“I saw it. I saw the world’s end with my very own eyes. The sky turned black as pitch, and a great crack like a God’s bones breaking could be heard. For a moment, all was quiet. The Eternal City was silent as its Necropolis. Then the screaming started. Oh, Gods… I’ll never forget the screaming. When it started I thought we were doomed. But when it stopped… That's when I knew we were.” - The testament of Cassius Gens Vulpus. Taken shortly after the Eternal City's fall. (Dated Twenty-Fourth of Scorchset, 500 Fourth Epoch.)

  Natalie just stared at the space Isabelle had occupied. “She… She said it was costly to talk to me while I’m awake. Did she lie?”

  Shutting his eyes and letting his head rest on the cott, Cole spoke. “Maybe? Perhaps speaking to you was worth the cost.” shrugging with the one shoulder that worked, Cole mused. “This has been an eventful evening; Isabelle is not the type to sit out such things. Intruding into the waking world, even at great cost, just to prove a point. Well that sounds like her.”

  Grimacing, Natalie looked around, half-expecting Isabelle to appear just to countermand Cole. The phantom vampiress didn’t, leaving Natalie and Cole alone for the time being. Cole took a long drink from the water skin and let out another pained sigh. He wasn’t used to being in this bad of shape for any length of time. For better or worse, he usually died and revived instead of persisting in such an injured state. Trying to move his left arm, he winced, and Cole briefly considered resetting himself. But a glance at the skittish Natalie convinced him not to.

  While she’d accepted his immortality, some part of it still made her deeply uncomfortable. To her credit, it was the idea of Cole’s ability failing or the mental stress it put him under that disturbed her. Not fear of what might be considered unnatural or deep-seated envy as Cole had seen in others. After everything that had happened, Cole figured attempting (temporary) suicide might just push Natalie too far. She seemed to be doing better, and if Cole needed to spend a few days in a sick bed to not quash that recovery, so be it.

  Shutting his eyes again, Cole felt exhaustion hit him like a warhammer. Thirst and Natalie’s words had woken him from much-needed rest. Now both of those concerns were managed; the sleep of the wounded called to him like a Sirin. Resisting the urge to simply give in to his exhaustion, he forced his eyes open with great effort and called to Natalie.

  “Nat, I’m ready to pass out again. Do you need anything from me before I do?”

  Pulled from her anxieties, Natalie shuffled over to the cott and sat next to it, her hands resting on Cole’s side. “Is it okay if I stay close to you? I’ll try not to wake you.”

  Smiling, Cole groped in the darkness until he caught Natalie’s hand. “Of course. I love you, Natalie. Wake me up if you need it to.”

  Returning his slightly pained smile, Natalie squeezed his warm hand and murmured. “Of course, I love you too. Sleep well and feel better.”

  Nearly the moment Natalie’s words left her mouth Cole’s breathing changed. The demands of broken flesh pulling him into sleep. Looking at the scarred warrior, Natalie gently set her head on his chest and simply listened to the sound of his breathing. After a time, she pulled away and went over to her pack. The effects of Cole’s amulet had given her an idea. Grabbing her carving knife and a piece of wood she’d kept for such purposes. Natalie sat at the edge of the small fire and got to work.

  Even with the faintest sparks to guide her eyes, Natalie’s hands fell into long practiced rhythms. When she’d packed her things back in Glockmire, Natalie had grabbed this piece of wood from among her carving stock. The simple fist-sized block had sat in the back of one of her cupboards for years. Ironically only seeing use when she needed to abandon her material collection. Superstition and melancholy had driven Natalie to take this piece instead of any others. The block of Yew wood had been taken from a tree that had once sat at the edge of the Temple cemetery. It had been felled shortly after the plague to make room for new graves. Somehow Natalie had ended up with a scrap of ill-omened tree.

  Poisonous and useful for crafting weapons of war, Yew trees have a long association with Death and Doom. Something that had kept Natalie from ever using the wood. But when she was leaving Glockmire, that reputation seemed appropriate and was even more so now. Getting to work, Natalie started her newest carving project. Careful to only use a small part of the block, Natalie started carving herself an Amulet.

