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The path was long and the heat was scorching. The young woman who ran was well aware that her target must have taken refuge by now.
He’d already been burned badly when he left the Reservation with a team of Elders in tow, chasing him on horseback, and Yukpa – or Eliza, as she was called for the Christian public’s sake - followed along too. Her Christian name was one she didn't use unless she had to; unless her interlocutor was someone outside of her people, because she'd grown up to the sound of the Chahta word for 'laugh'.
It described how she'd once been in her younger years, before the world took most of her joy away, and before she'd met this devil-creature that turned her life upside-down.
It would be easy to blame him for the very reckless and foolish decision to go on this impromptu expedition on her own...but the truth was that something had to be wrong with her too.
One might ask how humans are even able to keep up with and track a vampire in flight that can travel miles faster than a vehicle…and the answer is in the vultures that never stray too far from creatures like him.
Ironically enough, this time it was three of them.
Yukpa could spot three large ravens flying just ahead of them and she was reminded of a deity associated with death, war, and crossroads. The Morrigan. Celtic, like him.
No doubt he must have lived at a time where belief in deities like her was common. And as she rode upon a horse not-so-ethically borrowed from her family, she wonders if the sight of these ravens now brings back memories to him from that time.
Or is he completely lost to the beast he’s become?
The hooves galloped on the dirt-road path in a quick and steady pace that served as a poor but still existent distraction from the magnitude of what she’s done.
Or rather, of what she’s set out to do against the will of her family and her people.
It’s already reckless even if she doesn’t find him…a Native young woman out on her own with barely any provisions going out on her own in search of a wandering, persecuted vampire who now feels betrayed by her community (as if they were somehow supposed to overlook the fact that he’s a man-eating undead beast over the fact that he happens to be Irish). But even if his wrath doesn’t take her, then there’s a multitude of other dangers to look out for in the wild.
But she does find him.
And by the time she finds him, it’s already waning dusk.
By which time, she and her horse had a grand total of only two breaks for water and some food, as well as a few unpleasant encounters with whites in loud vehicles that could have turned ugly if not for her quick choice to take off the road and through the grass and trees instead.
The ravens are perched up on the only house that’s out here for a good few miles…and just outside the house, kneeling by the front porch in an almost fetal position is none other than Remmick. Smoke is still faintly wafting from his scorched shoulders.
…Did the owners not let him in?
A quick look around the house showed no car and no candlelight near the windows as the night approached…it’s very likely that he was unlucky enough to find an empty house, because if he’d already killed the owners, he wouldn’t be as wounded.
Yukpa slowed to a halt. The Elders didn’t seem to have arrived yet.
With an expert’s ease, she hopped off her horse and was sure that those bat-like ears of his had heard it…yet he didn’t turn.
She knows this may very well be her worst idea yet, but despite all valid warnings, she carefully approached the porch steps close to where he knelt in front of the door, just enough to be covered by the roof’s shade from the remaining sunlight.
It’s enough to inspire a sense of misplaced sympathy.
He tenses when she gets near the first step, she can see that easier from a shorter distance, and she stops.
“…Relax, it’s me.” She says, as if that’s supposed to make him less inclined to kill her.
He shifts the same way a wounded predator does; slow, dragged almost, turning his head just enough for a single, red-gleaming eye to glare her way.
A cold shiver passes through her. It’s unnerving…kind of like the feeling of stepping into cursed grounds and instantly realizing there’s some kind of malignant presence.
“…I don’t have weapons. No silver, no garlic, no oak daggers. Just my grandmother’s shukcha.” She added, mainly because the lingering silence felt increasingly heavier.
Said shukcha was a small pouch tied with string around her neck. It worked as a good enough protection from evil spirits. To her knowledge, it didn’t contain any garlic.
All the while, every single instinct in her mind was telling her this was a mistake and that she should run back to her horse and ride off while the last rays of sunlight still peaked through the horizon.
She didn’t.
Remmick still didn’t speak.
One tense moment later that felt too long for comfort, Yukpa climbed up the first step. Remmick backed up quickly, looking like he might either bolt or pounce.
Instantly, she froze, arms raised up to imitate surrender. Her foot got off that first step immediately.
“Okay, okay.” She said, a bit too quickly. “Easy.”
She could almost see the rest of his face now, burned and bruised. She couldn’t see the glow on his other eye, which could only mean it was swollen shut where the shade hid that part of his face.
