âI have never known peaceâ
-in a week, Hozier
TW: mentions of death, mentions of blood drinking(mc is a vampire, so), some Spanish dialogue, historical inaccuracies?
MDNI
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I could feel the relentless heat of the Texas sun even through the thick woolen blanket draped over me. Its stifling warmth pressed down like a heavy weight, making it impossible to rest despite the steady rocking of the chuck wagon. Every jolt seemed to drive the heat deeper into my bones, leaving me restless and exhausted.
A comforting hand came to rest on my shoulder blades, its gentle touch managing to penetrate the layers of fabric shielding me from the burning sunlight.
âÂżEstĂĄs bien, mija?â my motherâs soft, melodic voice floated through the sweltering air, wrapping me in a different kind of warmth. Even without seeing her, I could picture the concern etched into her expression.
âEstoy bien, mamĂĄ,â I murmured, my voice muffled by the blanket covering me. It felt like a barrier against not just the sun, but the world itselfâas if I could almost disappear beneath its heavy folds.
âItâs almost night; we stop soon,â she reassured me, her hands moving in slow, soothing circles over my shoulders. Under her touch, the fabric felt less suffocating, though I could still sense the waning sunâs angry glare beyond it. I nodded, the gesture hidden from view, knowing that dusk would soon bring relief from the oppressive heat and from the constant fear of being exposed to the light.
As the wagon creaked along the uneven trail, I heard my fatherâs voice from up front, low and steady as he spoke to the oxen. He always talked to them like they were old friends, his deep voice carrying a hint of reassurance meant for both them and us. It was the same tone he used when he promised my mother that weâd find a safe place to rest soonâsomewhere we could finally breathe.
But safety was a fleeting thing. Even the night brought its own set of dangers. The coven would still be looking for me, no matter how far we ran or how many towns we passed through. To them, my escape was a crime as unforgivable as the murder itself, regardless of what that man had tried to do. My hands curled into fists under the blanket as the memory of his cold, crazed eyes surfaced unbidden. I squeezed them shut and forced my breathing to steady.
The wagon began to slow, and my fatherâs voice faded as he climbed down to unhitch the oxen. My motherâs hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment longer before she stood, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath her. I heard her call my name softly, coaxing me to emerge now that the sun had dipped below the horizon. The light outside was softer, a dim orange glow painting the sky and brushing the tops of the surrounding hills. It wasnât completely dark yet, but it was safe enough.
I pulled the blanket off, my skin prickling as the cooler air hit me. Sitting up, I saw my mother smiling gently, her face lined with weariness but still radiant with that quiet strength Iâd always admired. She reached for me, helping me down from the wagon. The ground beneath my boots felt solid and familiar, the dust kicking up around my feet as I landed.
âAre you alright?â she asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face. Her touch was tender, but there was a question in her eyes that went beyond the simple words. It was the unspoken worry that had lingered ever since we fled in the dead of night, abandoning everything familiar.
âWe wonât stay long,â my father said, glancing around the camp as he reached for a bucket of water for the animals. âJust enough to rest the oxen and have a quick meal.â
âBetter keep the fire low,â my mother added, her voice soft but firm. âWe donât want to draw any attention.â
The night pressed in around us, and I felt the familiar itch in the back of my throatâthe burning thirst reminding me Iâd gone too long without feeding. I had to hunt, even if the risks were high. My parents had already taken enough chances for me; the least I could do was take care of my needs away from their camp.
âIâm going to⌠take care of something,â I said, the unspoken meaning clear in my voice. They nodded, understanding without needing an explanation. My fatherâs eyes met mine, a flicker of concern in them before he turned away to finish tending to the oxen.
âBe careful,â my mother whispered, her hand squeezing mine for a moment. I squeezed back, my fingers lingering before I pulled away and melted into the shadows.
The hunt was quick. I found a deer near the creek, its heartbeat a steady rhythm in the stillness. As I drank, the life coursing through me brought back a fleeting sense of strength. But something felt wrong, a nagging dread at the back of my mind.
I lifted my head, wiping the blood from my lips, and strained to listen. A faint sound reached me, carried by the breezeâshouting, distant but unmistakable. I froze, panic rising in my chest. I knew that voice. My motherâs.
Without a momentâs hesitation, I raced back toward the camp, my feet flying over the forest floor. The trees blurred past as I pushed myself to move faster, a desperate urgency fueling every stride. But even with my speed, I could tell I was too far away. The shouting cut off suddenly, leaving a dreadful silence in its wake.
When I burst out of the woods into the clearing, the sight that greeted me brought me to a halt. The wagon had been overturned, supplies scattered across the ground. My father lay unconscious a few paces away, a dark bruise forming on his forehead. And then there was my mother, crumpled on the dirt, blood seeping from her chest, her eyes staring blankly up at the night sky.
âNo⌠no, no, no!â The words tore from my throat as I stumbled forward, collapsing beside her. I shook her, my hands trembling as they touched her face, trying to find some spark of life. âMamĂĄ, pleaseâŚâ Her skin was already growing cold, her chest still. I felt like the world had dropped out from under me, and I was falling into an endless void.
I looked around wildly, searching for the bandits who had done this, but there was no one left. They had taken what they wanted and vanished into the night, leaving only death and ruin. My sharpened senses picked up the faint scent of horse sweat and gunpowder drifting on the wind, but it was already fading, the trails too cold to follow. Iâd been too late. I hadnât even seen their faces.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gutâI hadnât been there when she needed me most. Iâd failed to protect the one person who had always protected me.