  Losing herself in the work, Natalie slowly but surely freed her imagined trinket from its surrounding wood. Bringing the small wooden Hourglass into being one focused cut at a time. To her chagrin, Natalie noticed her enhanced strength and dexterity eased the process. A firmer, more steady hand doing an excellent job.

  As the first faintest bits of dawn started to approach, Natalie finished her work. The hourglass amulet resting in her palm, the fire kept alive by a steady diet of wood shavings. Clutching the wooden sigil to her breast, Natalie half expected it to suddenly start burning her. When nothing happened, she came to a grim conclusion. If she wanted to face divine judgment, she needed to ask for it.

  Under her breath, Natalie started to pray.

  “Master Time, ensure our lives are long, our deaths are quick, and our rest undisturbed. Master Time, protect the living, protect the dead, and protect us from what is neither Master Time, keep the dead till they live again, and ignore the living till their end.”

  As the old benediction flowed from her lips, the newborn amulet seemed to grow colder. It was a small thing, but instead of wood, Natalie swore she was holding a piece of chilled stone. More than a little surprised this had worked, Natalie continued her prayer. This time in a more personal flavor. “You said I didn’t have to be a monster. I’m trying my best, and I know my best isn’t great. So any help would be appreciated.”

  A vague coldness pressed against Natalie. She expected it to be the soul-breaking power she’d experienced in previous encounters with a God. Bracing herself, she was surprised when the icy pressure stayed as it was, a faint chill in her soul. Leaving as quickly as it came, the presence left a strange impression in her mind. An echo of an emotion, a vague sense of belief. As Natalie touched the echo, she got flickers of different sensations and experiences. Snippets of her life and memories played for her to tell a story. One that was not too hard to decipher. Master Time had confidence in Natalie; he believed she would rise to the occasion. In short, God had faith in her. A fantastically sobering thought that did little in the way of soothing Natalie.

  Looking down at the chilled amulet, Natalie stuffed it into a pocket and let out a deep sigh. The faint sound of footsteps and creaking wood alerted her that others were awake. The Werefolk were starting their morning. Looking around the loaned tent, Natalie spotted an unfamiliar pot. The Werewolf twins had taken their Aunt's surgical kit with them when they left, but they’d left the small cauldron they’d used during the operation. Picking up the half-filled container of icy water. Natalie decided she should try and be “neighborly.”

  Giving Cole one last check and taking the time to throw her cloak over him. Natalie left the tent and prepared to enter the Wolfden. The wagons were still pulled close together, and Natalie was for a moment confused on how the Werefolk had left their encampment. Walking around the wagon circle, she finally noticed how one of the wagons was cocked at a strange angle, leaving a gap. The gap was blocked by a large wooden structure with slots cut into it. It looked like a wooden wall someone had stuck on wheels and reinforced with strips of metal. Faded drawings of snarling animal faces decorated the barrier. If she had to guess, Natalie would say it was some kind of mobile fortification. Which made sense considering its placement.

  Setting the pot against her hip like she might carry a load of laundry, Natalie knocked on the barricade. The sounds of the waking Werefolk camp became muted for a moment as the occupants realized the knock's source. The bustle resumed, and footsteps signaled someone’s approach. A set of stern gray eyes appeared in one of the slots and looked at Natalie. A rasping voice came from behind the barricade.

  “What do you want, Vampire?”

  Holding up the pot, so it was visible, Natalie answered. “Returning this. Kistine left it last night.”

  The speaker’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Set it next to the Gulyay and take five steps back”

  Natalie wanted to protest but decided against it. She was here to play nice, and if placating their paranoia was part of it, so be it. Following the instructions, she watched as the fortification, or Gulyay as the speaker called it, slid open. Revealing an older-looking Werefolk man with receding gray hair and a thick mustache. He had the weathered look of an old tree. Carrying the mix of leathery wrinkles and taught muscle Natalie associated with old tradesmen. A curved sword hung at the man’s waist, and he kept one hand on it. He never took his eyes off Natalie as he grabbed the pot and pulled it inside. Shutting the Gulyay, the Werefolk grunted something halfway between a noise of exertion and a thank you.

  Standing there, uncertain of what to do, Natalie took a breath. The smell of fresh blood and animal musk hit her nose, and she whirled to its source. Sitting on top of the closest wagon was the young female Werewolf. Wearing trousers and a loose tunic barely covering her bandages. The girl had short dark hair in a scruffy cut with a hard if not unattractive, face. Barefoot and hunched down on her haunches, the Werewolf looked at Natalie with undisguised suspicion.