“…Leadin’ the hunters out here, ain’t ya…” He finally said, his voice hoarse like he’d been yelling. “…Little Seeress…” For all she knows, he might have when he thought that someone living here might hear him and let him in. “…’N here I thought we were ‘sposed to be allies…”
She didn’t like the way he said this, like a combination of both a taunt and an accusation. Plus, she never claimed to be a hopayi'...she'd only been told that some in her bloodline had been.
“I’m not leading them.” She insisted. “But they don’t need me to find you. They’re already on their way.”
His single functioning eye peered at her. To her credit, he couldn’t hear the sound of galloping anywhere near…for now.
They weren’t directly following her.
…And it begged the question why she’d come out here to find him with no weapons and no entourage.
…Could it be-
Remmick opened his mouth to speak when he was suddenly interrupted as she took the brave initiative to climb that first step again.
“Now keep those fangs at bay because if this house is indeed deserted, then I’m your only way in.” She stated, more resolutely now because she knew this was true.
He can’t get in without being invited…and if the owner doesn’t come to give permission, then he’s stuck out here to wait. A human like her, however, can simply break in.
It takes only a moment for the ancient vampire to slowly drag himself away from the door and mirror her gesture of surrender by raising his own scorched hands up. The woman purposefully avoided the grin full of fangs and malice that spread across his chapped lips at the implication. She’s helping him, she’s betrayed her people, she’s alone and vulnerable now.
And while acting like he wasn’t there at all (to the best of her ability), Yukpa tried the door. She expected resistance, a lock or barricade of some kind, but the knob simply gave when she turned it and the door opened to a poorly lit interior.
She blinked.
It was that easy, apparently…and she took in the minute comfort of how ridiculous Remmick must look being stuck outside an unlocked house because of his cursed existence.
She entered first, unable to see much in the dim light, then stood by the doorway.
“Come in.” She invited him…and Remmick quickly scrambled inside with all the grace of a wet tomcat.
Before she could close the door behind them, however, Yukpa remembered her horse being unceremoniously parked just ahead of the house and she cursed to herself.
“Light some candles, I need to make my horse look less conspicuous.” She said, not quite aware of how assertive she was being to a blood-sucking beast she’s just invited inside a stranger’s house with her.
Remmick watched with something akin to amusement as she rushed out. She guided her horse behind the house in a spot where it would be less likely to be spotted from the road that the Elders would take to get here.
No doubt, the ravens perched upon the rooftop would guide them.
…And almost as if on cue, her ears picked up on what sounded alarmingly like hooves galloping in the distance. Yukpa tied the rope and thanked the Gods for her horse’s calm and gentle temperament given how docile it stayed throughout the whole process.
Then, with her horse quietly stationed behind the house, Yukpa rushed back in through the open door and wasted no time closing it. In the dim candlelight – because at least he’d made himself useful by lighting one – she found no keys in sight, so her best bet was the slightly rusty copper chain guard along with a quick barricade.
In her rush, she scarcely let herself process that she’d barricaded herself with a famished vampire.
“Upstairs. Now.” She asserted again and quickly went to the old wooden staircase.
A couple of steps up, however, she noticed that Remmick wasn’t following her.
Frustrated, she peeked back down to see what had him feeling so unhurried during such an emergency.
“Remmick.” She insisted, but when she found him seated by the wooden kitchen table in candlelight, she saw what had him so worked up.
“Oh, y’ gotta see that one, darlin’…” He said, with a hint of seriousness behind that taunting southern drawl this time.
For once, his heavily shaded form in the dim light – even coupled with the red glow of his uninjured eye – wasn’t the scariest thing in the room. Not even by a mile compared to the pile that sat near him, untouched for quite some time yet nonetheless disturbing.
Upon a bench was a pair of telltale white robes with pointed hoods, right next to a shotgun leaning upright against the wooden wall, a handgun, and (ironically enough), a Bible.
Whoever it was that lived here was Klan.
“…Fuck.” Yukpa uttered, her lingering fear of being along with a vampire dwarfed by the possibility of being hunted down by those white devils instead.
But she’ll burn that bridge when she gets to it.
“Just ignore that for now, okay? We need to hide upstairs. Now.” She insisted again, trying to hide how shaken she was. Though Remmick could tell when she grabbed the candle and the handgun that the candleflame trembled even more than usual in her hold.
