows.

“Shit,” I muttered, my chest heaving.

I turned back to Miss Agnes, kneeling beside her broken body. My hands trembled as I inspected the wound on her neck. The jagged edges of the torn flesh looked like the work of sharp teeth. A chill ran down my spine.

A glint of something caught my eyes just a few steps from the body. Crawling closer, I didn't care about the blood soaking into my clothes. My fingers brushed against a silver necklace, gleaming under the moonlight. I picked it up, my heart racing. It was a cross—just like one from the old folktales told to children in town. The one meant to protect against the devourers. The undead.

I stuffed the necklace into my pocket, blood smearing on my clothes, but it hardly registered. I glanced back at Miss Agnes's lifeless form, a deep sense of dread settling in my chest.

There was no mistaking it.

Windshade Vampires were back.