  “Took you long enough, Vampire. I’ve been watching you since I smelled you coming towards the camp.”

  Looking up at the Werewolf, Natalie asked. “Ametza, right? How are your injuries?”

  Stiffening slightly, the Wolf bared her teeth, which were far sharper than any human's. “They will heal up quick enough. Unlike the burns you will get any minute now. I’d hurry back to your dead man before the sun rises.”

  Natalie had honestly asked the question out of concern and an attempt to forge a dialogue. But that wasn’t how Ametza took it. Biting her tongue, Natalie resisted the urge to fire back and instead turned to leave.

  Calling after the retreating, Natalie Ametza said. “I know you leeches like to show skin, but that outfit of yours is ridiculous. Just asking for your back to get all burned up by the noon-day sun!”

  Confused, Natalie reached back behind her and realized what Ametza was referring to. A huge part of her dress was torn. A long gash stretched from her shoulders down to right above her hips. The crossbow bolt she’d taken last night and the later struggles had torn apart the fabric. Sighing to herself, Natalie went back to the tent. Going into her pack, she grabbed her needle and thread. Looking over at the unconscious Cole, she made sure he was asleep. Stripping off her dress, Natalie got to work. While her lower undergarments were intact, her upper set was also damaged. Taking those off as well, she started sewing.

  As the sun started to rise, Natalie sat nearly nude, trying to repair her clothes. She hadn’t packed much in the way of clothing when leaving Glockmire, something she regretted now. This had been her last clean dress. The rest were worn and stained by the journey. They’d not had time to really stop and wash. Something that was wearing fiercely on Natalie. While she didn’t sweat or shed hair, the idea of wearing the same clothes for weeks on end and not being able to take a bath was profoundly unpleasant. As she worked, she wondered if they were near a river. Getting through the ice wouldn’t be too terribly difficult, and she doubted the cold would bother her any. After all, she was sitting here on a cold winter morning naked and unbothered by the generally glacial environment.

  Sunlight started to filter in through the tent's canvas and made Natalie wince as the light stung her eyes. Forcing herself to remember it was better than burning alive. She continued working. Once she was finished repairing the dress, she intended to go speak with the Werefolk. She didn’t have any particular reason in mind, but she wanted to see their reactions. Natalie doubted the nomadic Pack would know details of the Alukah and figured Cole’s line about her being “Less cursed than most Vampires” would work.

  Glancing up at Cole, she saw he’d moved somewhat in his sleep. Pushing one of his blankets, so his left arm and part of his torso was uncovered. The tent was still chilly but now at a habitable temperature, so Natalie didn’t rush to cover him up. Instead, she took a moment to look at his sculpted muscles and brutal scars. She’d found those marks disturbing when she first met him but never had she considered them ugly. They spoke of pain and suffering, yet didn’t disfigure like one might expect. Now with the context for those wounds, they were transformed from gruesome markers to noble badges of courage. Each telling a story of Cole’s valor. Somehow that idea made her giddy. Appealing to the daydreaming girl she’d once been who dreamed of noble warriors and epic quests.

  While she would never have admitted it. Some part of her had always liked the idea of being swept off her feet by some gallant knight. Natalie had always prided herself on being strong and tough. Being the type of woman who would pull her own weight and forge her own path. But that didn’t mean the idea of having a hero who helped her feel safe and desired lacked an appeal. Natalie had no desire to be some Damsel in Distress. But the idea of being a great Queen with a noble Knight at her side or in her bed… Well, that had a charm. Looking at Cole and letting out a sigh. Natalie realized that in spite of everything, she really had been lucky in meeting him.

  The pale winter light pulled Cole from his sleep. Striking his heavy eyelids and pulling him from the dreamless rest he’d been enjoying. Forcing his eyes open, Cole blinked away sleep and started to sit up from the stiff cot. A sight of alabaster beauty froze his movements. Sitting nearby and focused on her work was Natalie. Her elegant neck bent over her sewing work. Long dark hair spilling out like a waterfall of black silk. A pensive expression on her face, the unnaturally red lips of a vampire in the half-smile Natalie wore while focusing. Cole’s eyes traveled downwards to Natalie's full breasts and narrow waist. She looked like the image of seductive femininity with her toned legs and sculpted rear.