Surprisingly enough, he took the lead. He can see quite well in the dark…and if by any unlucky chance there’s anyone upstairs, their mortal weapons won’t harm him.
Yukpa watched as he climbed each step, not with the usual comfortable gait he has in his best moments, but well enough to show he’s probably used to being this wounded.
“All clear.” He said when he reached the top step, Yukpa standing just a step behind him.
Some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
Remmick peered over at the empty bedroom; a rocking chair, a simple bed just enough to fit two people if they were curled tightly. The rest of the upstairs area only had an empty bathroom and sealed up storage attic that Yukpa didn’t wish to even look at considering who the owners were.
As for what happened to them, she didn’t know and didn’t want to find out either.
“…It wasn’t you, right?” She asked for good measure, even though she doubted he’d be stuck outside if they’d been foolish to welcome him in once already.
Remmick turned to her, eye gleaming in the dim light enough to make the candle flicker as if in fright. Although the question was vague, his good intuition caught what she meant.
“Nah…never been ‘ere before.” He reassured her, lips stretching into that wicked grin again. “You wouldn’t a’found me outside if I had…and you wouldn’t a’found it this clean inside, little Seeress.”
Any speck of reassurance vanished. As much as she’d enjoy the suffering of any Klan member, it’s not a comforting to think of a vampire’s gruesome kill when standing right in front of one.
Yukpa backed up a bit, but before fear had a proper chance to manifest in her mind, a loud knock was heard.
She and Remmick both froze. The flickering candleflame illuminated a single line of saliva trickling down the side of his mouth. It might have earned a scream if she’d noticed it.
A few more insistent knocks sounded until Yukpa realized that the candlelight was alarmingly close to the window. Without thinking, she blew it out quickly.
It wasn’t long before she heard the voice of her uncle, the man who was leading the expedition to find and kill Remmick.
“We mean no harm to the residents of this house.” He called, voice loud with confidence, but gentle. “If a man has recently come to you, we only advise that you do not let him inside your home.”
A pause ensued. Yukpa could only hear her own breathing and it was unnerving enough that she stood next to a sentient creature in complete darkness that didn’t breathe.
“He is not what he seems.” Desperation showed through his voice this time because, tragically, he seemed to be having some bit of hope that people were still alive here and could heed his warning.
Yukpa knows him well…even if he knew just who these people were that lived here, he’d still try to warn them, undeserving as they are.
Soon enough, though, another man of the expedition team called his name in warning. The sun would be down soon…and they needed to create a good enough distance.
A painfully long minute later, Yukpa heard the sound of hooves galloping away again.
The feeling lingering inside her wasn’t easy to pinpoint.
It started as a brief speck of relief that darkened into loss far too quickly.
This would be the last time she’d hear this voice...or any voice from those she held dear, all because of an impulsive decision to save their (im)mortal enemy.
And while Yukpa processed that heavy weight of grief, Remmick stood there for a moment to process something else entirely.
That Choctaw woman whose fellow people wanted him dead had gone out of her way to help him, knowing full well the fate she was sealing for herself. That’s why he’d traveled all the way here from Boston…it wasn’t random that he sought refuge at the Choctaw Nation. They’d helped his people before in times of great need and at a great personal cost.
This woman’s brave aid very much reminded him of that, even if the others had driven him away and pretty much nearly done him in.
“Ah…no need to cry now.” Remmick cooed. It sounded sinister even with the genuine intent to comfort her. He took a step closer again, closing the distance between them. “I’m right ‘ere with you, darlin’.”
A cold hand lifted up and cupped her cheek. The flinch that came with it was more of a knee-jerk reaction to the temperature than any real attempt to pull away.
When she didn’t fight his touch, Remmick’s delighted grin widened, exposing those sharp fangs. His hand grew more comfortable on her cheek, its hold a tad firmer. She felt him lean in closer bringing with him that unsettling scent of burnt flesh. For a moment, she tensed at the thought of him sinking his fangs on her, but he didn’t.
He only rested his head against hers, taking in slow, silent whiffs of her. She could feel his head lowering to the curve of her neck and shoulder, then back up again…and he wondered why on earth he’d be stalling when he was starving and wounded, until she realized that her protective shukcha must be keeping him at bay.
…That was at least a bit comforting amid this mess.
