Nepenthe • Something that can make you forget grief or suffering.
Never feeling like they belonged was a feeling that Lissa Dragomir lived with, even with her family and life long best friend, although they aided in that feeling not being so strong...
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Night training stripped the Academy of any illusion of safety.
The training field was lit by tall floodlights that cast harsh white pools across packed dirt and trampled grass, leaving long shadows between combatants. Breath fogged faintly in the cool night air, rising and dispersing with every exertion. Stakes flashed silver as they were raised and struck, the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground punctuating the sharp commands barked by the instructors.
Kate moved through it like she belonged to the dark.
Her boots hit the earth with practiced precision, weight balanced, posture loose but ready. She pivoted under an incoming strike, twisted her wrist, and knocked her opponent's stake wide before planting a boot in their center of gravity and sending them back several steps. Dirt sprayed. The novice recovered quickly—credit where it was due—but Kate was already resetting, expression unreadable.
Across the field, Eddie was winning.
Not cleanly. Not quietly.
He tore through his assigned opponents with a ferocity that turned heads, each match ending faster than the last. His movements were sharp, punishing, his strikes landing just this side of regulation. He didn't linger after victories, didn't acknowledge them—just stepped back, jaw tight, eyes scanning as if daring the next person to come at him.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, and every time the fabric shifted, Eddie's hand rose reflexively, fingers brushing his throat to ensure nothing showed. Unlike the others—those who bore their healed fang marks openly, badges of survival and trust—Eddie kept his hidden. Always. Careful to a fault.
Kate noticed.
She noticed everything.
When she disengaged from her partner and stepped back toward the edge of the field, she adjusted her own collar without thinking, not because of shame but because of coldness—and felt the familiar, unwanted sting of awareness. The marks on her neck were still there, faded, yes, but not gone. They should have been gone by now. Any other time they would've have disappeared by now.
She had let Lissa feed from her countless times. It had become routine, controlled, something they both understood. Yet when the Strigoi bit her, nearly killed her, it left the fang marks, so unlike the fanmarks she was used to get from Lissa.
Around them, the other Dhampir noticed. Whispers carried easily in the outdoor gym area, slipping between clashes and commands like smoke. Kate caught fragments without trying.
