This is what true terror feels like.

I'm staring into the kind of hell promised by dripping fangs and malevolent eyes, watching in frozen terror as the wolves creep closer. When they pass in front of the SUV, their bodies break up the beam of the glaring headlights so I can see them clearly as they move towards me.

I'm not sure I appreciate the favour.

The leader of the pack standing on the vehicle's bonnet suddenly tosses its head back and utters a blood-curdling howl. Is it calling for reinforcements? Surely, the number of wolves gathered here is enough to take me down. Even just one should suffice.

Willing my petrified limbs into shaky movement, I take one painfully slow step backwards and then another. Perhaps if I retreat slowly, they'll see that I pose no threat and will be on their way. It's wishful thinking brought on by desperation, I know.

I don't think fear of me is the inspiration behind their threatening attitude.

Is the forest running dry on other food for them? I saw some deer this morning. Though I don't enjoy the idea of the pretty deer being torn apart by these frighteningly beautiful animals, I would prefer not to be their prey. I try, but I cannot think of a way to convince them that I'm not yummy. Perhaps I am. Cainán certainly seemed to think I would be.

My breath is trapped, burning in my lungs, unable to find the way out. I'm starting to feel light-headed from a lack of oxygen, and still, my flight or fight instincts refuse to kick in. I'm afraid to run; I'm afraid not to run.

"Billy..." I whisper, forcing air through my tight throat, and it helps my anguished lungs to take up their designed function again, even if it is shallowly, with stops and starts. Any moment now, I'm going to fall over the log lying across the road behind me.

I gasp in shock when my backwards progress is suddenly halted, but I don't think the log can form a solid, full-height wall behind me. I also don't think it can touch my hair and make soft purring sounds.

The sensation of fingers tugging at my hair spurs my body into action, and I spin around, jumping back when I find myself face to face with a girl not much older than 17. Her shoulder-length red hair is stringy with grime, and her eyes are soulless black pools in her dirt-streaked, waxy face. I sense no clear emotions from her. All the fear and panic flooding my system comes solely from me, overwhelming my senses.

The only thing screaming intensely from the girl is hunger, and it is not the normal kind of hunger suffered by a starving person. Her hunger is dark and twisted, and staring into her eyes makes my skin crawl as if it is alive with bugs under the surface.

"Who...?" I ask, knowing I will not receive an answer. She frowns, her hunger growing more profound, but something keeps her from attacking me. I can sense frustration slowly building inside her. A sudden vivid memory of a girl in a dark tunnel, longing to sink her teeth into me but unable to do so, causes me to take another step back, panting in fright. I don't know when or where that was, but though I've had many strange dreams since I arrived on the island, I don't think that was a dream.

The girl before me's once pretty face distorts into an expression of sheer anger, and I can hear the wolves growl loudly above the whimpering breaths jerking from my throat.

"Please," I sob and shrink away in shock when she turns her head slightly, looking past me as if she's only now becoming aware of the wolves. Her posture changes to one of aggression, her black eyes narrowing in threat, and then she snarls loudly, her lips curling back to reveal sharp fangs of her own.

Just like that, I realise that I am still lying on Billy's chest, and I'm having a nightmare.

Wolves are one thing, but what is this now? A vampire? Vampires are things that belong in fantasy and horror stories, not in this forest in the late afternoon. Not in my reality.

Whatever this girl is, she is not the demonic sort of vampire found in Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the glimmering kind in Twilight. She looks perfectly normal except for her teeth, her white skin and those impossibly black irises dwarfing her eyeballs.

Fine, I admit, nothing about her is perfectly normal.

Is she wearing Halloween makeup? Is Halloween even a thing here on Peace Haven? I should wake up now that I realise that I'm dreaming, shouldn't I? Why am I not waking up?!

A long overdue scream rips from my throat almost painfully when I'm jolted from both sides by furry bodies lunging past me in a blur of movement. The two wolves slam the girl backwards onto the branch, blocking the road, and I can hear her bones crack under the impact. For one second, I stare in horror, cringing away from the terrible sounds of jaws snapping on flesh as one rips out her throat and the other tears into her body.

Then I run.

