You were certainly an oddball in the village—a young, unmarried woman living on the outskirts, rarely coming down. Always polite, but with strange speech, you filled village children’s heads with stories: toadstools, fairies, the fae—your silly obsession. It was aggravating for villagers to see young bachelors dance with the imaginary creature in your head, then the respectable men of the village. So why be surprised when you weren’t invited to the summer solstice? Hell, you were snubbed. You wore a white dress you decorated yourself, embroidered with expensive yarns that swirled into summer flowers. Baby’s breath was woven into your hair like a goddess. Yet, everyone turned away. The elders and wise ones whispered as you walked and couldn't be bothered to hide their distaste. The sweet taste of wine dulled the sting as the elders who raised you turned away. At least the wine was sweet.

When the evening sun started to set, and the wine buzzed in your limbs, the dancing had started. The young bachelors and bachelorettes paired off, moving to dance together with flirty smiles.

“No one will dance with you.”

“What?” You hadn't approached anyone, entranced by the warm sun and town’s flowers. Wine strengthened your cozy feeling. Despite cold shoulders, the air—and your stomach—remained warm. Erik, a young man, approached your corner.

“Why don't you go dance with your fae?” He had sneered, grabbing the attention of his fellow ruffians.

“My- what are you talking about?”, you had stuttered, fingers gripping the half-full glass.

“All you do is care for the fae- so go.” He smiled, stepping forward into your space. Walking closer and closer till you found yourself blindly backing away, further from the celebration.

“Maybe when you fix your head, you'll be welcomed back.” His pack stood behind him, cackling like dogs. As if they didnt just push a young, inebriated lady out into the night.

Time seemed to stand still as your body carried you home. Your shoes were lost somewhere in the long grass, leaving you barefoot as you walked home, drinking from the glass you had left with. Body swaying as you took in the summer heat, dropping the cup near your door as you ventured into the woods. Face a light red and chest heavy as their words and actions swam in your head. Dizzily mixing with your understanding, following  the fireflies that laced the woods.

A shallow hiccup left your lips as you venture deeper, vision blurry, as you pass trees and end near the glistening pond.

It was hicccup, so small that you had barely realized it left. Didn't see how the small glowy pixies gathered. Weightless hands coming close with comfort you unknowingly deserved. You had always left even the smallest nymphs some sort of offering.

Your skin prickled as the feeling of coldness brushed over you, yet the whine and mockery laced your blood too much for you to truly not notice the shiver.

“Why are you out here?”

“They threw me out.” A small sob left your lips, too gone and drowned in yourself to know who you spoke to.

There was a scoff, and a presence of something cold grew near you. Ice fingers lifting up your head to face the illusion named Simon.  “They  threw you out?”

A nod

“Why did they throw ye oot, bonnie?” Another voice asked from somewhere in the dark. It was crackly, like a crow. Your eyes scanned up, catching the figure perched in the tree, his legs kicking. The sight caused a snort to leave your lips, a smile breaking across your faces. Maybe you had gone mad, too driven by alcohol and desperation to think properly who you were talking to exactly.

“How did you get up there?” You had mused, letting tears lick down your cheeks. Drunkenly tilting your head up, accidentally bumping into Simon. The man in the tree cocked his head to the side, in a similar way that the crow always did when it visited you.

“Enjoy a good climb now an' then.” He hummed, jumping down from the tree with ease and strolling up to you.  He wore a pair of worn brown pants and a grey tunic. A brown satchel-like bag hung attached to his hip, and a hooked knife was strapped to his side. Black feathers and shiny-looking stones were tied to the handle. He crouched near you, a charming smile on his lips. Up close, you could see how his joints and the area near his hairline seemed blackened, fading into his natural color. And now his mohawk seemed to have feathers woven into it. “Now why ya out here, Bonnie? Ain’t it the summer solstice?” He hummed, nudging Simon away, his fingers brushing the now-dirty hem of your dress. “Looks like ye got all dolled up, so why ant a pretty thing like chu dancin?” There was a hum from Simon as the question was asked again.

“They kicked me out-”

“We know that-” Simmon hummed, moving you gently to rest against his shoulder, saving you from drunkenly swaying into the pound.

