#delvalle

The first wolf finds me with my back braced against the wall and blood spilling from my hands.

It’s nearly impossible to hear the sound of claws clicking against the linoleum over the rushing of my pulse clamoring in my ears. I used to think vampires were fearless, heartless creatures. Until I met Delvalle. Until I became a vampire myself, and all of my fears sharpened into fierce thorns instead of vanishing.

The bite marks on my hands - ragged trails over the edges of my knuckles and the soft skin of my palms, from where I had tried to fend away snapping teeth and failed - sting like needles when I curl my hands into fists. I have to ignore every desperate instinct that screams for me to run. It’s a lingering human emotion. It’s a weakness, and right now I cannot be weak, or else I will die.

The wolf lunges, dark eyes flashing under the harsh fluorescent lights, pink-tinged foam lining the edges of its snarl. It will kill me. It wants to kill me.

I don’t let myself think beyond that. It feels like I’m watching a stranger move my limbs, a marionette twisting to grab the wolf by the neck and yanking to the side. I barely feel the fur against my bare arms or the stinging of my wounds.

I feel nothing at all.

A harsh series of cracks explodes into sudden silence, my adrenaline ringing in my ears. I open my arms and let the beast crumble to the floor, its broken neck twisting unnaturally, my blood staining the fur around its throat. Even as its body slumps to the floor, I stare at it for any sense of movement, any sign of life.

One ragged breath, then another, and then I’m satisfied that it’s dead. It’s a corrupt pleasure; I killed with my bare hands, and yet I survived. I swipe my blood-slick hands on my thighs to clean them. I try not to think about how the wounds are deeper now from clenching my fists, the skin split and running red down my knuckles, and they might scar.

The sound of my name echoes from further down the hallway and captures my attention quickly, stilling the frantic pounding of my pulse. I know that voice.

I steady myself to step around the wolf’s body; I can’t bring myself to step over it, even as it sprawls across the floor and I have to brush against the wall to escape around it. It takes more effort to resist the urge to look behind me, to check that I’m not being stalked by the same creature I killed, but I manage to make it halfway down the long, lonely hallway before the double doors to the emergency stairwell open with a sharp bang.

This time my first instinct is to tense up, my hands forming fists tight enough to pale the split skin across my knuckles. Through the haze of panic, I recognize the scent of my own blood blossoming in the air and the sharp tang of copper of another vampire’s blood creeping in.

I let out a sharp gasp of relief. “Delvalle?”

It’s her, without a doubt. She doesn’t wait for the doors to close behind her or give me a chance to move: within one breath and the next, she’s within arm’s length, her hands gripping my shoulders tight enough to bruise. The pressure doesn’t register, it merely grounds me.

“You’re hurt,” she says tightly, searching my face for any sign of a lie. “Is it only your hands?”

The pain is a distant ghost, and I shake my head. No, I can still fight. The wounds can’t kill me before I make it to a safe haven.

Still, she drops her attention to my hands, her own sliding down my shoulders and my bare arms to gently take them for inspection. Her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. I don’t follow her gaze down to my bleeding hands.

Instead, I watch her face shift from concern to cold, forced composure.

“There’s more,” she says lowly. A warning, even as we both hear the gleeful howls of wolves rampaging through the floors below us, predators catching the scent of their prey. They know we’re here, but we still have a few precious seconds before they truly arrive. Delvalle’s hands are warm where she clasps my wrist.

“You must run,” she tells me. She pulls her gaze from my hands to meet my eyes, and I can see the anger there. The hatred is smoldering in the darkness of her irises, blazing as violently as wildfire. Yet her touch is gentle when she reaches up to adjust the clasp of my black cloak - the one that bears her mark - and she smooths the fabric over my shoulders carefully.

It feels like she’s adjusting my battle armor. Preparing me for war.

“What about you?” I blurt out. It’s a foolish thing to worry about. Mercedes Delvalle has ended far more lives than I could ever comprehend. She’s the monster of the city, the legend told to scare children into submission.

And yet… I do not want to leave without her. I am afraid, despite being a vampire.

Delvalle, as always, doesn’t scold or ridicule me for it. Her steely expression never falters, but there’s a burning warmth in her gaze when it meets mine.

“I can’t follow you,” she says, and it sounds uncomfortably close to goodbye.

The fear in my chest grows fiercer. “Why?”

“They’ll hunt you.” Her mouth sets into a grim line. When she reaches out to check if the clasp of my cloak is secure, her lithe fingers brushing against my throat and leaving sparks in its wake, I lean into the touch. “If you’re quick, they won’t have the chance to follow.”

I don’t have to ask why. The answer is in her eyes when they meet mine: I will kill them all for what they have done.

“You can come with me,” I try, but Delvalle shakes her head. Her fingers are still curled around my cloak as if she’s keeping me with her anyway, but the grip is loose enough for me to escape. I step closer instead, and she lets me.

“You will be fine, Dreamer,” she says softly. “You carry me with you, understand?”

And, with dawning horror, I do understand. It’s a reassurance and a confession, hopelessly intertwined with one another.

“I’m with you,” I manage to say. I trust you, I follow you, I love you. None of those thoughts escape past the lump in my throat.

The first monster that found me was the same one who scarred me.

Seeing Delvalle step onto the balcony was a hollow relief. This high up - nearly eighty dizzying stories - the lights of the street couldn’t reach us. Darkness swathed our little Eden in familiar affection.

Delvalle wore darkness well; it was dyed into their clothes and shining in their fathomless black eyes. It clung to their presence faithfully, so much so that if I wasn’t a vampire, I wouldn’t have even noticed that they arrived.

