Blood of the Black Moon
Ken Clementinewolf of the blood moonthe bloodmoonvampire blood moonblood and moonlight
“It keeps the ghosts away.”
Downstairs, the inn filled with the low rumble of conversation. When they went to eat, eyes followed them—some curious, some fearful, most unreadable. News had clearly outrun them. Whispers curled through the room like smoke: the witch of the Black Moon, the swordsman who bled for her, the ones who closed the sky.
A young boy darted forward and set two bowls of stew on their table. “Innkeeper says this one’s on the house,” he said quickly, then added, “for saving the dawn.” He fled before they could answer.
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