A Ride of Peril (A Shade of Vampire #46)(3)

Serena





We spent a couple of hours gathering all the bodies in the middle of the camp, stacking them on top of pieces of wood. Several corpses had once belonged to the attacking Sluaghs, paler than the rest and lacking their heads, oozing black blood. According to Bijarki, silver blood turned black when the body was occupied by a Sluagh. We counted ten of them in total. I figured the succubi had put up quite the fight, to be able to decapitate ten of these so-hard-to-kill monsters. It was an impressive death toll, given that they’d been taken by surprise.

Hansa and Bijarki piled on all the dragon tears they could find, then set the funeral pyre alight.

The task had been a daunting one, and my arms and back were sore, but it was nothing compared to what Hansa must have felt at the sight of her sisters burning. Black smoke rose in heavy plumes, a sad contrast against the violent pinks and purples of dusk. Crickets chirped in the woods around us, while night birds began their melodious exchange of trills in the branches above.

Hansa stood before the pyre, torch in hand. She turned around to face us, and I could see tears streaming down her dirty cheeks, revealing thin lines of smooth, silvery skin. The pain in her eyes tore me apart. I decided to offer my help.

“Hansa,” I said. “If you want, I can syphon some of the pain off.”

She gave me a warm smile and shook her head.

“Thank you, Serena, but I need this pain. It fuels me,” she replied.

A moment passed before she spoke again.

“How many, in total?” she asked.

“Ninety-three,” I answered, my voice barely a whisper.

“That leaves us with twelve unaccounted for. Twelve of my sisters who might still be alive somewhere.”

She looked over her shoulder, frowning at the sight of the bright orange blaze that consumed the flesh of her dead sisters. There hadn’t been enough time for us to wrap them all in burial cloaks. There weren’t enough of those anyway. The Red Tribe had never anticipated its own sudden extinction.

“My sisters were brave and strong,” Hansa said, her voice trembling. “Some were older than me and carried with them millennia of traditions and tales of succubi virtue. Most, however, I nursed myself from the day they were born. Sweet little bundles of joy and curiosity, with bright eyes and millions of questions about the world, about our nature, and about our freedom. I raised them all with the elders, trained them, fed them, and prepared them for everything that awaited them outside the boundaries of our camp. Eritopia is beautiful and wild, intense and unforgiving, cruel and fascinating. I remember each and every one of these girls, from their first steps to their first kills.”

Bijarki took a few steps forward, holding a large bunch of wild pink and yellow flowers. He walked along the length of the pyre and threw the blossoms into the fire, one for each succubus lost. Sadness darkened his face, and I could see tears glazing his eyes. These were creatures of his own kind, after all. Despite their separate lifestyles and the frequent animosity, the succubi and incubi only had each other in this world. Loss was painful in any universe.

“In many ways, I grew up with them, over and over again, rediscovering the wonders and terrors of Eritopia,” Hansa continued hoarsely. “I laughed with them, and I lost sleep whenever one of them didn’t come home. Seven of them were my own daughters…” She choked up.

My heart twisted in my chest. I could only imagine what it must feel like for a mother to lose her children like that.

“Six are here now, burning. One is missing. I am hopeful she is still alive, somewhere,” Hansa continued, swallowing back more tears. “We are all mothers at some point in our lives. We all carry life in our wombs. We all feel the unbreakable bond that comes with giving birth. But the Red Tribe was even stronger. The bond was greater, stronger than the blood ties. Today, I am parting not just with my blood daughters, but with all my daughters, all my sisters…my friends…my mothers.”

Hansa stepped back, wiping the tears from her face with the backs of her hands.

“Nevertheless, Druid, rest assured, for as long as I’m still standing, there is a Red Tribe. Anjani is still standing. Twelve more succubi might still be alive. Azazel may have killed most of us, but he hasn’t defeated us.”

Her resolve was truly phenomenal. The emotional rollercoaster of the entire day had ended on a note of determination. Hansa was an exceptional creature. As she watched her entire family turn to ashes, she still had enough strength to stand tall and tell us that there was still hope—that this was not defeat.

Hansa walked over to a large black stone several feet away from the pyre. She took out a knife and carved a few words into its smooth surface, words I did not understand. She noticed my confusion and smirked as she etched her message.

“We invented a code language a long time ago. Only the Red Tribe knows it. We use it for safety and to communicate when no one else can be trusted. If there are any of my sisters out there, they will come back here to see if there are any survivors. They will find nothing but ashes and this message. It will guide them back to the mansion, back to safety.”

“The Red Tribe is welcome in my home anytime,” Draven replied.

“You’re more like your father than you think, Druid.” Hansa smiled at him, a familiar warmth glimmering in her eyes. “Ever the gentleman, even when he had to deal with wildlings such as myself. It’s what drew me to him in the first place. Unlike the rest of his elitist kind, Almus saw past the leathers and sharp blades and sought to communicate, to get to know us better. I cared for him deeply, more than you might think, in fact.”