Morgan Rice - Vowed

Finally, she reached the top. She quickly jumped up onto the grassy plateau and deposited Scarlet. She felt so grateful to be on steady land – but she didn’t waste any time. She rolled over, took the rope, and threw it hard several feet, so that it swung over to where Caleb was standing, below.

She looked down and saw that he was watching carefully for it, and as it came his way, he reached out and grabbed it, holding Ruth with the other hand. He managed to pull them up quickly, too. Caitlin watched carefully his every step, praying that it would not give.

Finally, he made it to the top, rolling over onto the grass, right beside her. They scurried far from the ledge, and as they did, Scarlet and Ruth embraced, and Caitlin and Caleb did the same.

Caitlin could feel the relief flooding her body, as it did his.

“You saved my life,” he said. “Again.”

She shot back a smile.

“You saved mine many times,” she said. “I owe you at least a few.”

He smiled back.

They all turned and surveyed their new surroundings. The Isle of Skye. It was gorgeous, breathtaking, mystical, desolate and dramatic at the same time. The island curved in a series of mountains and valleys and hills and plateaus, some of it rocky and barren, some of it covered in a green moss. It was all shrouded by a heavenly mist, which made its way into the nooks and cracks, and was lit up orange and red and yellow in the morning sun. This island looked like a place of dreams. And it also looked like a place that no humans could ever possibly live.

As she watched the horizon, suddenly, like an apparition, a dozen vampires walked out of the mist, over the hill, appearing slowly, heading right for them. Caitlin could not believe it. She braced herself for battle, but Caleb reached over and placed a reassuring hand on hers, as they all stood.

“Don’t worry,” Caleb said. “I can sense it. They are friendly.”

As they got closer, Caitlin could see their features, and sensed that he was right. In fact, she was shocked at what she saw.

Standing there, before her, were several of her old friends.

Sam braced himself as their boat, rocking wildly, propelled itself inevitably toward the rocky shore. He could feel Polly’s apprehension, as dozens of vampire warriors scurried down the steep cliffs, heading towards them.

“Now what?” Polly asked, their boat just feet from shore.

“No other way,” Sam answered. “We make our stand.”

With those words, he suddenly leapt off the boat, holding Polly’s hand, taking her with him. The two of them leapt several feet in the air, landing at the water’s edge. Sam felt the shock of the icy cold water on his bare feet; it sent a shiver up his spine, waking him completely. He realized he was still clothed in his battle gear from London – tight black pants and shirt, thickly padded around the shoulders and arms, and he looked over and realized that Polly was, too.

But there wasn’t much time to take in anything else. As Sam looked to the shore, he saw dozens of human warriors charging towards them. Dressed in chain mail armor from head to toe, wielding swords, carrying shields, they were the classic vision of knights in shining armor that Sam had seen in picture books all throughout his childhood – the knights he had once wanted to be. As a child, he’d idolized them. But now, being a vampire, he knew he was so much stronger than they would ever be. He knew they could never possibly match the strength or speed that he did, never come close to his fighting skills. So Sam wasn’t afraid.

But he was very much protective of Polly. He wasn’t quite sure how evolved Polly’s fighting skills were, and he didn’t entirely like the look of these humans weapons. They were unlike any other swords and shields he had seen. He could already see, gleaming in the morning sun, that they appeared to be silver-tipped. Designed to kill vampires.

He knew it was a threat he had to take seriously.

From the looks on their faces, these humans meant business and he could see from their tight, coordinated formations that they were well-trained. For humans, these were probably the best warriors of this time. They were well organized, too, charging from both directions.

Sam wouldn’t give them the advantage of the first strike.

Sam charged them himself, breaking into a sprint, suddenly approaching them faster than they were him.

Clearly, they hadn’t expected this. He could sense their hesitation, unsure how to react.

But he didn’t give them any time. With one flying leap, he leapt over their heads, using his wings to propel him, until he cleared the entire group, and landed behind them. As he did, he reached down and grabbed a lance from a rear knight. As he landed, he swung it wide, knocking several of them off of their horses in one motion.

The horses neighed and kicked, charging the rest of the group, and causing chaos.

Still, these knights were well trained, and did not let it faze them. Any other human knights would have dispersed immediately, but these, to Sam’s surprise, turned and re-grouped, forming a single line and charging for Sam.

Sam was surprised at this, and wondered exactly where he was. Had he landed in some sort of elite warrior kingdom?

Sam didn’t have time to figure it out. And he didn’t want to kill these humans. Part of him sensed that they weren’t out to kill; he felt they were out to confront, and maybe, to capture them. Or, more likely, to test them. After all, they had landed on their turf: he sensed that they wanted to see what they were made of.

Sam had, at least, succeeded in diverting them from Polly. Now they charged only for him.

He reached back with the lance, and aimed for the shield of their leader, wanting to stun but not kill him, and threw it.

A direct hit. He knocked the shield clean out of his hand, and knocked him off of his horse. The knight landed with a loud clang of metal.

Sam jumped forward and grabbed the sword and shield from the knight’s hands. Just in time, as several blows descended upon him. He blocked them all, and as he did, tore a mace from another knight’s hands. He grabbed on the long wooden shaft, reached back, and swung the deadly metal ball and chain in a wide arc. There was the clang of metal in every direction, as Sam managed to knock swords out of the hands of a dozen warriors. He continued swinging, hitting several on their shields and knocking them to the ground.

But again, Sam was surprised. Any other human warriors would surely have dispersed in chaos; but not these men. Those who had been knocked off their horses, dazed, regrouped, grabbed their weapons off the sand, and formed around Sam, encircling him. This time, they kept a greater distance, enough of a distance that Sam couldn’t reach them with the mace.

More distressing, they all, from every direction, suddenly extracted crossbows off their backs, and aimed right for him. Sam could see they were loaded with silver-tip arrows. All meant to kill. Perhaps he had been too lenient with them.

They didn’t fire, but they held him in their deadly sites. Sam realized he was in a bind. He couldn’t believe it. Any rash move could be his last.

“Drop your bows,” came a cold, steely voice.

The humans slowly turned their heads, and Sam turned his, too.

He couldn’t believe it. Standing there, on the outer perimeter of the circle, was Polly. She held one of the soldiers in a deadly embrace, her forearm wrapped around his throat and holding a small silver dagger to his throat. The soldier stood there, frozen, unable to move in Polly’s grip, his eyes wide with fear, the look of a man about to die.

“If not,” Polly continued, “this man dies.”