Tides

CHAPTER 3--Valeno

Valeno continued to stare at the body swaying in the current. A vampire. Here.

Valeno shook himself. It might be a Lone Wolf wounded by a vampire–that would explain the rank smell of vampire blood. If that was the case...they deserved Valeno's help. Making his way down to the riverbank, Valeno leaned towards the body–

–And jumped away snarling in alarm.

It was a vampire.

And an important one based on the tatters of their clothes. A king, maybe? Did vampires even have kings or queens anymore? Once upon a time, Valeno would've known the answer. When he was six his best friend was a vampire prince–but not anymore. Now it was only hatred between the species.

A muffled groan startled Valeno back to the present. The vampire stirred. Valeno's upper lip was curling before he realized it and forced it back down. It was best for both he and the vampire if he killed it. It was clearly dying anyway, and one less vampire helped the Wolf world.

But then Valeno made the mistake of looking closer.

Two oversized throwing stars had ripped open the vampire's right shoulder and side. Grisly wounds that Valeno thought not even a vampire deserved. It looked like a botched assassination attempt. Acidic blood was seeping from the wounds at a prestigious rate, bubbling when it mixed with the water. Suddenly the vampire rolled over in the current and Valeno froze.

Water darkened blonde hair framing an oddly elfin featured face–all sharp angles with the old scar of a bitemark on his left arm.  Matched with the clothes, the vampire seemed almost familiar...But Valeno knew no vampires–well, not anymore.                                                        

  Rubbing extra mud across his face and right palm, Valeno coaxed the body gently out of the river. Who had tried to kill him?

Royalty. This was why werewolves had a pack hierarchy. It was better than having a monarch that was constantly in danger of being killed. In a Pack, only a challenge could bring about the end of a ruler.

Hefting the lighter boy across his shoulders, Valeno climbed carefully back into his main cave. There he laid the vampire out on the floor and peered at him. On closer inspection he was even younger than Valeno had originally thought–eighteen or nineteen at the most. He was also unconscious and his forehead looked clammy.

 Valeno allowed himself two more seconds of insanity before he snapped back to reality. What was he doing? He didn't save vampires. Ever. Rolling the body to the precipice of the cave, Valeno prepared to shove the body into the river.

"I'm not helping this scum," he growled to himself. "Never."

The vampire stirred with a whimper. "No Mother, don't go. Vali–stay with me–Don't die. Sister, please!"

Valeno froze. The vamp had lost family? Recently?

Seconds later, Valeno found himself at the riverbank with the vampire still inside, gathering herbs for a soothing salve and choosing a wide, flat-edged stone to heat up. "I'm going soft," he mumbled to himself. But not really. He was only going to bandage the wounds and then let the vamp fend for himself. It was just...Valeno valued true family, and the vampire's family was probably killed in the assassination attempt.

Valeno hated assassins. Mercenaries he respected–assassins–he killed.

Fix the vampire up a little; let him go. Yes, that was the plan...