Chapter 27

Zachariah struggled with the idea of killing.

He was crouched in the bushes with Willow, stalking an unsuspecting crusader sentry. The man stood alone with a spear in his hand, watching the woods like a hawk. His gaze passed right over them several times, yet he didn’t see them. Vampires were stealthy. Apparently not quite as stealthy as what she told him about werewolves, but quite close. His stealth allowed him to move with hardly a sound through the forest, hunting his prey.

A sick feeling churned in his stomach at the thought of killing the man. He had never killed a human before. Not even during his early stages of vampirism. Sure, he had hunted plenty of animals. But humans? It felt wrong. Where was the morality in it?

He had never tasted human blood before Willow had forced it down his throat. And he hated that he had enjoyed it. Like a desperate need inside of himself had finally been fulfilled after years of being depressed. He needed human blood to survive. He didn’t want to become feral again. Next time, he might not come back from it.

Which meant he needed to kill.

“I can’t do it,” he whispered, his voice loud enough for her to hear. This man didn’t deserve to die. He was a living person! How could he possibly come to terms with taking a life?

She sighed. He could hardly believe she’d been patient with him thus far. She had taken him on hunts already, but this was supposed to be his kill. “You must if you are going to survive as a vampire. You can’t expect someone to always do the killing for you.”

He swallowed hard and looked at the man again, ignorant of what was to come. “I’ve never killed a human before. I’ve only ever killed animals for their blood.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Not well,” he admitted.

Again, flashes of his feral years came to mind, though there were many holes in his memory he couldn’t recall. He remembered the darkness. He remembered the deep, ravenous hunger. He also remembered a few times where he had attacked his own brother. Going back to that place terrified him. Mainly because it seemed close within reach. It would be too easy to relapse if he didn’t do precisely what she instructed—to feed every few hours with the freshest blood he could manage, at least until he became more stable.

“You’re strong,” she encouraged. “You’re fast. And you’re the predator in this situation. Don’t think of him as a person. He’s the enemy. This man. The crusaders. They have been successful at killing vampires. We’re just getting to him first.”

He nodded, filled with the encouragement. He could do this. This man was the enemy. He had to be killed before given a chance to hurt others of his kind.

His eyes blazed red, and his fangs sprouted. The thirst inside of him took control, and in a swift motion, he burst from the trees. The sentry didn’t have time to cry out as he rammed into him and threw him to the ground. The man looked terrified, but his bloodlust already took control as he pinned the man to the ground with his knee and raised his hand to strike. His fingernails were sharp enough to kill. A single cut was all it would take.

His eyes turned back to their dark brown hue, his hand still poised in the air while the man stared back at him in horror. He felt his eyes widen and a growing feeling of guilt rising inside of him. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t kill this man. It was wrong. It was immoral. How could he live with himself if he did this?

The question was easy to answer—he couldn’t.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he was. What if this man had a family? What if he had a wife and children waiting for him back home? If he killed him, he would be responsible for the heartache of an entire family.

In his hesitancy, the man hastily reached for his sword, and he still didn’t move. It was as if his body had ceased working.

“Oh, Zachariah,” Willow groaned.

In a flash, she was at his side and roughly grabbed the man’s sword arm with one of her amazingly strong hands and wrapped her other hand around his throat, smashing the sentry’s skull into the ground. The man went limp. The stillness of death glazed over his eyes.

He could only stare with wide eyes. He didn’t kill the man, but the guilt still ate at him. This wasn’t right. Killing wasn’t right. For a man to die in order for him to feed?

“Zachariah,” she said putting a hand on his shoulder. “This is what it means to be a vampire. It’s never pleasant taking a life but we have no choice. You have your whole life ahead of you. It could be centuries. And you will have to kill for food.”

Still, he couldn’t believe it. There had to be another choice.