Frost Bitten

Prologue:

The stories had been pounded into her mind from the earliest moment of her memory, bouncing on her father’s lap as the tribe’s spirit man channeled the tales from his aged mind.

Yes, there were many, many stories of the damned ones, the ones that had the everlasting blood of the demons coursing through them. They were said to be the most dangerous monsters, capable of transforming into bloodthirsty beasts under the light of the moon.

She had heard the stories of the ghouls that would steal away the women of the tribe, of the monsters that would murder men simply for the pleasure.

They traveled in packs, and murdered innocents as they passed. They were the tribes overpowering fear because accounts of mass murder had passed from one tribe to another until the fear of the beasts far surpassed any other.

Horror stories flashed through the woman’s eyes as she lie, motionless in the crystal white snow, a stain of dark, red liquid radiating around her pale body. Death was standing beside the beautiful woman, and his presence was nearing as the seconds passed.

As the stain of blood increased, the woman’s pale blue eyes fluttered closed, and her uneven breathing slowed so that it was inaudible, and only a few molecules of precious, life-giving air passed through her blue lips.

She should not have ventured into the forests; she should have never ventured into the forests.