Shadows of the Woods

Chapter 15

Back in British Columbia, Myrnah absent-mindedly kneaded a ball of dough on the kitchen counter. Her scarlet eyes weren't focussed on the bread, however; her mind was worrying over and over for her little Lilah, and dear Apollo. She hated it when they left - the house was too big and silent and empty without them.

It had been several days since they had left, and their only contact from them had been the lovely silver butterfly that had alighted on Jannosh as he sat on the front step. Her husband wasn't allowing her to leave the house; his violet eyes had been frightened when he brought the butterfly to her. He was upstairs, sleeping fretfully and anxiously. Myrnah hadn't minded not being able to go outside, but Jannosh was a man of the open air - being inside too long reminded him of their early days in Moscow.

Myrnah shivered delicately, remembering the cold, stone rooms and Abaddon Ambrosia's dark, terrible eyes. The only thing good to come out of those experiments was her love, that silver ray of light named Jannosh. They had survived those long, torturous trials, but would they survive this?

That was what scared Myrnah the most. Shifters were the newer race to emerge in the magical world, but to her it had seemed that they were as invincible as every other. Sure, they could be killed, but so could faeries and elves - she  knew she could live to be an impressive age, and she was delighted and awestruck to be able to spend her days with Jannosh. But now, this unnamed, invisible plague threatened that hazy but idyllic future.

What if she lost Apollo and Lilah to this? Could she live if she lost Jannosh?

Her hands stilled on the warm ball of dough. She felt so cold, even though she was right next to the oven. Usually baking cheered her up, but now she felt nothing but emptiness. Sighing resignedly, Myrnah began to knead the dough again.

But then the floor creaked behind her, and she froze.

Everyone in the house had subconsciously learned to walk silently; their steps were light, and they automatically stepped over the weaknesses in the flooring. So that creak, that whine of wood, it didn't belong to someone she loved.

Myrnah turned around slowly. At the door of the kitchen, a tall, dark vampire stared back at her. Like all other vampires, he was very good-looking; he had rich brown curls that cascaded down his back, and his wide, bright eyes were the colour of maple. He had high cheekbones and full, pink lips, and Myrnah could see a broad torso filling out his black cloak.

However, there were black spots on the exposed skin of his neck and hands, and there was a single black mark on his forehead, as if marking him for death. The vile smell Myrnah and Jannosh had shut out of the house was now filling the room; Myrnah inwardly cursed herself for being too preoccupied with her worried thoughts to notice it.

"Good day, fair lady." The vampire had a French accent - perhaps he was from Quebec, Myrnah thought at the back of her mind. His face was remarkably calm, despite the sickness gnawing at his skin.

"Good day." Myrnah slowly wiped her hands off on the front of her apron. It was pink and girly; Lilah had bought it for her for Christmas. "May I ask why you've so brashly entered my home?"

"You may." The vampire began to venture slowly and gracefully into the room. There was an agility to his movements that reminded Myrnah chillingly of Abaddon Ambrosia. "But I think you already know why."

"Perhaps I'd just like to hear you say it yourself." Myrnah's scarlet irises flashed.

The two stared each other down. She was much smaller than the tall, broad vampire, and usually that didn't bother her, but his man was clearly sick. She thought fearfully of the sickness Apollo had described through the butterfly - this sickness was extremely contagious, and moved quickly. She didn't want to get anywhere near him.