It's odd how, in the face of death, I felt no fear. Funny, yet staggeringly real. The aspect of death seemed to calm me. Almost as if my mind had already shut down, realising there was no point in fighting the inevitable.

“Given up so soon?” The hushed whisper was like a shuddering chill, impossible to stop and wholly overpowering.

“Like hell.” I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips. Several strands of wiry blonde hair were beginning to mingle with the blood slowly dribbling out of a deep cut above my eye, making it hard for me to see.

“Still as stubborn as ever, I see.” A sharp pain shot through my lower left rib. It was definitely broken, and the way he was going, my lungs were next.

I rolled onto my side, fighting back the urge to vomit as a wave of nausea rolled through me. I wasn't going down without a fight, I had decided this earlier, but now the possibility seemed faint.

The sound of fingers drumming on wood acted as reassurance that I was still alive, and still fighting.

“Rose, Rose, Rose. What will we do with you.” The snide remark made be want to throw myself at him, all limbs involved in the attack. Of course, that wouldn't do. He would merely break another bone, prolonging the agony I currently endured.

“You will come to regret what you did.” Finally, my attempt at holding back the urge to vomit weakened, and a rush of hot sick rushed out of my mouth and onto his polished bronze shoes.

Good, I thought, I hope they were expensive.

I heard the low snarl rip from his throat, and in a mere instant, he bent down and gripped my hair. Tugging slightly, he lowered his head to mine so they were level and spat right in my eye. To be honest, I had been expecting worse. Maybe a broken nose, or possibly even another fractured limb.

Then it struck me. He wanted me alive. For what reason, I didn't know. A weight seemed to dissipate from my shoulders, and for the first time in months, I felt like I had a purpose.

I began formulating a sarcastic comment when I heard a dull thud and a groan. I fumbled with my thoughts for several moments before I turned my head slightly. Marcus had fallen to his knees, a dark stain spreading outward from the point the arrow had struck.

His eyes darted around the room before finally glazing over and closing. The body of my captor slumped to the hardwood floor, sinking the arrow further in. A final breath convulsed through him before he lay still.

Emotions bubbled dangerously within me. I wanted to cry, shout, yell, scream and celebrate all at the same time. Marcus Brude had just been killed, and my life had been spared. Yet, there was still the possibility I would be next.

“Wh-who's there?” My voice cracked, my throat sore from the lack of liquid.

Silence ensued, before finally footsteps resounded and suddenly paused. I snapped my head to the right, where two large black leather boots stood firmly planted, a pair of brown trousers falling over the top of them.

“God damn it.” A husky voice cursed above me. Slowly, my eyes trailed up the bulky figure of a man, his stubble looking overgrown. He had dull, misted eyes, and a heavy brow line. I instantly recognised him, and a trill of fear gripped me. I had just been saved by a Dramonian, a family that had hunted my kind since the outing of vampires.

A final stab of pain in my left arm, and I felt thick substance slowly pass through my veins. My eyelids began to droop, but I fought. Tendrils of sleep constricted my last conscious effort, and I felt the darkness slowly pull me under until I was consumed.