I blindly turn away from the carnage, nearly crashing into more wolves. Spinning around to avoid them, I flee past the large branch where the two wolves are looking at me with blood dripping from their muzzles. Screaming again, I run into the embrace of the dark forest, not caring about where my feet are taking me. Every few steps, I have to veer off course to avoid running into wolves, expecting any second to feel one or more of them jump me to the ground.

The tears streaming from my eyes are blown away in the wind of my flight. My heart and mind are bogged down in terrified darkness. There is no room for strategic thinking, only panic, as I heedlessly crash through thick underbrush and weave among the trees. My clothes hamper my progress, my ankle-length skirt constantly snagging on branches and shrubs, and I gather the material in my arms, freeing my legs to receive all the passing abuse of sharp thorns and twigs.

At least I'm moving faster.

I never run if I can help it, and I definitely never run in the dainty shoes I wear today. My attire is wholly unsuitable for a headlong flight through a dense forest filled with hazards obscured by swirling mist, and I cry out in pain when I trip over roots, twist my ankle and fall, landing hard on my stomach.

For a moment, I am stunned, gasping for breath from my exertion and being winded by the fall. My hands and knees are burning after scraping over the rugged terrain and hidden rocks, and I wonder if I can still use the foot with the screaming ankle. The pain doesn't last long; it slowly pulses away.

Struggling to get to my feet, I'm involuntarily stopped long enough to see the horror show playing off around me, driving me out of my mind. Wolves are having a feast, attacking people skulking among the trees.

People?

I'm not entirely sure that it's the right word for them. I sense no truly human emotions from them. No fear. No compassion. No heartache, just anger, hunger and death. I can feel their overwhelming interest in me as they gradually crowd me in, and I don't think it has anything to do with curiosity.

They are also very capable of fighting back against the wolves, which I'm sure I would not be able to do. Every now and then, the oppressive atmosphere in the forest is rent with the howl of a wolf in pain. I can see that several of them are bleeding.

Why aren't the animals attacking me?

Finally managing to untangle myself from the grip of vines and roots, I limp forward until I can push through the low throb in my left ankle, thankful that my wounds can heal really fast lately.

I have no idea where my shoes went, but there's no time to try and find them among the shrubs. The burning scrapes and abrasions slowly die down enough for me to move properly again. I'm relieved that I'm not badly injured.

Yet...

Dodging branches whipping at my face and swerving away from reaching hands and twisted, snarling faces belonging to scores of people who cannot possibly be human anymore, I run. Something about this feels horrifyingly familiar. The trees, the rocks, the shapes of tombstones, and the mausoleums scattered around like little houses in the increasing gloom.

The fear.

No, this is not my memory. As at the well earlier today, I'm experiencing someone else's despair and dread; this time, it mingles with mine. I'm feeling the emotions of a young girl no older than 12, running through this forest while being chased. Her anguish and pain are heart-rending as she falls over and over, snagging her clothes and long hair on branches while terrified tears stream down her cheeks.

When I've lost count of how many times I've fallen, I struggle to my knees, gasping for breath through sobs tearing from my lungs. I cannot be feeling someone else's terror and pain right now; I'm drowning in my own. 

I can see that I'm in the vast, overgrown graveyard, and I have a vague idea of where it was on the map Leopold drew for me, but I don't know which way I should go to reach the mansion or the town. I'm completely disorientated, and the thickening mist makes it increasingly harder to see where I'm stepping.

I'm lost.

The only thing I'm sure of is that the wolves are herding me. They forced me to run into the graveyard. Why? Is that even possible? Surely, they need to be trained to do that. Like sheepdogs are trained to herd sheep, I can imagine the huge, dark bodies manipulating me as truly vicious sheepdogs.

They are definitely herding me. Every time I try to change direction, they get in my way, snarling threateningly or nudging me hard with their bodies, steering me along a prescribed route known only to them.

I'm exhausted. I don't think I've run this much in my entire life. I'm terrified, and I now understand why Alaric didn't want me to travel after dark or on foot. It wasn't dark when I left Slaughtaverty, though, and it isn't completely dark now, either. It's gloomy, but I can see enough to turn my heart into a petrified lump in my chest.

