Page 14 of Vampire Solstice

The jail iscold and dim, lit only by a single lantern that casts flickering shadows across the rough stone walls. Myra sits on a wooden bench, her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She doesn’t look up as we enter.

“Myra,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

She lifts her head, her eyes red and hollow. “Tell you what?” she asks, her voice flat.

Fen leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “We found the other half of your ribbon in an underground cavern.”

"On a bed," I say, softening my voice against Fen's anger. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, as my mother always says. A lesson my warrior husband is still struggling to learn. "And there were chains in the walls. But why?"

Her face crumples, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. But then she takes a shaky breath and speaks. “I’m in love with him,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible. I exchange a stunned glance with Fen.

“In love?” I repeat, struggling to process what she’s saying. “With the beast?”

“He’s not… he’s not always like that,” she says, her voice trembling, hand clutching her ribbon “He was cursed when the village was cursed. He’s a good man. When the curse isn’t… when he isn’t…” She trails off, tears streaming down her face.

I’ll tell you everything.

The Beast and Myra

The first time I saw Kael, he was a shadow in the snow, barely a shape against the blinding white. I remember it so vividly—the storm was raging, the kind of winter fury that turns the forest into a frozen graveyard. I had wandered too far from the village, my basket empty because the traps I’d set for rabbits had come up barren yet again. I was cold, angry, hungry, and desperate.

And then I saw him.

At first, I thought he was dead. His body lay crumpled near a thicket of trees, snow already beginning to cover his pale skin. I didn’t recognize him as the beast—not then. He looked like a man who had lost everything, his chest barely rising and falling with the shallow breaths of someone clinging to life. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his hands bloodied and raw.

I should have run. The stories we grew up with, the ones whispered around firelight, always began with foolish girls who didn’t run when they had the chance. But I was nineteen and reckless. Something about him—his vulnerability, his sheer humanity—called to me.

I dropped my basket and knelt beside him, my heart pounding as I reached out to touch his shoulder. His skin was like ice, and his body flinched at the contact. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I was caught in their depth—a sharp amber hue, almost glowing, like a predator’s.

“Help me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind.

It was enough to shatter whatever fear I’d been holding onto. I pulled off my cloak and draped it over him, murmuring reassurances as I tried to figure out how to drag him back to the village. He was heavier than he looked, his body dense with muscle, and it took all my strength just to get him upright.

I didn’t make it far before he stopped me, his hand gripping my arm with surprising force. “No,” he said, his eyes wild with fear. “Not the village. They’ll… they’ll kill me.”

I didn’t understand what he meant then, but something in his voice convinced me to listen. Instead, I helped him to a hollow beneath a fallen tree, shielding him from the worst of the storm. I gathered what little wood I could find and built a fire, sitting close to him as the warmth slowly returned to his face.

He didn’t say much that night. He didn’t have to. I saw the scars on his body, the haunted look in his eyes, and I knew he had been through something unimaginable.

When the storm eased, I left him there with promises to return.

I went backthe next day, and the day after that.

At first, Kael was cautious, his answers clipped and guarded. He told me he had been a soldier, a protector of the village during the ancient wars between vampires and fae. He spoke of battles fought in the dead of night, of friends lost, of betrayals real and imagined. But the details were sparse, his pain too raw to share.

Still, something about him drew me in. Maybe it was the way his voice softened when he thanked me for bringing him food, or the way his lips curved into the faintest of smiles when I teased him about his terrible jokes.

It didn’t take long for me to notice the strange patterns in his behavior. Some days, he was strong and sharp, his wit quick and his movements precise. Other days, he was distant, his eyes clouded with something dark.

I remember the first time I saw him change.

It was late, the moon high in the sky, and I had brought him a blanket I’d stitched from scraps of fabric. He had smiled when I handed it to him, but then his face twisted, his body jerking as if some unseen force had taken hold.

“Run,” he choked out, his voice strangled. “Get away from me.”

I didn’t understand at first, but then I saw it—his hands, clawing at the ground, his body contorting in ways no human body should. His screams turned guttural, animalistic, as fur sprouted along his arms and his jaw elongated into a snout.