“They said I spend too much time with the fae.”

Silence

“Ah, and they don't think the fae are real, do they? " Simmon hummed, looking down at your red cheeks and teary eyes. You gave a short nod.

“Well,” the other man let out a heavy, silent breath. “Seems lek ignorant blunts, aye Ghost? " Another grunt, from Simon, or ghost.

“Sounds like the village got a bit too comfortable, dontcha say, Johnny?” he hummed, a cold hand resting over your warm skin. The feeling was welcomed and appreciated, considering the heavy sensation the alcohol made you feel.

“what ye thinking, Si?” Sleep seemed to sink into your skin, and you unknowingly fell into Simon's side, feeling the skin morph into the creature he really was. Large cloaked arms picking your drunken form up.

“Bring 'em home and tell Price and Gaz that it’s time to start the offering again.”

“Blood?”

Of all of them, Soap was the best at luring humans to the stones.

He passed as human the best of them, could blend easily among crowds and parties. Humans found his eyes enchanting, rather than dangerous.

For a while, they'd made a game of it. Ghost dropped out first, grumbling about appearances and work. Price was next, amused more than disappointed. He knew his limits, had been around longer than any of them.

Which left Gaz and Soap.

Gaz was good, no doubt about it. He could charm humans with his words and his smiles, hiding the sharp points of his teeth.

But he still couldn't beat Soap for numbers.

Price had put a stop to their little game when they'd taken too many, when the locals got nervous and skittish, when authorities got involved. It was in everyone's best interests to keep out of that.

It was something of a point of pride for Soap. Providing for them. Guiding humans to the stones, and then through. Any human would do,

It certainly didn't hurt that Soap enjoyed hunting. Enjoyed going to bars and clubs and colleges, enjoyed the press and din of humanity, enjoyed the thrill of finding the perfect prey.

Gaz had split up a while back, going to find his own prey for the night. Soap didn't doubt he'd succeed, with a party like this. They'd be back before sunrise to the stones, as always.

But Soap wasn't thinking about Gaz. Soap was thinking about the lovely thing he wanted to play with.

She was lovely, her laugh drawing him in. She was also with friends, and seemed reluctant to stray from them.

That was fine. Soap liked a bit of a challenge.

He finally had his opportunity when the group of them started dancing, moving to the open space. His chosen plaything hovered around the edges, uncertain but still having fun.

He just had to bump into her to strike up a conversation.

But oh he wasn't prepared for the guarded way she watched him, the caution in her eyes, the practiced tilt of her smile.

Someone had hurt her before, that much was clear. He knew the signs. He'd seen them and studied them before.

After all, sometimes damaged prey was easier to hunt.

But not this one. No, this one… this one was clever. She gave him only a nickname, politely declined a drink, kept space between them. She might not know what she was dealing with, but she was good.

His teeth ached with the desire to mark her.

One of her friends threw herself at him, blonde hair in artful disarray from dancing, wide hips just asking to be bruised.

Soap wasn't one to turn down such willing prey.

But he didn't want the blonde. He wanted his chosen human.

That was alright. If he couldn't have her tonight… he'd find another time.

The blonde stumbled off to the bathroom, and Soap found his chosen again. She was still watching him, eyes bright and focused, not even a hint of haze to them.

Waiting for him to fuck up with her friend, perhaps.

He rubbed his fingers against his lips, going through scenarios and discarding them just as quickly.

Until she surprised him, walking up to him, bold as anything.

“You never told me your name.” It wasn't a demand, but the words had a little bite to them.

Soap grinned. “Ye can call me Soap,” he said, holding out his hand, the tips of his fingers buzzing.

She eyed him for a moment, debating, before she took his hand, smaller fingers folding over his skin. “Nice to meet you,” she said, though she didn't exactly sound thrilled. That was okay. Soap was busy pressing his fingers to her skin. “Hey–”

The blonde had excellent timing this time, stumbling up to his side. Soap released his chosen to settle his arm over the blonde's shoulders instead. He didn't bother listening to the exchange between the two women. There was no point.

He did pay attention as his chosen turned away, her hand flexing and clenching. For a moment, he let his sight slip. Just enough to see the mark he'd left on her skin.