Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - In the Forests of the Night

"Jealous?" someone said over my shoulder, and I swung around toward Aubrey, knowing that my eyes were narrowed with hatred. "If she bothers you that much, kill her."

"I am sure you would appreciate that," I hissed.

He laughed. "You have too many morals."

"And you have none," I snapped back, trying to keep myself from hitting him. I refused to leave while he was here, his attention on my father and this innocent ■woman.

Innocent woman…strange, how my opinion changed so quickly. As soon as Aubrey suggested I kill her, I felt the need to protect her.

"I have some morals, I suppose," he argued, though his voice was light. He had taken no offense at the accusation. "But none that interfere with the way I survive. Look at yourself, Risika—you can hardly preach the benefits of morality."

Though I did not hate myself for killing to survive, I feared that I would one day become as indifferent to murder as Aubrey was.

" If you came here to convince me to abandon my morals, you are wasting your time," I snapped.

"You are hardly my only motive for being here," he answered lazily.

My father and his wife had decided to get some air and were now sitting on the back porch, quietly discussing how the farm was doing, Lynette's suitors, and everything else except for the reason my father had been crying.

As if he could sense my gaze on him, my father turned toward me, but this time his eyes went wide, as if he could see me despite my efforts.

Standing, he took a step in my direction before his wife put a hand on his arm." There's no one there, Peter," she insisted, and my father sighed.

"I could have sworn I saw her. …" He shook his head, taking a raspy breath.

"You could have sworn you saw her a few days ago, but she was not there. You thought you saw your son the week before that, but he was not there. They never are, Peter, and they never will be. Let them go."

My father turned about and went inside the house. Katherine closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a prayer.

Why did she not help him herself? Was she so blind that she could not see how much her words had hurt him?

Aubrey laughed beside me. "You are jealous."

I spun toward him again, losing my temper. "Could you go somewhere else?"

"I could," he said. "But this is more fun."

"Damn you."

He shrugged, then looked past me to my father's wife, who had just stood and moved toward the house.

She hesitated, then turned slowly, sensing eyes on her back.

"Leave her alone, Aubrey," I commanded.

"Why?"

Katherine looked up as if she had heard a sound, and then walked toward us, though I could tell that she did not really see Aubrey or me.

I clenched my fists, knowing that he was baiting me and knowing equally well that if he had set his mind on killing this woman, there was no way I could stop him.

Katherine gasped as Aubrey stopped hiding himself from her. She froze, eyes wide.

"Fine, Aubrey—you have made your point," I snapped, stepping between him and his prey. "Now leave."

"And what point would that be?" he inquired. "I do not share your reservations, Risika. I hunt when I wish, as I always have."

"Hunt somewhere else," I said. His eyes narrowed.

"Who … Wh-What do you want?" Katherine stammered, backing away from us. She was breathing quickly, and her heart was beating fast from fear.

Aubrey disappeared from where he stood and reappeared behind her. Katharine stumbled into him and let out a gasp.

Aubrey whispered into her ear and she relaxed. Then he reached up and gently pulled her head back, exposing her throat…

I SNAP AWAKE, instantly alert.

There is someone in the house, in the room.

I rise from my bed. "Why do you hide, Aubrey?" I ask the shadows. "Do you finally fear me? Are you afraid that if you challenge me again you will lose?" I know this is not Aubrey's fear, but I am in the mood to taunt, just as I know he is.

There is one taunt that almost guarantees a vampire's response: accusing him of being afraid.

"I will never fear you, Risika," Aubrey answers as his form coalesces from the shadows of the room.

"You should," I respond. Vampiric powers strengthen with strong emotions—hate, rage, love—and Aubrey brings all those emotions to the surface of my mind.

Despite my hatred, if I fight him I will lose. This is a lesson I learned well years ago. Aubrey is older, stronger, and much crueler.

For now, though, he lounges against the wall, throwing his knife into the air and catching it. Throwing, catching. Up, down. The faint light glints on the silver blade, and I have a sudden picture in my mind of Aubrey missing the knife, and of it slicing across his wrist.

He has modernized his style since the 1700s: he wears black jeans tucked into black boots, a tight red shirt that shows off the muscles of his chest, and a metal-studded dog collar. The green viper has been replaced by the world serpent from Norse mythology, which played a part in the destruction of the world. On his upper arm is the Greek Echidna, mother of all monsters, and on his right wrist is the Norse monster Fenris, the giant wolf who swallowed the sun.

I wonder what Aubrey will do when he becomes bored with these designs. Maybe cut them off with an ordinary knife. His flesh would heal in a matter of seconds. Maybe I could volunteer to help…No one would mind if I "accidentally" cut his heart out in the process.

"Why are you here, Aubrey?" I finally ask, not willing to wait for him to speak.

"I just came to offer my condolences for the death of your poor, fragile kitten."

My body freezes with rage. Aubrey knows how to hurt me, and how to make me lose my temper. He has done so before.

I start to move toward him—to hit him, to make him hurt as much as I do.

"Careful, Risika," he says. Just two words, but I stop. "Remember what happened last time you challenged me."

"I remember," I growl. My voice is heavy with pain and rage. I do remember—I remember very well.

"You still wear the scar, Risika. I can see it even from here."

"I have not forgotten, Aubrey," I answer him. He wears the same face he had then: cold, aloof, slightly amused, slightly mocking. He knows what Tora meant to me, and I know that he has visited me to try to bait me into attacking him again.

I wonder what kind of life made Aubrey the way he is. A psychologist would love analyzing him. Aubrey knows exactly what to say and do to make those around him weep, laugh, beg, hate, love, fear, or anything else he wishes. I have seen brave men run in fear, humans wage wars, and vampire hunters turn on their own, all because of Aubrey.

He is far stronger than Ather, physically, mentally, and emotionally. As I have said, Ather's largest flaw is that she changes people who are strong—people who will be stronger than she is. She does this because, though others of our kind might challenge her alone, they assume that her fledglings would avenge the attack.

I may never understand why Ather decided that Rachel was a human who demanded her attention, but I do not hate my blood mother. She was the one who tore me from my human life, but she was also the one who forced me to look upon the darkness of humanity. Had it not been for her, I would have lived and died as prey and nothing else.

Though I would not lift a finger to defend my blood mother, I do not go out of my way to attack her.

Aubrey, on the other hand…Three hundred long years ago I knew that Aubrey was stronger than I, and indeed, I fought him and lost. I fear what will happen if we fight again. He eggs me on every time we meet, knowing well that I fear him. I hate him all the more because of that fear, and he knows this as well.