The town lay quiet beneath a silver wash of moonlight, it's narrow dirt roads glowed faintly. It was the late 1700s, and the little settlement was tucked between woodlands, and a slow moving river. Wooden houses with steep roofs stood shoulder to shoulder, their shutters closed tightly in the cold winter night.
A single lantern swayed gently outside the door of the tavern, an amber flame flickered against the darkened windows, Brennan stood beneath it, turning the iron key in the lock with a firm click. The heavy oak door shut with a thud, sealing in the scent of ale, smoke, and roasted meat.
Her golden hair was bound tightly in a bun with a few strands had escaped after the long evening. She wore a weathered gown of deep brown wool, fabric faded near the shoulders and elbows from years of labor. It was not a fine dress, but she wore it with quiet dignity.
She stepped away from the door and paused beneath the lantern's glow. The cold nipped at her cheeks, turning them pink, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she lifted her gaze to the sky, the moon hung full, casting a soft silvery light over the sleepy town. She smiled to herself.
The quiet that settled over the street almost felt sacred. After hours dodging wandering hands, listening to boasts and arguments, and tending to the hearth, the silence was peaceful to her weary spirit. The tavern sign creaked softly overhead, swaying in the gentle breeze.
Brenna inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of wood smoke and snow. She descended the tavern steps slowly, her boots crunching against the snow. Each step felt lighter than the last. The burdens of the day seemed to drift away beneath the watchful sky.
Just as Brenna reached her cottage, a sudden thud broke the stillness. The sound came from above and slightly to her left, sharp, heavy, and unmistakably close.
She froze, slowly she lifted her gaze toward the roofline of her neighbor's cottage. At first, she saw nothing, only darkness. At the edge of the rooftop where the shadow met the ray of moonlight, something darker than the night itself stood low, almost crouched, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw eyes staring at her.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She stepped back instinctively, her boot almost slipping on some ice. The sound felt loud in the silence.
"Whose there?" She called, her voice steady only by force of will.
The question vanished into the cold air, No answer came. The figure remained there. A pickle ran up her spine. Another soft scrape sounded above, like leather against a shingle.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Every tale told in the tavern, vampires stalking innocent women, werewolves being the cause of disappearances in the town, were they true?
For a fraction of a second, the moon broke free of its cover. Silver light spread across the rooftop. The shape straightened slightly, tall, cloaked, unmistakably human. Then it moved, with controlled ease, it stepped back from the edge of the rooftop disappearing behind the chimney.
Brenna gasped and fumbled with the iron key, her fingers stiff from the cold and panic. She twisted it hard and hurried in, locking it behind her. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
Her back pressed against the door, shoulders rigid, palms flat against the wooden door. What was that thing? How long has it been following her? She sat there listening for a moment longer, no more noises were heard, so she stepped away from the door and peered out her window. No movement was seen, just the moonlight making the snowy ground glow.
She walked to her room, and got into her nightgown, her fingers still slightly unsteady from the fright. Climbing into bed, she laid on her back with her eyes open, staring at the faint patterns the moonlight cast on the ceiling. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and the frantic pounding of her heart eased into a steady rhythm.
She must of imagined it, there wasn't really anything there, the dark must of played a trick on her weary mind, right?
Eventually, exhaustion over took her, and she fell into an uneasy sleep. Then a sudden thud woke her up. This time it sounded like it was in her room. Her eyes flew open, She slowly grabbed the knife she had put under her pillow for safety, and waited to hear if she heard another sound. The silence felt heavy. When she didn't hear anything else she began to slowly roll over, still clenching the knife in her trembling hand.
In the far corner of the room, where the moonlight failed to reach, a dark figure stood. It was shaped like a man, tall, unnaturally still, it's outline hardly distinguishable from the shadows that swallowed it. For a moment she thought her eyes were messing with her again. Then it moved.
Her breath caught in her throat. The knife trembled in her grip as terror pressed in her chest. She drew air in to scream, it moved across the room in a blink of an eye, a rush of black across the silver light. A cold hand pressed over her mouth before a sound could escape. Then everything went black.
When she opened her eyes, the low wooden ceiling of her cottage was gone. She lay beneath a vast canopy of dark, carved beams and flowing fabric, the air warmer. She pushed herself upright slowly, disoriented. This was not her room.
She was lying in a giant bed, far larger than one she's ever seen, layered with smooth silk blankets that pooled around her like water. Heavy drapes hung from the frame above. The walls stretched high and wide, with candle sconces that flickered gently.
The chamber was grand, far grander than anything in the village. In fact, the single room seemed nearly the size of her entire cottage. Whoever owned this place must be possessed with great wealth. She most certainly did not belong here.
A man sat on a high backed chair beside a giant stone fireplace, the flames casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. He was watching her.
His skin was unnaturally pale, against the firelight, almost luminous. Shaggy black hair fell loosely around his face, and his eyes, striking and unmistakable, were a deep, molten gold. They did not blink as she stirred.
Slowly he rose from the chair, and moved with unhurried grace, deliberate and controlled, as he began walking toward her. He was dressed entirely in all black, the dark fabric fitted closely enough to reveal the strong lines of his shoulders and the firm outline of muscle beneath his shirt.
She scrambled backwards across the silk sheets, her breath fast and shallow until her back hit the carved wooden headboard. With nowhere else to go she pressed herself into the corner of the bed, as thought she could somehow disappear into it. He stopped a few steps away from her, then he smiled .
It was not the cruel smile she was expecting. It was almost pleasant. Warm, even. Deep dimples formed in his cheeks, softening the sharp angles of his pale face. For a fleeting, confusing second, he looked like less a threat, and more like a man she might have passed in the village street. But his golden eyes laid fixed on her, and there was nothing humam about them.
"What do you want, why am I here?" She demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.
He regarded her calmly. "I have chosen you, Brenna, as one of my potential brides."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What?! Are you crazy? You don't just go kidnap someone and expect her to marry you!"
A low chuckle escaped him, "You can... when are like me."
He stepped closer, close enough that the firelight caught the edges of his teeth. They were not normal. Two fangs glistening faintly as his smile widened. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"What are you?" She asked though yelled coiled in her stomach. She already knew. She only needed to hear him say it.
"You'll see first hand if I don't pick you. I can only imagine you would be... quite delicious," he said with a devious smile.
A chill ran through her.
"Let me go. Now!" She shouted, fury and fear colliding in her chest.
He chuckled softly at the fear in her eyes, the sound low and disturbingly amused.
"You will remain in this room unless instructed otherwise," he said, his tone calm but absolutely.
"Before you consider doing something reckless, understand this, every window is sealed, and the door is locked from the outside."
Her stomach dropped.
"You've made me your prisoner," she said, her voice tight with anger.
"I've ensured your safety, this estate is not kind to wanderers," he corrected smoothly.
She glanced towards the tall windows, their heavy drapes drawn tight. The door across the room stood closed, solid wood, iron banded. Even if she reached it, she doubted she could force it open.
"You cannot keep me here," she said, though the words felt small in the vast chamber.
He stepped back toward the fireplace, shadows climbing his pale features as he retreated.
"I can," he replied quickly. "And I will."
The fire crackled between them, filling the silence that followed.
"For now," he added, his golden eyes gleaming, "you will rest. We will speak again tomorrow night."
He turned away from her as if the matter was already settled. He opened the door and looked at her one last time.
"Goodnight Brenna," he said before shutting the door behind him. She could hear the iron key clicking in the door.
What was she going to do to get out of here? What was he going to do to her?
The questions lingered as she lie back in the bed, she closed her eyes and wondered at the uncertainty that tomorrow would bring.