  Hearing the creak of the cott, Natalie looked up at Cole. For a second, she froze. But seeing his surprised face and his wide-open eyes tracing her body. A coy grin spread across her face. Slowly getting up so Cole could admire how her body flexed and bounced. Natalie came over to the injured Paladin. Curvaceous hips swayed as she moved. Audibly gulping, Cole looked away. Realizing his eyes had been glued to her chest for a shamefully long time. A throaty chuckle escaped Natalie at that.

  “Cole, Love. If I didn’t want you to look, I’d have covered up when you awoke.”

  With her permission, Cole looked at Natalie. Who spun about on one foot, showing off her body in a dancer’s seduction. Slinking forward, she got on her knees next to the cott and grabbed Cole’s hand. With cold but oh-so-soft lips, she kissed the back of his hand. “I forgot to thank you last night.”

  Swallowing nervously, Cole asked. “Thank me? What for?”

  Bringing his fingers up to the side of her face, Natalie smiled. “You practically jumped into the jaws of a Werewolf to protect me. A girl can’t help but swoon at that sort of behavior.”

  Taking his hand from her face and placing it on her breast. Natalie leaned down and kissed Cole. A long passionate thing that made him stop breathing. Ending the kiss, Natalie rested her head in the crook of Cole’s neck. Making sure to not touch any of his bandaged flesh. Somewhat reluctantly removing his hand from her breast, Cole looped his arm around Natalie. This close to his neck, Natalie felt the Hunger rising in her. Something not helped by the blossoming arousal her boldness with Cole had sparked.

  Kissing his neck, Natalie warmed her lips and mouth. Letting her animated tongue lick along his jugular. Sending an unconscious shiver across Cole’s body. Surprised and a little bit nervous, Cole asked. “What in the Stars are you doing?”

  Shrugging slightly, Natalie said. “Your blood tastes good, so I wanted to check if the rest of you does.”

  That got a morbid laugh from Cole. A laugh ending in a pained wince as his stitches pulled taught. Apologizing, Natalie got up from Cole. Wincing as she saw new red on his bandages. Forcing herself not to breathe, she took a few steps back. Suddenly afraid the fresh blood might push her too far. Seeing her worry Cole murmured. “I’m alright.”

  To prove his point, Cole tried to sit up. He managed but with numerous pained groans. More crimson blossomed below his bandages, and Natalie’s nose filled with the smell. In a voice both annoyed and desperate, she hissed. “Stop! You’ll only make it worse!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Looking up at Natalie, seeing the restrained hunger in her eyes. Cole slowly lay back down and wrapped himself up in the thick blankets the Werefolk had provided. Running her hands through her hair. Careful not to touch the silver clip buried in her dark tresses. Natalie let out a whimper. The smell of blood was only adding to her sexual ardor “Cole, you really need to stop getting injured. I find you tempting enough without my Hunger adding fuel to the fire.”

  Completely missing the double meaning. Cole grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know controlling the Hunger is difficult. I’ll do my best in the future.”

  Resisting the urge to sigh. Natalie looked down at her nude form and Cole’s bleeding body and sighed. “We’re a hopeless pair, aren’t we?”

  Cole let out a sad chuckle in response. “I guess we are. I…I hate to ask, but could you grab my pack for me. I’d rather not move and open anything else up.”

  Natalie complied and brought him his pack before returning to her half-fixed dress and slipping it on. Tugging at her crude stitches, Natalie knew more work would be required. But for now, it was presentable. Stretching her arms out, she asked Cole. “How do I look?”

  An uncharacteristically wolfish grin split Cole’s scarred face. “I preferred you without, but the dress looks nice.”

  Returning his smile with one of her own, Natalie adjusted her dress. She liked when Cole was more assertive in these matters. As much as she enjoyed making him flustered with her filtrations, having it returned was a whole other form of joy. As she set her sleeves in place, Natalie knew something had changed between the two of them. Some unspoken barrier had fallen, and new passion sparked between her and Cole. Giddy at that thought, she looked up to see Cole struggling to get rations from his bag. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Natalie helped him grab the food.