My father stirred, groaning as he struggled to sit up. When he saw my motherâs lifeless form, the color drained from his face. âNo⌠Dios, no,â he whispered, crawling over to her. His hands gripped hers as if he could somehow bring her back through sheer will.
I could do nothing but watch as he wept, the grief raw and all-consuming. There were no words of comfort I could offer, no solace to be found in my embrace. I felt numb, the rage that had surged within me moments ago drained away, leaving only an unbearable emptiness.
We couldnât stay here; I knew that much. The bandits could return, or worse, soldiers from the war. But the thought of leaving her behind, of walking away from this place, felt impossible. It was like tearing out a piece of my own soul.
Yet there was no choice. We had to move, to keep going, or her death would be just the beginning of our losses. I rose shakily to my feet, casting one last glance at her still form before turning to my father.
âWe need to go,â I said, my voice hoarse and unsteady. âWe canât stay here.â
He didnât respond at first, his gaze locked on my motherâs face as if hoping she would blink or breathe or give any sign that this wasnât real. Eventually, he nodded, his shoulders sagging under the weight of grief as he stood.
We worked in silence to gather what little remained of our supplies, our movements slow and mechanical. As we left the camp behind, the night seemed darker than ever, the path ahead stretching out like an unending shadow. I glanced back once, a futile gesture, as if there were some chance that my mother would be standing there, smiling at us with that reassuring look she always wore.
But there was only darkness. And I carried it with me, as I always would.
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The darkness of the night enveloped us as we continued our trek on the chuck wagon, each jolt of the wooden wheels against the uneven terrain echoing the heaviness in my heart. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fading memories, and the shadows of the trees loomed like specters, reminders of the past we could never return to.
My father sat across from me, his face pale and drawn, illuminated only by the faint glow of the stars above. I could see the toll that the eveningâs events had taken on him; grief had settled into the lines of his face, etching new marks of weariness and despair. The pain was palpable, and I could feel it wrapping around us like a shroud.
âWeâll find a place to rest soon,â he said, though his voice was flat, lacking the conviction it once held. The promise felt hollow, just another comforting lie to mask the reality of our situation. I couldnât shake the feeling that we were merely moving toward another darkness.
After what felt like hours of traveling, the chuck wagon creaked to a stop. I glanced ahead, and through the thick veil of night, I caught sight of flickering lights in the distanceâan outline of a town beginning to take shape. Hope sparked within me, and I quickened my pace, my heart pounding at the prospect of finding safetyâif only for a moment.
âLook,â I said, pointing toward the town. âWe can stop there. It might have a place we can stay, somewhere we can regroup.â
My father hesitated, the lines on his forehead deepening. âAthena⌠we need to talk,â he said, his tone serious.
The change in his voice made my heart drop. âWhat is it?â I asked, fearing the worst.
âWe canât go into town together,â he finally said, his gaze flickering toward the flickering lights. âI canât support you, not financially, and certainly not like I used to. Iâm a burden to you now.â
âStop it,â I replied, frustration bubbling up inside me. âYouâre not a burden! Youâre my father. Weâll figure it out together.â I took a step closer, desperately trying to close the gap between us, as if my presence could reassure him.
He shook his head, his eyes dark with regret. âYou donât understand. I canât keep you safe. Not anymore. You need to stay here, in the town. Itâs your best chance.â
My stomach twisted in knots. âWhat do you mean? Weâre family! We canât just split up!â
âAthenaâŚâ He sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease the weight of what he had to say. âThis town might offer you opportunities. Youâre strong; you can take care of yourself. I canât promise you anything but pain and heartache if we stick together.â
I stared at him, my heart racing. The thought of him walking away, of us being separated, felt like another loss I couldnât bear. âI donât want to leave you,â I said, my voice trembling. âWhat if something happens to you?â
âThen youâll know Iâm free,â he replied softly, his voice thick with emotion. âFree of the burden of protecting me, free of the fear that follows us. I canât let you live in my shadow. You deserve a chance at a real life.â
Tears pricked at my eyes, but I fought them back. I didnât want to cry, didnât want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurt. âYouâre my father. Youâre not just going to disappear into the night. I wonât let you.â
He stepped forward, pulling me into a tight embrace, and I could feel his heart pounding against mine, a frantic rhythm that mirrored my own. âYouâll be alright, mija. I promise. Just stay strong and remember what I taught you.â
The warmth of his presence felt like a lifeline, but it was slipping away too fast. âWhat if you canât find me? What if they come looking for us?â
âIâll find a way. You have to trust me. And trust yourself,â he said, his voice firm. âYouâre a survivor, and you always have been. Youâll be able to make it on your own.â
As he pulled back, I could see the pain etched on his face, but there was also a flicker of pride. I hated the idea of leaving him behind, of walking into the unknown alone. But deep down, I understood that his decision came from a place of love, a desperate attempt to keep me safe when he could no longer do so himself.
âFine,â I whispered, my voice barely audible. âBut you better promise me that youâll find a way back to me.â
He nodded, a small, sad smile breaking through the veil of sorrow. âI will. Iâll always find my way back to you.â
With a heavy heart, I turned toward the town, its flickering lights growing brighter as I stepped away from the chuck wagon. Each step felt like a betrayal, but I had to keep moving forward. I glanced back once, catching his gaze one last time, and in that moment, we both understood: our paths had diverged, but the bond between us would never truly break.
As I walked into the town, the chatter of voices and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the silence I was leaving behind. I took a deep breath, pushing away the fear that threatened to consume me. I could find a place to belong, a new start amid the chaos. I had to. For both our sakes.
Hello! This is my first time posting one of my original works. With much encouragement from my friends, I have caved.
Enjoy part 1, where we meet the Vampire Athena
