The Vampire & Her Witch

In a small room in the ancient fortress of the Vale of Mists, a mother and child lay calmly on a single bed while an ordinary-looking woman with striking amethyst eyes sat nearby, patiently knitting the beginnings of a small blanket.

Tonnis Pyre, at just ten years of age, already bore a strong resemblance to his father with sandy hair cut short in the style of knights and soldiers and classic, handsome features in the line of his nose and the set of his jaw. The baby fat had yet to entirely leave his cheeks, but there were also traces of his mother’s high cheekbones and arched brows that left observers wondering if he would grow up to be pretty rather than handsome.

Next to him, Sir Tommin’s wife, Rosie, wrapped protectively around her son. Her rich, chestnut hair still bore the stains of soot and the singed ends from the fire that had consumed her home and her willowy figure had taken on the gaunt, lean look of someone who had spent weeks battling illness, but traces of the beauty that had captured her husband’s heart more than a decade ago could still be seen in her delicate features.

Both people slept more calmly than they had in weeks, experiencing dreams of years past in a world free of pain thanks to the influence of Zedya’s mesmerizing gaze. Transporting them both here, all the way from Hurel Village, had taken multiple days for Zedya and Lennart, during which the vampires kept their prisoners locked away in dream worlds for almost the entire journey.

Zedya’s knitting needles clicked with a steady, slightly forceful rhythm as she kept an eye on the young boy resting in his mother’s embrace. Even though he’d been the one to lash out with lamp oil, dousing her husband and setting him ablaze, the only hatred that lurked in Zedya’s heart was directed toward the man who had ordered such a cruel fate for the young boy and his mother.

Children deserved better than to be used as pawns in conflicts between adults, and both the boy and his mother were entirely blameless in whatever petty grievance Owain harbored with Sir Tommin. To inflict such a terrifying poison on them, just for the purpose of making Sir Tommin suffer, went so far beyond ’cruel’ that Zedya had no words for it.

”Zedya,” Ashlynn said from the door, interrupting the vampire’s knitting as she walked into the small room, followed closely by a rejuvenated-looking Lennart. ”Thank you for doing this for me. I had no idea that it would turn out to be so dangerous for you and Lennart,” she apologized.

”Lenny,” Zedya said, barely taking half a heartbeat to set her knitting aside before she rushed into the bearish man’s arms, flinging her own arms around his sturdy torso and pressing her ear up against Lennart’s chest as she listened to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

For the past several days, she’d adopted the distant, emotionless mask that had been so familiar to Nyrielle’s progeny whenever she looked at her newlywed husband’s wounds. Fire was a terrifying thing for any vampire to face, and she’d never imagined that Lennart would suffer so much when his Mesmerizing Gaze failed to completely control the young boy that Ashlynn had sent them to retrieve.

On the way back, Zedya had slowed their return in order to ensnare villagers for Lennart to feed on in the hopes that fresh blood would overcome the severity of his wounds, but burns healed slower than anything other than sunlight. Despite drinking from the hapless farmers until they would need weeks of rest to recover, the most it did for Lennart was to give him the strength to carry on as though the wounds didn’t trouble him, but it did almost nothing to heal the wounds.

Now, seeing him fully healed, restored as if the fire had never consumed him, her heart felt like it was ready to explode with an outpouring of worry that she’d bottled up for days, along with a surge of love for the man who had brought so much color back into her world and gratitude for the woman who restored her husband.

”You were right, my sweet,” Lennart said gently as he stroked the flowing waves of Zedya’s hair with a large hand, gently running the tips of his claws through her dull brown tresses. ”Lady Ashlynn’s coven had a way to heal me, even better than I was before,” he reassured her. ”I’m fine now,” he said softly.

”I know you are,” Zedya whispered, breathing deeply of his sweet, earthy scent and finding only the faintest trace of campfire smoke clinging to his fur in place of the acrid scent of singed fur and seared flesh that had clung to him for the past several nights.

”Thank you, your Dominion,” Zedya said formally as she pulled back from her husband and offered Ashlynn a deep curtsy. ”I know it isn’t easy to heal a vampire’s wounds, and bleeding for him...”

”Virve did it,” Ashlynn said, holding up a hand and interrupting Zedya before she could make a large fuss over it. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she compared Zedya’s worried look with the one Nyrielle wore whenever she saw Ashlynn’s injuries, and Ashlynn couldn’t help but feel like Zedya truly resembled her Mistress at the moment.

”And just like I told Lennart,” Ashlynn added. ”My coven and Nyri’s progeny, we’re all one family. Caring for Lennart is no different than caring for one of our own siblings, so please, never hesitate to ask,” she said warmly as she stepped close enough to give the other woman a brief, reassuring hug.

”We’ve called each other siblings for a long time,” Zedya whispered as her arms wrapped around Ashlynn to return the brief, comforting squeeze. ”But it hasn’t been until you arrived that we could really feel it. Thank you.”

”All right, enough,” Ashlynn said with a gentle chuckle as she stepped back from Zedya and turned to face the room’s sleeping occupants. ”Lennart, I hate to ask this of you, but can you wait outside? When they wake, they’ll be confused and...”

”I understand,” Lennart said, leaning over to bestow a chaste kiss on the crown of Zedya’s head before he turned to leave. ”I’ll be right outside. Call for me if you need me, but I’ll ignore any other shouts or cries,” he said with a glance at the two sleeping figures. ”The boy is stronger than he looks, and there’s courage in his heart. I’m sure that Sir Thane would say he has the makings of a fine knight... So, be careful when you wake him.”

”I will,” Ashlynn said, pursing her lips together and frowning in distaste. ”I need to start with his mother, though,” she said.

There were dozens of arguments for healing the child before the parent, or healing the sicker of the two first, but Ashlynn forced herself to ignore both of those options in favor of healing Rosie first. Not because it was necessary, but because it would be easier to convince Rosie to participate in Ashlynn’s plans if the woman watched Ashlynn curing his illness.

It felt cold and calculating, but it also had the best chances of avoiding bloodshed, so even though it felt manipulative, Ashlynn stepped forward to separate the mother from the child, leaving Tonnis in Zedya’s care while she focused on Rosie.

She only hoped that it was the right choice, and that she would still have the strength she needed to treat the young boy after healing his mother.