  Seeing Cole wolf down the withered bread and dried apple slices, Natalie turned to leave. “I’m going to get you some warm food, the Werefolk owe you that much, at least.”

  Cole nodded in acknowledgment and bit into a piece of jerky. Natalie left the tent and returned to the wagon fort of the Werefolk. Knocking on the Gulyay, she was greeted again by the same stern-looking Werefolk man. “What do you want?” he barked.

  Glancing around to check no spiteful young Werewolves were watching her, Natalie answered. “My friend has awoken, and I’d like to get him a hot meal.”

  The guard’s eyes narrowed and he turned away from the Gulyay slot and said something in a rough northern dialect Natalie barely made out. She did catch the words “Vampire” and “Lies,” though. Bracing herself, Natalie looked around again. After maybe a minute of waiting, Natalie heard fierce words and angry shouts from behind the wall. Natalie caught a fraction more of this. An argument between the Guard and another familiar voice. The Gulyay rolled open, and Kistine, the guard, and one of the Werewolf brothers greeted her.

  Kistine looked better than she had last night. Rest, having washed decades from her face. Kistine’s eyes were wide when she saw Natalie and whatever words she’d been spitting at the guard dying on her lips.

  “You…you are in the sunlight?” the old Werewoman said, confusion and surprise filling her voice.

  Natalie shrugged and smiled. Making sure her fangs were visible. “I am the companion of a Paladin. I’m not an ordinary Vampire. The Gods’ curse doesn’t weigh heavily on me.”

  Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Kistine pushed past the impossible sight before her while her escort still stared at Natalie, stunned. “The Paladin is awake? I find that very hard to believe.” An edge of acid touched Kistine’s words, and Natalie could tell she wasn’t believed.

  Despite everything that had happened, they clearly still didn’t trust Natalie. But considering her own experiences with Vampires, she couldn’t entirely blame them. Still, Natalie felt it was getting a little ridiculous. “Yes, as I told you, he’s hard to kill.”

  Flanked by her two relatives, Kistine followed after Natalie. Clearly expecting some sort of trap or trickery. Natalie paid them little mind, trying her best to ignore the pressure of the three predators staring at her back. Each wondering at her ‘miraculous’ protection from the Sun and questioning the truth of her words. They entered the tent and found Cole awake and busy eating. Natalie spun in time to see the look of shock on Kistine’s face. Which Natalie decided was compensation enough for her discomfort.

  Sitting up slightly, Cole was picking at some frozen rations. “Ah, I take it you are the folks I have to thank for my injuries and my treatment,” he said with a genuine smile on his tattered face.

  Kistine bowed deep, grabbing each relative and forcing them to mimic her. “My humblest apologies Sir Paladin. We sought only to defend ourselves from the Dead. Me and mine can only throw ourselves upon your mercies.”

  Cole’s smile faded and was replaced with an icy coldness that Natalie knew was him taking on the mantle of Paladin. “Tell me, Matron. What is your Pack’s destination? Where do you travel next?”

  The Werefolk seemed to sense the change in Cole as well. Kistine took an unconscious step back, and the two men bared their teeths and hunched low. Kistine swatted at the older of the Werefolk. “Bruto! Stop that! Brother, we are in the presence of Power. Let's not give him any more reasons to be angry.”

  Returning her focus to Cole, Kistine answered. “We intend to head west, towards the Alidon River. Then follow the river towards Vindabon. Why do you ask, Sir Paladin?”

  Natalie had to do a double take on hearing Kistine’s words. She shared a knowing glance with Cole, who gave her a flicker of a smile. “I can understand why your family attacked me and my companion, Matron,” spoke Cole.

  “But that does not change the fact that blood was spilled. While no lasting harm may have occurred. You still acted rashly and harmed someone under my protection. This is a stain upon your Packs honor. A debt is written in my blood. I intend to help you cleanse it.”

  Meeting Kistine’s wolfen eyes with his own inhuman blue, Cole made his judgment. “I ask you to let my companion and I travel with you to Vindabon. Let us mend this mess and move forward to a shared destination.”

  All three Werefolk glanced at Natalie, an unspoken worry in their eyes. Seeing this, Cole answered their question. “My companion is no threat to you or yours. I swear she will not harm any of your pack as long as she’s given no just reason. A fair promise I hope might be reciprocated.”