Until the faintest ruffle of fabric sounded, the cuff of their long sleeve clipping the embroidered hem of their cloak. I didn’t greet them, not even when they settled against the railing next to me. They crossed their forearms and leaned their full weight against the metal, staring out into the distant mountains where the wolves roamed in violent delight. I kept my eyes firmly on the streets below. At times, just like the ones as unfamiliar as this one, Delvalle felt just as unreachable - and dangerous - as the mountains.

“I heard you,” I said. “Before you tried to throw me a pitiful bone.”

Delvalle made a soft ‘hmm’ of acknowledgement. I took that without comment and focused on the pedestrians below. This far up, I couldn’t make out much detail even with my sharpened senses

The swishing dark fabric fluttering behind each pinprick on the street was a dead giveaway: only vampires wore cloaks in this city. They traveled in packs of three or four or six, which betrayed them as younger members. They hadn’t had time to make enemies, to fear the people around them.

They hadn’t yet lost their last shred of humanity, like sand slipping through fumbling fingers.

Next to me, Delvalle was quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, in fleeting glances, I watched them, too. They were motionless, but that was what I expected. Delvalle didn’t fidget and betray their feelings. When Delvalle was awake, they were poised on the brink of war: watchful, solemn, and deceptive.

They weren’t called the Beast of Anselm for nothing.

At that bitter thought, I turned my attention back to the wayward crowds below. How distant they felt, and how dangerous they were all the same.

“Dreamer,” Delvalle said. It wasn’t gentle or comforting. It was steady, though, and that was more than enough to send a jolt through my veins.

I tilted my head in acknowledgment, and they seemed to hesitate.

“Do not get yourself killed,” they finally said. “I cannot lose two vampires within a week of each other.”

My throat tightened. “You really think Blue is dead?”

“I think,” Delvalle said plainly, “you should not trust anyone.”

“Not even you?”

“Never me, Dreamer.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I didn’t. I simply let my gaze travel below, my thoughts tumbling into a fierce tempest. I wondered how Delvalle could say something like that - not to trust them with my death, my sister, and my everlasting eternity - when they contradicted it just a sentence sooner.

Despite ourselves, I was Delvalle’s vampire: I had their seal embroidered on the breast of my cloak in black thread, a badge of allegiance so very few could wield.

As my silence brewed, caught in the tangled web of my own mortal emotions, Delvalle slid their hand across the railing, the edge of their fingers briefly brushing against mine before they pulled away completely from the railing. It was so quick, my heart barely had time to skip a traitorous beat.

Their last words rang like a siren’s song in the back of my mind - Never me, Dreamer - and before I could stop myself, I reached out and snagged the edge of their cloak.

They paused mid-step, hesitated, then turned to face me. In the half-shadow, I caught the faintest flicker of regret cross their face before it faded back into solemn composure. My eyes were mistaken, surely, because Delvalle did not have enough of a soul to regret the monster they made of me.

If they did, they would have killed me when I was still a fledgling, too pained and weak to defend myself. Or even now, when a sudden push over the edge of the railing would extinguish my immortality as fast as blowing out a matchstick.

“You never answered my question,” I said suddenly. I hadn’t realized that was what I intended to ask until it came tumbling from my mouth. Delvalle’s expression didn’t change, so I added grimly, “Blue. You think they’re dead, don’t you?”

If they had any indication as to if Blue was alive, Delvalle would have been out looking on every street in Los Despiertos, traveling the Wayfare Distinct and beyond, a daunting shadow haunting every avenue. Instead, they were here with me, that shadow of grief hanging over our heads like an executioner's blade.

“Blue would not be the first vampire to die in this city,” Delvalle finally said, their dark gaze settling on my face, searching. “They would never be the last. Your hope will kill you, Dreamer, and I do not want to be the one to witness it.”

“Why?” I demanded, anger surging to life in the pit of my chest, fierce and bloodthirsty. I stepped closer, my fingers curling tighter into the fabric of their cloak until my knuckles paled. Delvalle didn’t move, still watching with steely eyes, so damnable in their stoic demeanor.

“Why do you think they’re dead?” I repeated. “What do you know? Why aren’t you trying hard enough to find them?”

Delvalle’s eyes were pitch dark, unreadable. Then, “Instinct is a formidable state. I do not have the words for it, Dreamer, but that does not mean I take Blue’s fate lightly. They are my ward, just as you are. If you...”

For the briefest moment, Delvalle hesitated. Then, “If you were to die, I would know it. Even if you were across the world, beyond my reach, I would sense the loss as severely as a stake through my heart.”

Our gazes met, and I was hyper-aware of my fingers still wrapped in their cloak, our bodies just inches apart, the night breeze ruffling their dark hair gently. In the glint of moonlight, I could see the vague outline of their symbol stitched in black thread onto the breast pocket of their cloak, a mirror image of my own.

“You felt that with Blue?” I asked, far quieter now. Maybe it was the grief settling into the chambers of my aching heart. Or maybe it was the way Delvalle’s smoldering gaze threatened to pull me apart, atom by atom, the pair of us shrouded in that starving darkness far above a vicious city. So far from the rest of the world, so far from anyone who could witness us.

“I felt pain,” Delvalle said. “And then nothing at all.”

I considered that for a moment, then released Delvalle with a sigh. Perhaps this was their way of telling me Blue was gone forever, and that aching hope would only strangle me. I would always be hunting, seeking a truth that never relented.

The desolation must have shown on my face, or perhaps Delvalle simply knew me better than what I chose to show, because they suddenly leaned in and pressed a whisper of a kiss to my temple, pulling back before I could respond, stunned to silence.

“Do not get yourself killed,” Delvalle told me, their voice tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Keep your head down, Dreamer, before it is far too late to regret it.”