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Maeryn studied her face in the small silver mirror for the thousandth time, searching carefully for the tiniest flaw or smudge that could have occurred in her makeup since the last time she had she had peered at her reflection, about a minute ago.  For the thousandth time, she set down the polished oval of precious metal, her makeup unchanged.  Standing, she peered out the window at the town, windows all draped with white for the wedding.  Her wedding.

At the thought, her stomach tilted slightly, and she had to slowly sit down, taking deep, measured breaths, to avoid puking.  The last thing she wanted was for some vomit to get on the beautiful white gown she wore.  Keeping her mind carefully blank, her stomach settled, and she cautiously allowed some small feelings to surface.  Unfortunately, she could only handle small, trivial things such as Isn�t the birdsong pretty? and Fall is my favorite season because everything else reminded her of her impending marriage.  Not that she was terrified; Faolan was nice enough, had a quiet sense of humor, and didn�t want children yet, which was more than fine with her.  He wasn�t the handsomest guy in the village, but she could have most definitely done worse, and he would be able to support them both and whatever children they had most comfortably.  So it wasn�t the guy that was making her stomach twist as apprehension and excitement fought each other; it was the sheer irrevocability of marriage, the huge change and inability to go back.  Call her wishy-washy, but she was having serious doubts.

As she listened to the rest of the village, everyone happy about the upcoming celebration, she longed for the time when she was one of them, just one of the multitude watching other people�s marriages, enjoying the holiday and having no change occur in her life whatsoever.  As she listened to the screeches of delight from the little children, the laughter and enthusiastic talk of those older, she found she could sort of fall into a trance, and forget what was causing the excitement.  She could merely soak up all the happiness in the atmosphere and drift in the feeling.

Slowly, she came back to reality, the burden of life dragging her happiness down into depression.  Frowning, she wondered vaguely what had called her out of her reverie, and realized that it was no longer just the children who were screaming.  Her nausea forgotten, she lurched to the window and stuck her raven-haired head out, looking for the source of the townspeople�s terror.  She had to pull herself back in almost instantly, as a rider on a black horse thundered by.  Tripping over the hem of her dress, she crashed into the floor, her nausea back.  She had seen the rider�s clothes, with the all-too-well known emblem stitched over the breast; she had seen his deathly pale face, his ivory fangs bared as he laughed, reveling in the fear.  Worse yet, she had glimpsed the other black riders sweeping through the town, with their weighted nets and magic stunning rods.  Vampires.

She scrambled up and darted for the back door, her skirts raised high so she could run.  She vaguely realized that her body was acting pretty much on instinct, without much thought, but as it seemed to know where it was going, and was taking her away from the vampires, she figured that was okay.  She barreled out of the doorway and across the street into an alley right in front of a pair of the hunters, one of which turned his horse to chase her.

Through the alley, she was into another street, the vampire right behind her.  She kept going forward, right into some stranger�s house.  She was in a family room area, a vampire hunched over his victim in the corner, though he didn�t glance up at the girl in white who flashed through the room.  Through another door she was in a kitchen, the knowledge that the vampire would have to get off his horse to follow her letting her mind function briefly.  Instinctual panic nearly swamped her as she heard the door crash open, his footsteps crossing the room, approaching the kitchen door.

And here she had a problem.  There was no door except the one she had just come through.  The kitchen door slammed open, and Maeryn�s body reacted while her mind went under the press of hopelessness and fear.  She threw herself out the window, got caught halfway through, and, pushing with the strength of desperation, slid the rest of the way out as an icy hand lost it�s steely grip on her ankle.  She rolled to her feet and began to run again, the vampire at the window laughing.  She could just imagine what he was thinking; What fun! I haven�t had a chase like this for years.

She was on the edge of town, and there was about a field�s width of open space between her and the forest.  Behind her, she could hear the vampire at the window call out something in his sibilant, harsh language, and she noticed with a detached part of herself that the two vampires who had been heading towards her lost interest.  Her hunter would have to get his horse and ride it around the street, and if she was lucky, it would give her enough of a delay to reach the forest and hiding.

Without the presence of the predator, she could feel the stitch in her side, and the bruises on her stomach from when she�d escaped by way of the window.  She wondered abstractedly where she had gotten the energy and reflexes that had brought her this far, and realized it hadn�t been wholly fear.  But the sound of the vampire rounding the last house on his dark horse and sighting her halfway to the forest abruptly cut off the thought as her mind narrowed to only the concept of survival.

On and on she ran, each second seeming a century, the pounding of the horse�s hooves behind her urging her on even as they gained.  When they seemed right behind her, she ducked and rolled, executing a flying somersault that bruised what bits of her that didn�t hurt and lost her momentum even as it saved her from the vampire�s outstretched stunning rod as he sailed by.  She stumbled to her feet and set off at a slightly different angle, the black horse rearing as the vampire yanked on the reins.  With a few more steps, she was in the woods, dodging the trees, leaping over brush, battering her feet against rocks and sticks as she avoided the paths that would give the horse the advantage of speed.

Now that she had plenty of trees to put between her and the hunter on his horse, her brain again began to puzzle over what had motivated her, had taken over her body in it�s flight, and had, so far successfully, saved her.  It wasn�t fear, which paralyzed and made the muscles jerk spasmodically instead of this absolute control and split-second reflexes, but something else�something�like anger.

And she knew.  It literally dawned on her, slightly revolting but mostly purely astounding her that she could hate like this.  For it was hate that motivated her, and pride; the vampires must not take her, must not hunt her like an animal, like they had hunted the humans for as many years as she could remember.  For so long, the vampires had fed on the human race like so many oversized mosquitoes, had hunted her forbears like the villagers hunted the deer, terrorizing and laughing at the fear they inspired.  For centuries they had laughed at the panic, dining on it as much as the blood, generations killed by their fangs.

But not Maeryn.  She hated them!  She hadn�t known it was possible to hate this much, as if you were filled with smoldering coals, hadn�t known this sense of coolness, this smug satisfaction that swept through her as she imagined besting the vampire that chased her, denying him his kill�she finally understood bloodlust.  She hated their sense of superiority, their smug and mocking grins as they swept through the town, their utter callousness.  She longed to wipe that cruel and scornful expression off their faces, and see their coldly perfect features twist with the hate she felt now.

The forest ended.  Maeryn felt a wash of frustration as she stopped before ledge, looking over it at the river far below, eyes wide as she fought the urge to scream.  A low, soft snarl escaped her throat as her body tightened.  Not now, when she had finally discovered this hate, this power, could she be defeated!  It wasn�t fair!  The snarl evolved into a high, soft almost-scream as her frustration swelled.

She heard the snap of a branch behind her, and whirled.  There was the vampire, on foot, smiling that hated mocking, smirking smile and softly chuckling in that despised way, as if to say, Nice try.

Suddenly, that sweet coolness, that smug satisfaction, swept away the fire of hatred and anger as she realized that she wasn�t defeated.  She had won.  And the vampire watched in surprise and vague confusion as she mirrored his superior, derisive, cold smile and stepped backwards off the ledge.  As she fell through the air, the wind ripping the breath from her lungs, waiting for either the shocking cold of the water or the white pain of a fall onto the rocks, she thought, Revenge is sweet.