"Your mother never spoke of me?" the woman asked.

The question drew Xander from his wonder. He forced himself out of his senses and draped the cloak over his mother. It was the kind of finery she should be wearing, instead of being trapped in rags at the edge of the city. He hadn't been able to steal enough coppers to replace even her boots and almost sighed. If only he was like the stranger: powerful enough to buy a home and wardrobe worthy of his mother.

"I think so," he answered finally. "She said there was a woman who came to see her three days every five, with eyes like the first leaves of spring."

"Good. What else did she say?"

Xander shrugged. His attention shifted to his mother, whose breathing was shallow enough, he barely heard it with his super sensitive hearing.

"She told me about you," the woman continued.

Xander braced himself, waiting for the rejection he knew would come.

"She said you are a thoughtful, sensitive, strong boy with a unique gift," she said. "She also said, when her time came, for me to find you and protect you. It's why I'm here this evening, boy."

"She will be well come morning."

"No, boy, she won't. And neither will you."

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Xander stroked the cloak draped over his mother's arm.

"I know how you feed. I've never seen anything like you, but I think I know what you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Xander whispered.

The mention of feeding made his stomach roar to life. He hadn't eaten in a week, afraid of making his mother sicker by drinking her blood. He managed to catch a few stray rats for food, but they tasted different. Gross. He even tried to eat real food, like his mother and everyone else around him did. He ended up too sick to steal coppers.

The noblewoman withdrew a delicate knife and flicked the inside of her wrist with the tip of the blade. The scent of blood ensnared Xander's senses like nothing else. Gaze riveted to the crimson drops, he instinctively opened his mouth for his incisors to have room to emerge.

She gripped his chin firmly and lifted it to what light was in the hut. She observed Xander's fangs as they grew. With apparent satisfaction, she released Xander and placed her bloodied wrist to Xander's mouth.

Xander recoiled.

This woman's blood didn't smell like any blood Xander had drunk. This smelled sweeter, like nectar. It compelled him in a way that made him frantic to run away, before he crossed the line his mother warned him about and caused harm. As if reading his mind, the stranger spoke.




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