How am I going to survive this? Why is this happening?

"Ransford..." I sob, pushing myself to my feet again, when I see a girl with long black hair coming towards me, baring her fangs in anticipation. This cannot be happening. It makes no sense. I don't believe in this kind of nonsense. I'm an antiquarian, not a mythologist!

There is a portion whose bodies survive puberty, but their minds and souls don't. They become mindless shadows of themselves, driven purely by their most base urges - a danger to all.

Those were Alaric's words. I'm certain of it. I can hear them in my mind, spoken in his voice, but I cannot find the context or see any reason why he would've said something so strange to me. I don't think these are children who lost their minds and souls during puberty, though. That doesn't even make sense. Besides, the man just torn into pieces by three wolves was no child. He was a grown man, much bigger than me, and he was about to grab me.

Are the wolves saving me?

Charging past me to redirect my course, a large wolf bumps me off my feet, and I once more sprawl on the debris-strewn ground, wincing as stones cut into the battered flesh of my arms and legs. If they're trying to save me, they might kill me in the process. Whatever their motives for bringing me here and not letting the vampire-like creatures get to me, I don't think they're friendly.

My favourite blouse, green with tiny flowers scattered over it, is in tatters, barely covering my underwear, as the silky material was no match for the rough treatment I'm subjected to.

Where are they? They said they would always come when I need them, but so far, my sworn knights in shining armour are hopelessly absent. Will it help if I envisioned coffee and cheesecake? Will Leopold appear carrying his silver tray?

To do what?

Snub my attackers into submission? Hit them with his tray? Get torn to shreds by wolves or bitten by strange, mindless people? I definitely don't want that to happen. Scratch the coffee and cake. I don't want any; I want...

"Alaric!! Billy!! Liam!! Rans... ford..."

My voice breaks on the last name, and nauseous from over-exertion, I wrestle myself to my knees. I'm almost on my feet when I fall again, and it takes me a second to realise that I wasn't just being clumsy.

Something shoved me.

Are the wolves finally done toying with me and ready to end my suffering by tearing pieces from my body the way I saw them do to many of the strange people flitting in the shadows among the trees?

No fangs tear into me; instead, I'm pulled unto my back and dragged by cruel fingers, twisted in my hair near my scalp. I instinctively reach up, grabbing the hand, but the owner is too strong for me to dislodge the fingers. I kick my heels into the ground, barely feeling the rough foliage and stones cutting through my skin, while I break my nails, clawing at the hand dragging me along as if I weigh nothing.

I catch a glimpse of thin white legs and bleeding feet near my head, sticking out of the hem of a dirty dress, and when I glance straight up for a moment, I see long strands of matted hair flowing down a girl's back. No girl I know has this kind of strength.

What exactly is she?

"Let me go!" I scream, renewing my efforts to dislodge her fingers, but she doesn't respond at first; she just stomps on, careless of the torture she's putting my helpless body through. The pain finally dissolves me into defenceless sobs, and then she suddenly stops.

Though she still holds onto my hair, she no longer drags me along. I'm not sure what she's doing; it feels like she's trying to pull my head to the ground, but now that I'm not bouncing over rocks and tearing through shrubs, I can finally pry her fingers open to free my hair from her grasp. Sitting up, gasping for every painful breath, I turn to face her.

I know I will probably lose the fight, but there's no way I'm just going to let her drag me off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what.

There's no girl behind me.

There's just a hand stretched out towards me from the long weeds. Strands of hair plucked from my scalp stick to the lifeless fingers, and the arm it is attached to ends in a bloody stump just below where the elbow should be. Screaming as a new wave of horror washes over me, I scramble away from the severed arm, not comprehending this new level of hell.

"Audrey! Run!"

I know that voice. My heart leaps with hope at the sound of it, and I eagerly turn my head to find the owner. When I locate him, it is not relief I feel; my system floods with more terror.

Billy Doyle is standing a few feet away with his muscular legs planted firmly apart, bracing him, while a girl with half an arm is sinking to his feet. A large section of her head has been sliced off, her brain spilling like jello into the long grass.