Almost as if on cue, Remmick spoke: “Y’ won’t ever have to be alone again. We’ll build our own community, w’ your culture ‘n mine, with our songs combined…” He drawled, pausing for a moment. His nose brushed against her jaw as he slowly leaned back to peer at her with a single uninjured glowing eye. “All ya gotta do is take that little bag o’ yours off y’ neck.”
Yukpa cringed at how insensitive all of this sounded, and even unintentionally, how colonialist.
She braced herself with a shaky breath and stood her ground. “No.” She asserted, voice surprisingly resolute. “A culture isn’t something you can just claim like a tourist souvenir or wear like a costume.”
Remmick froze, the grin vanishing from his face.
He had half a mind to fly right out of here now that the sun had set and kill all her family of Native vampire hunters just to get her to comply to his demands…
But her kindness from before temporarily halted his more destructive side.
“…Need I remind ya, darlin’, that you deserted your community? ‘N out there, I’m the last thing y’ gotta fear.” He said, the soft southern drawl from before now taking on a more sinister undertone. “If those fellas livin’ ‘ere decide to return? They’ll do a whole lot worse t’ a lone Native woman who broke into their home than a’ ever would.”
It hurt that he was right. Remmick would probably give her a quick death, unlike Klan members whose cruelty knows few bounds.
Yukpa felt him lean further in again, almost touching her forehead with his. His voice softened too when he spoke again. “You did me a kindness today, lemme return the favor by makin’ you strong enough t’ fight these bastards off.”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely wrong…being like him would make her invincible to mortal weapons, she could hold her ground against men who wanted to take advantage of her in the most horrible ways…but to achieve that, she’d be letting a man do just that to her first.
Not to mention the cursed liminal existence of being a vampire…of being cut off from your ancestors in your undead state. Yukpa couldn’t imagine going through that when she’d been raised to treasure those familiar bonds of past and present.
And in all truth, that made her pity him for his existence too.
She exhaled in frustration at how difficult this all was. She tucked the gun at the waist hem of her long dress, behind her apron, and brought that now free hand on his shoulder to urge him back a tad – not a full push, but a gesture to signify how serious she was.
“I’m not letting you turn me tonight. I know I’ve left my people and I know the dangers of being a lone woman in the wild, let alone an indigenous one, but I make my own decisions and I’m not letting myself be coerced through threats and fear to do anything I don’t wish to.” She stated firmly.
But before Remmick had the chance to snap back at her very frustrating defiance, Yukpa spoke again. “…Take from me only as much as you need to heal the worst of it, and only as much as is safe for me to give without serious injury or anemia.” She instructed, a permission that left him utterly stunned for a good few seconds.
She went from defying him to allowing him to drink from her. In moderation, apparently…but it was a shock nonetheless.
The irritation building in his shadowed features softened into confusion, and then into amused curiosity.
As much as he wanted to dive right in and sate the worst of his hunger, he wanted to know just what the catch was.
“Well now…talk ‘bout a change o’ heart.” He quipped, saliva dribbling out the corner of his mouth just at the idea of sinking his fangs into her. “And what’s the price for a taste o’ your sweet blood, darlin’?”
Yukpa steeled herself as best as she could. “That you keep guard for the night. If those Klan members who lived here before decide to come back, you’ll handle them.”
She wasn’t happy about sharing her blood (and all that came with it) to a creature like him, but this was the only solution to gain some protection without having to be turned.
And as long as she called the shots thanks to that protective charm around her neck, she had a small modicum of control in this situation.
Remmick huffed out a frustrated laugh. He wasn’t used to such bargains, but he nodded.
“A’right…y’ got y’self a deal.” He conceded, then finally, finally, leaned into her neck and bared his fangs.
It was pure euphoria for him when they sank into her skin, careful not to pierce an artery. Yukpa had to hold back a pained noise at the sharp sting of his bite.
Remmick held her steady with both hands and the more he drank, the more he felt his own pain receding. His swollen eye reopened and the worst of his burns closed up. It had only taken a few laps at her blood to do it, not enough for him to gain anything else except basic healing.
He decided to test the waters of her limitations…attempting to keep drinking just a bit longer to see what would happen…if she’d notice, if blood loss would take over before realization did…but when the conditions she’d set had been fulfilled, it was as if a sudden weight overtook him.
The ancient vampire froze. He tried to sink his fangs deeper and take another gulp, but to his surprise, he found that he couldn’t. It was as though an invisible barrier had settled over him, preventing him from taking anymore than what was agreed upon. His eyes darted angrily down the charm hanging from her neck.