  A tense moment passed before Kistine answered. “As Elder and Spirit-Caller of the Shohgard Pack, I accept these terms.”

  Cole spat onto his working hand and offered it to Kistine, who responded in kind. They shook in agreement, and Cole’s mood shifted dramatically. Dropping the mask of Paladin, he properly introduced himself. “My name is Cole. Feel free to call me as such. I wish to thank the skilled healer who attended to my wounds. What may I call you, Matron Spirit-Caller?”

  Slightly surprised by the pleasant tone of Cole’s words, Kistine replied. “You can call me Kistine.” gesturing to her escorts, she said. “This is my brother Bruto and his eldest son Jaks”

  The men exchanged nods, and Kistine said. “I will inform the rest of the pack of our agreement. I’ll send someone with food when that is done. Is there anything else you require, Sir Paladin?”

  Cole’s face flickered in a momentary grimace at her insistent use of his title. “No, thank you. But please, call me Cole.”

  The Werefolk left, and Natalie went over to Cole. Helping him lie back down, she gave Cole’s arm a gentle squeeze. He wasn’t actively bleeding, which was a blessing for the both of them, but he was still weak. Not letting go of his warm skin, Natalie asked: “What was all that about honor and debt?”

  Interlinking his fingers with hers, Cole answered. “I’m not too terribly familiar with Werefolk culture, but from my understanding, every Pack has a sort of collective sense of honor. Like any family or clan, really, but with some curious differences. Acting rashly and spilling blood by mistake is a major taboo for them. It's some sort of cultural reaction to their bestial instincts I’d wager. So by attacking us, they erred greatly. I gave them a way to fix things that is neither an act of charity nor unduly cruel.”

  Accepting that, Natalie decided since Cole was awake and seemingly feeling better, she’d tell him every detail from the previous night. He listened and occasionally asked questions. Explaining a few things that Natalie didn’t quite understand. Like how a Shaman can see through the eyes of spirits, and that was how Kistine healed him. But eventually, they came to the matter of Natalie’s shortsword.

  “A Misoria Blade? She really said that shortsword is one?” he asked, genuinely surprised by the revelation.

  “You’ve heard of them?” Natalie asked. Unsheathing the weapon and holding it out for Cole to see.

  Cole nodded and eyed the blade. “Yes, I’ve heard of them. Never seen one till now, though.” pausing for a second, never taking his eyes off the dark steel of the weapon, he asked cautiously. “Did Barnabas give you any details of where his family got it?”

  Natalie shook her head no. “No, just that it was from the White Isles, and it had been in his family for generations.”

  Cole grimaced. “I assume neither he nor Kistine told you who originally owned these weapons?”

  Looking down at the suddenly far more sinister-looking short black blade, Natalie said. “Kistine said they are tools of euthanasia.”

  Letting out a snort of derisive laughter, Cole gently picked up the weapon. “That is their purpose. But these weapons were once the signature weapons of the Inquisitors.”

  Natalie mouthed the word. It was familiar. But she knew not where from. Cole held the blade up and looked as its blade drank in the light while its silver tip shone. “They were an order of Religious Assassins. Holy Killers tasked with stopping something like The Day of the Black Sun from ever happening again.”

  The Day of the Black Sun. One of the most horrific events in the world's history. Known by a dozen different names, The Realm-Rape, Lucius’s Laughter, The Doom, Final Night of Imperator. When the manifest sins of the Old Empire came calling. The day the Infinite Hells tried to consume the world. The mere mention of that long-distant Apocalypse was enough to make Natalie want to shiver.

  Looking at the shortsword, Natalie asked. “But that should be a good thing, right? Trying to stop the Hellkyn from invading again?”

  Cole handed the weapon back to Natalie, and she sheathed it. “Yes, but also no. Because noble intentions mean nothing if an organization abandons them. See, the Inquisitors weren’t true Priests, Paladins, or anything of the like. They underwent strange rituals to protect themselves from Demons and, in the process, made themselves untouchable to most forms of Magic, including the Gods. Couple that with their mastery of Shadowcraft and the paranoia their duties provoked. It wasn’t two decades before the first questionable killings started.”