I stare, mesmerized, as Billy's right arm raises a sword, swinging it in an arc. The blade momentarily catches the sunlight in a brilliant flash before sinking into the neck of a man heading my way, stopping him in his tracks. In virtually the same movement, Billy turns, kicking out to send another man flying while he brings the mace in his left hand around, slamming it into a third attacker's face with a sickeningly wet sound filled with cracking bones.

I watch in morbid fascination as sprays of blood and gore cascade over him, splattering him in crimson while he hacks his way through four more aggressive assailants trying to bite him. Though it all happens with lightning-fast precision, my terror-numbed mind processes it as if it is a movie playing in slow motion. I can see every flying drop of blood, every piece of severed flesh.

Bile rises thickly in my throat, threatening to expel the lovely lunch the man sowing carnage, painting the surrounding plants red, made me only a couple of hours ago.

"Aubrey! Run!" Billy bellows again, pointing out the way with his blood-dripping sword. The wild look in his eyes and the red rivulets running down his unrecognisably fierce face spurs me into action, and I run, trying to head more or less in the direction he'd shown me while I bash through the underbrush and stumble to avoid crashing into trees.

I've often joked about Billy being a vampire slayer, but none of my fantasies compare to this horrifying reality. He moves with magnificent skill and is every bit as passionate, strong, and impressive as I'd imagined him, but none of my visions included so much gore.

This is not sexy at all! It is terror-inducing!

I must be dreaming. Please let me wake up now! The man who held me so tenderly and treated me with such kindness today cannot possibly be stabbing, kicking and clubbing people to death as if he's taking part in an exotic dance.

This cannot be happening!

Is this the same as wishing for coffee and cake and then receiving it? Are all my fantasies about to come to life in the most horrible ways? I'm pretty sure I constantly fantasize about being safely tucked in my warm bed, left in peace and tranquillity with a good book.

If there's a fantasy I want to bring to life, it is that one.

Distracted by the skillfully coordinated way Billy is clearing a path for me to run where he directed, I crash into a solid wall of a man blind-siding me. His one arm is hanging slack, a large part of his muscles torn free from the bone, but he doesn't seem to be in any pain.

He is completely focused on getting his teeth into me, but like the first girl I encountered, he is struggling to touch me, and it is making him angry. One second, I'm staring wide-eyed at his wild black eyes and the sharp fangs glistening wetly in his open mouth, and the next, his head is gone, and his body slumps at my feet, almost knocking me over.

Blinking, unable to comprehend what just happened, I'm suddenly looking into other black eyes, peering at me from behind strands of ash-brown hair falling disorderly over his gore-streaked brow. These eyes are not dead and lacking a soul.

They turn away from mine to glare at more approaching shadow people, and his anger shivers ominously in the air around him. I recognise him at once, despite the blood on his face and the gleam of sharp fangs in a mouth distorted in a growl of rage so strong that it shakes me to the bone and causes most of our attackers to back off.

Ransford!

It's him, but it is also not him.

There is no trace of the neat, suave man who likes to tease me. This version exudes power of a magnitude that could drive me to my knees. I shrink away from his terrifying wrath and step back in horror when he turns and reaches for me with his left hand. For a moment, his expression softens, becoming almost sad.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he says, his voice sounding different in the thrall of his fury. "I know this is strange, but I swear I won't hurt you. I will never hurt you."

When I back away further, my breath rising to hyperventilation levels, he frowns and lowers his gaze to see what it is about him - besides his teeth, his power and his gore-smeared clothing - that is causing me to stare at him in mindless horror.

He is not shaken at all when he sees the object of my shock and revulsion dangling from his right hand.

"Shit," he mutters, giving me a helpless grin, but his fierce fangs turn it into a threatening sneer. "I can see why you're not convinced."

He seemed to have forgotten that he was still clutching the hair of the head he'd effortlessly torn from my attacker's shoulders using only one hand. Sensing movement near him, his eyes narrow menacingly, and he suddenly turns and flings the head away. It hits an approaching girl in the stomach, causing her to fly several paces until she crashes into two more vampires brave enough to challenge Ransford, sending them sprawling.

He scored a strike with a severed head!