A discontented growl sounded from him as he reluctantly retracted his fangs from her skin.
Her blood trickled down his chin and Yukpa grasped at the crook of her shoulder to staunch the blood as best as she could. Somehow, other than those quiet huffs of pain, she'd managed to stay quiet through this roughly half-minute-long ordeal.
Though regardless of how short-lived this was for him, Remmick looked like he’d just had one too many pints at a pub for a good few seconds and the bleeding woman had to bite back a remark about at least one of them enjoying this.
“After all that fancy talk of saving me from the wilderness, you can at least pretend to show sympathy.” She grumbled back, trying to fumble her way to the bathroom in search of a towel or some such thing to patch this up. It wasn’t a serious wound, but she didn’t want to leave it open and get it infected.
Remmick let out a breathy laugh of amusement and satisfaction.
“You’re really somethin’ else, lassie…” That last word slipped out before his southern façade could properly cover it, and while she doctored her wound in the bathroom, he decided to at lease be kind enough to relight the candle and bring it to her.
His reflectionless form in the mirror appeared as a single candle floating behind her, which resulted in an inadvertent near-heart attack that had him laughing at her yet again as he set the candle down near her.
Yukpa glared daggers back at him as he left the bathroom.
…But he didn’t leave the house even now, with the night fully settled. He could go hunt…God knows he’s still quite hungry and a few drops of blood are not nearly enough to sate that, but he kept his word.
She could tell because after a few moments of silence, she could hear the soft strumming of banjo strings from the bedroom.
By the time Yukpa had patched up her wound as best as she could with the few things she’d packed in her satchel and some leftover essentials forgotten in this bathroom, she found him seated on the rocking chair in the dark. The banjo she’d heard just before was in his hands, and Remmick was playing a merry Irish tune. His pretense of a southern accent was now abandoned in favor of singing this naturally.
Yukpa stood there awkwardly for a few moments…unsure if she should just leave him to it and sit here, or if she should just go downstairs.
…Then again, the idea of being anywhere near those Klan robes unnerved her much more than being near him. It’s quite a testament to human cruelty that a monster is more favorable company than some of their ideologies.
Remmick didn’t seem to mind when she quietly stepped towards the bed and took a seat there. His eyes followed her, not judgmentally, but rather pleased to have company while he sang.
His eyes no longer flashed that ominous crimson and he didn’t seem to be bringing up the topic of turning her anytime soon. That's...about as good as it can get with him. She quietly set the candle on the nightstand, casting a dim glow on Remmick’s profile.
An impulsive thought crossed her mind…
She had packed a hand-crafted uskala with her, it lay inside her satchel along with some few essentials, and for the briefest moment, she conjured the mental image of playing music with him.
She didn’t act on it, of course. For someone whose cultural identity is endangered, sharing something this personal isn’t easy…and Remmick had yet to prove if he truly deserved that.
But what she could do is listen quietly to his music, let him express it without judgment or aversion, and for now, it would be enough for both of them.
Neither of them knew how much time had passed; the tension from before had eased enough for Yukpa to feel the first bits of drowsiness kicking in, but she was holding back. She didn't feel safe enough to fall asleep even with the protection she had keeping him at bay.
Remmick was tirelessly playing song after song on the banjo, while Yukpa gazed aimlessly outside the bedroom window.
…Until a car came into view on the road ahead, leading back to this house.
“…Remmick.” Her voice called in warning.
For once, the tireless singing stopped. The vampire turned, his eyes shifting from her worried face to where she looked out the window and he stood up to see the car heading back here.
To her, this was a dangerous encounter with Klanspeople who’d surely torture and kill her. To Remmick, this was finally a proper meal.
The telltale grin returned. His eyes flashed like crimson beads.
“Looks like I’ll have the pleasure o’ riddin’ the world from another few o’ these.” He stated with that homicidal cheer that shouldn’t have sounded as comforting as it did. “You stay right ‘ere, darlin’…unless of course you’d like a good show.”
The expression on her face was answer enough and Remmick didn’t argue. He let go of the banjo and headed downstairs.
Yukpa waited patiently upstairs. She clutched the gun she’d tucked behind her apron just for the fleeting sense of safety – realistically, these people didn’t stand a chance against Remmick – and braced herself for the inevitable screams.