  Wincing at his words, Natalie buckled the shortsword to her waist. The image Cole painted was an ugly one. Before she could ask any more questions, Kistine and Ametza returned. The young Werewolf carrying a large bowl of soup and looking annoyed she’d been reduced to waitressing for Cole. Thanking Ametza for the stew, Cole shoveled in mouthfuls. His healing body happy to have a good meal after weeks of cold rations.

  After finishing half the bowl in a startlingly small time, Cole looked up to Kistine and asked. “Madame, if I may ask, why do you take your pack to Vindabon?”

  Kistine and her daughter exchanged glances before she answered. “A Moonmoot is to take place in Avar Woods. Just west of the city. My pack is overdue for such a meeting.”

  Confused, Natalie asked. “A Moonmoot? What is that?”

  Kistine answered. “The last Fullmoon of the year is sacred to Werefolk; Wolf-kin especially. We meet then at sacred places to trade stories, news, goods, and bloodlines.”

  Cole nodded at that and had another spoonful of soup. “What about the Moot at Doldrak Forest? Surely that should be closer?”

  Kistine kept a neutral face, but Ametza gave away her surprise. “Things have been difficult in the South-East. The Ancient Leech Drakovich is fighting Sultan Kariu at the Iskari Gates. John of Harmas is gathering support from the Elector Princes to push into the Blood Duchies proper. I want my family as far away from that brewing mess as possible.”

  Grim tidings indeed, and surprisingly relevant ones to Cole and Natalie. If the Archduke's enemies were putting pressure on him, he’d be even more interested in getting an asset like the Alukah.

  Nodding his head in understanding, Cole met Kistine’s eyes and said. “You are wise Madam, and your purpose is just. As we travel together, my companion and I will do what we can to help.”

  Bowing slightly, Kistine responded. “I thank you for that, Sir Paladin, but I must ask. Why are you traveling with a Vampire, one who is… spared by the Sun.”

  Cole paused eating and carefully considered his words. “I’m protecting her. For your safety and ours, I can say little more. Just that it is in the interest of the Living and the Dead for her to survive.”

  Ametza seemed displeased with that answer, but Kistine accepted it. “When will you be strong enough to travel, Sir Paladin? We can spare you space in one of the Wagons, but it won’t be any Lord’s carriage.”

  Deciding it was pointless to insist for Kistine not use his title, Cole slowly stretched his body. Feeling the various twinges of pain and getting a rough assessment of his condition. “If need be, I can leave as quickly as someone can carry me to a Wagon, but give me a day, and I should be able to make it there under my own power.”

  The old matriarch seemed doubtful, but she didn't challenge Cole. She’d already seen enough oddities between him and his Vampire companion. “That works for us. We need time to repair the wagons and treat our wounded as well. I’ll leave you to your rest, Sir Paladin.”

  Kistine and her daughter turned to leave, but Natalie interrupted them. “Um, is there anything I can do to help? If we are going to be traveling together, I want to be of some use.”

  Ametza’s hackles raised at that, and Natalie could practically see the scorn pouring off of her. Kistine looked at her daughter and Natalie before saying. “Ametza, take her with you during the Hunt tonight.”

  The young werewolf seemed ready to argue, but some flicker of unspoken reasoning passed between mother and daughter. Backing down, Ametza glared at Natalie. “We hunt at twilight. I hope you don’t slow us down.”

  Natalie was suddenly regretting her attempt to be civil. As much as she relished the idea of getting a meal, being alone in the woods with three Werewolves sounded nerve wracking. After delivering another bowl of soup and some fresh bandages, the Werefolk left Cole and Natalie alone again. With Natalie’s limited help, Cole was changing his bandages. His stitches were holding, and the dried blood did little to goad her Hunger. As they finished Natalie looked at his scarred body and the new collection of wounds decorating it.

  Absently she reached out and stroked a finger along a faded scar crossing his chest. Cole stiffened under the touch and looked away. Seeing his discomfort, she pulled her hand away and asked. “You are healing quickly?”

  Looking down at his new bandages, Cole nodded. “Too quickly. Even with Kistine’s aid, I’m healing faster than normal.” shutting his eyes for a moment, he pondered his choices. “My strength has grown dramatically since fighting the Feeder. Something is happening to my body, and I’m worried.”

  Tentatively, he asked. “Did… did Isabelle say why she contacted you instead of me?”