I can feel hysterical laughter bubbling up inside me as I imagine the frightening people as bowling pins lying in a heap among the shrubs. My erratic thoughts are inspired by the absurdity of it all, helped along by my frayed nerves.

When Ransford reaches for me again with hands stained with blood, I avoid him, an animal sound of disgust spilling from my lips. Unable to deal with the reality that the gentleman I know has turned into a powerful monster, I turn and run away from him. I'm not even sure I'm still running in the right direction.

My heart is breaking, screaming over the waves of terror drowning it as I feel the loss of a man who'd grown very important to me in a really short time.

How can I ever look at him the same way again?

"Aubrey," he chokes, sounding every bit as heartbroken as I am.

When I swerve to avoid another girl storming my way, I scream, seeing Ransford grab a man trying to intercept me and snapping his neck without even looking at him. When the girl launches herself at me, leaping from a boulder she'd scrambled on, he snatches her out of the air and rips a gaping wound in her neck with his fangs before he tosses her away like a rag doll, slamming her body into the trunk of a tree.

"Aubrey!" he calls again, but I'm running full speed now, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. What weird horror nightmare did I get trapped in where two men I'm more than just a little bit in love with have suddenly turned into merciless killing machines?! How is Ransford so ridiculously strong and fast?

Why are these strange people hunting me?!

I no longer want to call out for Alaric. I couldn't bear seeing him turn into a monster, too. I need at least one of the men I care about to remain the safe haven I'm longing for.

I hope I don't run into Liam.

It takes me a moment to realise that the obstacle I nearly ran into, blocking me, is the angle of two ivy-covered walls of an intricately decorated mausoleum. Any other time, I would've admired the architecture, enjoying the stunning designs and the effort put into creating something so beautiful to house the dead, but right now, I'm simply seeking a safe niche to hide in. Wedging myself into the corner still leaves me completely exposed from the front.

When a girl finds me, I hurry to pick up a thick, sturdy piece of a fallen branch near me to strike out at her the way Liam showed me. She tries to grab me, her nails drawing blood each time she connects, and my blows do not affect her at all. My pathetic weapon soon breaks under the force I'm using to hit her.

Unarmed, I gasp in desperation and terror, shrinking against the wall, trying to stay out of her reach and that of the three others who have discovered me and are trying to get to me past her. I'm only saved by them hindering each other.

I cry out in fright when the sound of approaching thunder bears down on us, and suddenly, a huge black horse rounds the corner of the mausoleum wing where I'm hiding. He ploughs through my attackers, trampling them under his powerful hooves when he stops near me.

Manoeuvring his muscular body into position, he nudges me until he forms a sturdy shield between me and the new snarling horde trying to get to me. Rearing up, he brings his mighty hooves down on them, and I turn my head away, revolted by the sound of snapping bones.

"Go with Deaglan," he tells me, and for a moment, I stop trembling, gaping at the horse in shock.

He spoke to me!

Just when I thought nothing could surprise me anymore! This is just too weird. What next? Will I be having a discussion with the wolves milling about, uncertain of their role now that creatures even more deadly and vicious than them have entered the fray?

"I am losing my mind!" I exclaim, shoving my hands in my hair, absently noticing for the first time that I am no longer wearing my glasses. "Angelica Sprinkles! You can talk?!"

The horse is not responding to my question. He simply continues to snort and whinny, rearing in warning whenever one of the scary people tries to get past him.

"Miss Dankworth! Snap out of it and go with Deaglan!"

That was no horse!

"Alaric?" I cannot see him anywhere, but I heard him clearly this time, and stepping out of my scant protection, I see another horse approaching on a fast gallop. Its rider is a man with dark hair, and he's wearing a light green shirt. My eyes widen when I first think it is Alaric, but then a memory rattles loose in my shattered mind.

I met him at the library this morning!

He tried to speak to me and was friendly at first, but then his ice-green eyes grew dark. His speech started to falter, and I could sense the moment he lost his internal struggle.

He grabbed me and bit into my neck.

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all. Instead, my body was awash with hot bliss, and I craved more, willingly giving myself to him even though I knew I was going to die. He stopped as abruptly as he'd started and apologised profusely while he battled to regain his self-control. He promised me that he was improving and would soon be able to control himself properly around me.

