Page 7 of Vampire Solstice

“She said you would come,” the young woman says, her voice trembling. “She believed you could save us. She used the last of her power to call to you.”

The last of her power. She gave her life for us to be here. As angry as I am that I’ve been ripped away from my child and my responsibilities, I can’t help but feel a deep sadness for what this woman gave up to get help for her own people. Would I have done any differently?

“We will do everything we can to help you,” I say, meaning every word.

The woman nods, wiping at her eyes. “I can show you where the attacks happened,” she says. “But… not tonight. The storm is too dangerous. And–” she pauses, looking at her grandmother again.

“And you need a moment to mourn.”

The woman nods. “Please make yourself at home here. There’s a room upstairs where you can rest. I’ll stay down here with her.”

I take Fen’s hand before he can start demanding more answers. “We will prepare in the morning.”

Upstairs,Fen paces while I sit in front of the bedroom hearth, warming myself.

“We need more information about this beast. About this curse. About these people. We’re at a severe disadvantage,” he says, worry lining his face. I have never even heard of this fae village.

“There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” I remind him.

The sound of the storm outside is relentless, the wind howling like a mournful wail.

Fen crouches beside me, his voice low. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, his hand brushing against mine.

I nod, though worry still gnaws at me. “We have to help them,” I whisper. “For our daughter.” I look out the window to the village beyond. The people who are suffering. “And for them,” I say softly. I remind myself I am not solely a mother, but also a queen. These people need their queen.

The fire flickers, and I can’t help but wonder if it will be enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Morning comes slowly,the storm easing its grip but leaving the world outside blanketed in an oppressive silence. The house is colder now, the fire reduced to embers in the hearth. Fen and I descend the creaking stairs together, our boots whispering against the worn wood.

Myra stands in the center of the room. She’s bundled in a dark cloak, her hands clasped tightly around a wooden pendant that hangs from her neck. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed with red, but she carries herself with a quiet strength that makes me pause.

She doesn’t look up immediately, her gaze fixed on her grandmother’s still form. The old woman has been wrapped in heavy linens, her frail hands folded over her chest. A faint smell of herbs lingers in the air, mixing with the remnants of smoke from the hearth.

“I need to take her to the square,” Myra says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The village will want to pay their respects before…” She trails off, her throat working as she swallows hard.

“Before what?” I ask gently.

“There’s a ritual,” she explains, her fingers tightening around the pendant. “We send our dead to the forest. To the beast.”

I stiffen, my breath catching. “You give your dead to the thing that preys on you?”

“It’s tradition,” she says, lifting her chin. Her voice is stronger now, edged with defiance. “And it keeps the beast from attacking for a time.”

Fen mutters something under his breath, shaking his head. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand twitches toward his blade.

“Do you want us to help?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She shakes her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No. It’s a village matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

I exchange a glance with Fen, who raises a skeptical brow. There’s something she isn’t saying—I can feel it.

“Then what can you tell us about the beast?” Fen asks, his tone sharp.

Myra hesitates, her gaze darting to the floor. “There’s not much more to tell,” she says quietly. “It’s a creature of darkness. It hunts at night, preying on anyone who strays too far from the village. No one who’s seen it up close has survived.”

Fen steps closer, his presence imposing. “What about its habits? Weaknesses? Surely someone has fought it before.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her fingers gripping the pendant so tightly her knuckles whiten. “The beast can’t be fought. It’s too strong, too fast. Our weapons do nothing against it. That’s why we’ve stopped trying.”