  Natalie recoiled slightly, she’d almost forgotten that whole mess somehow. “She said it was difficult to communicate with you. That contacting my dreams is much easier.”

  Sighing and rubbing his face momentarily. Cole made his choice. “When you speak to Isabelle next, ask her about this, would you?”

  Eyes wide, Natalie cautiously asked. “You…want me to keep in contact with her?”

  Cole nodded in confirmation. “While you should have told me everything when this started, learning from Isabelle is a good move. She’s probably one of the most knowledgeable people on the continent when it comes to Flesh and Soul magic. Learning more about both our natures is important, and she might be the key to that.”

  Glancing to his pack where the Vampire skull rested, Cole continued under his breath. “Just be careful, Natalie. I…I worry sometimes how her strange state might have effected her.”

  The words seemed to take something from Cole. An admission he was loath to make. Sitting on the edge of his cot, Natalie put a hand on his. “I will be. But if you don’t mind me asking, how is Isabelle still alive? Uh…well, Undead?”

  Cole seemed to wither slightly, painful memories sagging his broad shoulders like some massive weight. “I don’t know. They burned her to death, Natalie. The Voivode had her impaled on a spike, doused in pitch, and set alight.” Cole shut his eyes, terrible memories playing behind them. “They left her skull on display, a warning to any who might follow her footsteps. I took the skull, intending to bury it. I never expected she’d survive in some way.”

  Grief and trauma oozed from Cole like bloody bile, and it made Natalie’s still heart ache. She knew those feelings all too well. Seeing them in Cole was disconcerting. His strength cracked like some broken glacier, leaking a stream of cold misery. Somehow the weakness he showed then touched Natalie just as much as his strength usually did. Despite her betrayal, her unnatural existence, and everything else Cole still let himself break in front of her.

  Natalie wrapped her arms around him. Holding him tight and willing heat and life into her body. As false-life filled her flesh, winter’s bite grew stronger. Natalie paid it no mind, just hoping to be there for Cole. “You don’t need to say anymore. But I’m here to listen if you want to.”

  Returning her hug, Cole let out a pained sigh as Natalie's warm skin pressed against his. He was so used to the cold. Be it mental, physical, or spiritual. Being reminded warmth existed was something he needed. So they sat like that for a time. Cole thawing as Natalie stoked the flames of false-life. Eventually, by some unspoken signal, they broke the embrace. Nothing was said, for nothing needed to be.

  Natalie settled next to Cole’s cot and started repairing some of her other clothes. Somehow stripping down with Cole in such a tender state and with the camp of Werefolk awake seemed tactless. So she worked to make her other clothes more presentable. A borrowed wash tub, some melted snow, and her sewing kit proved effective. Getting the mud and grime out of her clothes while closing the damage of travel. For his part, Cole simply rested. Occasionally sharing words with Natalie, but both content to spend the time this way.

  Ametza returned twice more with food for Cole. Depositing the bowls on Cole’s lap and leaving without a word the first time. The second time, she stiffly said to Natalie. “We hunt in half an hour. Be ready by then.”

  Quickly, Natalie changed. Cole shutting his eyes more out of his own abashment than any desire of hers. She liked to show off and enjoyed seeing his reactions to her body. Her new outfit was a set of hunting leathers she’d gotten years ago. A gift from an old suitor. They were a little tighter than she remembered. Squeezing her bust and hips in ways that Cole more than noticed. Thankfully not needing to breathe made wearing them not an issue.

  Spinning around for Cole’s enjoyment, she asked. “What do you think?”

  Cole kept forcing himself to blink. While a naked Natalie was an image of alabaster sensuality. Natalie, in form-fitting leather, was the stuff of adolescent fantasy. Stunned and leaden-tongued, Cole managed. “Uh…you look…Um well. Just amazing.”

  Smiling in that coy way of hers, Natalie leaned over Cole, letting his eyes flick down to her cleavage. Kissing him gently, she whispered. “They are rather tight. When you are feeling better, I’m sure you will be a gentleman and help me out of them”

  Getting up, Natalie turned to leave, her hips swaying in an almost sinful fashion. As she exited the tent, Cole found enough of his intellect to say. “Before you go! Be careful, and don’t get between them and any prey.”

  Natalie nodded and blew him a kiss. “Love you, Cole. Get some rest.”