My body was coursing with rippling waves of pure euphoria long after he was gone. I was left dazed in the aftermath, and the memory faded along with the high. By the time Moira found me, I'd forgotten all about him and everything immediately preceding the encounter.

I even forgot about seeing Cillian.

The man charging towards me on his dark grey horse has nearly killed me twice. He might not have meant to, but I would've been dead all the same if I hadn't been saved by Ransford the first time and by Alaric the second.

There's no way I'm going anywhere with him while he thirstily lusts after my blood.

"Aubrey, it's all right," I hear Alaric again, and I'm starting to think that I'm only hearing him in my head because he is nowhere near me. There isn't even anywhere for him to hide from where I would be able to hear him so clearly. "Go with Deaglan. I'm on my way."

On his way from where? He went to the harbour today, which is over an hour's drive from here.

The horse and rider are almost on me now, and Angelica Sprinkles is no longer close to me. He is a few paces away, fighting off several vampire creatures. I'd rather ride him bareback than go anywhere with Deaglan Slatherty.

Oh, my soul! Does he have teeth like Ransford?! Could Ransford bite me too?!

He never has, as far as I can remember, but I forgot all about Deaglan's gnawing habits until this moment. Is that all I am to all of them? Just a tall glass of warm blood that is apparently too good to resist.

Allergy, indeed!

"Diarmuid O'Neill! You are full of shit!" I yell, anger forcing out the fear for one aggressive moment before it comes flooding back, draining me.

"What?!"

I stare, dumbfounded, as Alaric's assistant rushes past me, giving me a quick glance. He nimbly dives into a roll, knocking a large man's feet out from under him, and when the vampire falls, he snakes an arm around his neck in a stranglehold before sinking the sharp blade of a long knife into his neck.

Shouldn't he be doing the blooming filing?!

Isn't anybody who they seem to be? I knew Diarmuid wasn't accompanying Alaric today, but nobody said anything about the man having plans to go on a blood-drenched rampage in the forest.

I feel so betrayed!

I shriek in pain when sharp nails grab my shoulder from behind. Tearing myself free, I turn to see who took advantage of my distraction. I'm once again face to face with teeth gleaming in the growing gloom and eyes as black as death.

My attacker shoots out his hand and closes it over my throat, lifting me off my feet. Choking, I claw at his hand, thinking that I might prefer riding off with Deaglan after all, as my vision blurs.

Tears stream down my cheeks as the pressure of the cutting fingers increases, cutting off my airflow. Making disturbing guttural sounds, the man pulls me closer to sniff a path to my neck, and this time, I am sure that the vampire will break through whatever stops him from biting me.

I can feel the tips of his teeth score against my quivering skin as the world around me darkens. I'm about to lose consciousness when the pressure on my throat is suddenly gone, and I'm dropped to fall to my knees. Coughing and gagging for air, I watch in disbelief as my assailant flies backwards as if he was flung.

I choke in horror when his flight abruptly ends in a wet squelch as a long protruding branch from a dead tree skewers him, carving its way through his lower chest. It doesn't kill him. He just hangs there, impaled on the tree, far above the ground, growling in rage while he helplessly struggles to free himself.

"Oops! I missed his heart," a voice says near my ear, and then I'm flying too. Closing my eyes in shock, I wait for the impact of a piece of protruding wood to turn me into an ornament too, but it doesn't come.

Instead, I'm lowered to my feet on the roof of the mausoleum, and a man's powerful arm runs over my chest, holding me tightly with my back against his body.

"Now, this didn't go according to plan at all," he mutters, sounding more amused than put out. Trembling in the grasp of so much tangible power, I twist my body and tilt my head back to look up at my saviour... or captor.

At first, the last rays of the dying sun, finding the exposed rooftop, blinds me after the constant gloom I'd been trapped in. Then the man holding me moves his head, blocking the glare. First, I see the shimmering silver halo as his hair reflects the light, and then I look into stormy eyes, the colour of a frozen sea.

Rach!

I'd forgotten about him too.

~~~