More Powerful Than You Know

As the nights drew to a close, Rosamund became aware of the passing of the seasons; the forest floor was covered in brown, orange, and gold leaves that had fallen from the trees. But by moonlight, the scenery appeared unaltered, and she was unaffected by the approaching cold. Day by day, Rosamund and Ivar became closer; each gentle word she spoke seemed to melt away his cold façade. In exchange, Ivar became softer and friendlier over time, and she sensed her own hopelessness ebbing away.

Ivar rarely mentioned his gloomy moods to her, but he still had them occasionally.

Ivar stiffened, as if straining to hear something again, as they watched the stars twinkle dimly through wispy clouds one extraordinarily clear night. Rosamund listened carefully while leaning over the balcony railing. In the middle of the night, she thought she heard wolves baying in the distance.

Ivar muttered a curse and hurried to the bedroom door.

She put her fists on her hips and asked, "Where are you going this time?"

He turned back to her after pausing at the door. With a somber grasp on her shoulders, he added, "Rosamund, swear to me that you will remain inside Castle Dravenstone and that you will never leave the premises."

His jaw clenched with determination, and his brow furrowed.

She was shocked by the earnestness in his voice and stammered, "I—I promise."

"Good," he murmured, his tone becoming softer. "I'll be back soon."

Then, like a ghost, he glided out the door.

From her balcony, Rosamund gazed out over the forest, searching the trees for any indication of Ivar and whatever work he felt obliged to do tonight. Wispy dark curls were blown across her face by a breeze; she wiped them off irritably and turned her attention to the woods below. To her annoyance, the thicket provided no openings. Time seemed to bend in odd, surprising ways tonight, so she might have been watching for hours or only minutes.

The shrieking increased in volume until subsiding to a whisper.

She started biting her fingernails. What was going on? Was he okay?

The cries became louder, a chorus of wolves circled, and a sickening fear formed in the pit of her stomach as she remembered Ivar, who was only one man despite being a vampire and hence practically unbeatable.

Was she... concerned for him?

She ignored the uneasy notion, resolved to concentrate on the pressing issues. The howls had become wails, screams of misery that sounded like animals. Amidst the noises, she believed she heard a humanoid scream. God, was that Ivar? Is it a human bystander caught in the middle of the conflict? As the sounds increased in volume and intensity, Rosamund's fists clenched in anxious expectation. What was going on down there?

She heard the slight creak of the entrance of Castle Dravenstone creaking open. She gasped and ran into the foyer and down the stairs.

The enormous doors of Castle Dravenstone crashed behind Ivar as he rushed back inside and ascended the stairs so quickly that he was almost a blur.

She yelled, "Ivar!" as her voice reverberated through the spiral staircase. "What's going on in the forest?"

She was right behind him as he ascended another flight of stairs without slowing down.

Over his shoulder, he stated, "Explanations are not necessary at this time."

Rosamund was not at all content.

"Where are you heading?" She spoke in a distressed, high-pitched voice. "Are you battling werewolves anymore?"

He ducked out of her line of sight and strode toward a tower door that she had never gone through before, always locked.

She realized why as she followed him inside.

The few battle-axes and shields that were still hung on the walls showed her that the room had previously been an armory, but the majority of the swords and spears had been swapped out for new weapons. The area was filled with wooden stakes and a variety of silver weaponry in various forms. Ivar was fastening dozens of daggers to his belt and cradling a couple of stakes in his arms. Startled by the secret cache of deadly implements, she gazed at him.

Bewildered, she questioned, "What is a vampire doing with an arsenal full of stakes?"

His expression struggled simultaneously with impatience, anxiousness, and discomfort. At last, worry won out. He abruptly turned to face her and took hold of her arms to make it clear how urgent his message was.

"You have to pay attention to me, Rosamund. Right now, lives are in danger. I promise you that I will tell you everything when I get back, but I have to hurry and get out of here right away.

She acknowledged him with a nod because his face was so worried and anxious.

He handed her a deadly-looking blade and scabbard from within his cloak, saying, "Before I leave you again, please promise me that, should anything drastic happen and I am not around, you will defend yourself."

At the sight of the sword, Rosamund turned pale. "But I can't."

"You can," he stated resolutely and without hesitation. "You are more powerful than you realize; I kept you in the dark about this to protect Hilda and any other people in the area. I never told you this before, but I must now. Just by virtue of who you are, you are as strong and quick as twenty guys. Use it if you have no other option!

With a soft yet determined touch, he clasped her other palm around a small golden crucifix.

"And this will help if one of our own kind poses a danger to you," he said quietly.

He gave her a quick, sensitive kiss on the forehead that was full of unspoken promises.

"Be careful, my love," he said.

Then, like a passing blast of wind, he was gone.

“But wait!” she screamed, trying to follow him, her voice shaking. "Please, don't kill yourself," she thought sadly. She no longer despised him, and she would have told him sooner.

She groaned as she remembered her sacred vow to stay in Castle Dravenstone. She now faced an unending stretch of nervous pacing and waiting. Why was it necessary to combat more undead? His collection of magical weaponry made it obvious that this was a regular occurrence for him. Was he motivated by a grim sense of adventure or by a perverted thrill? What really drove him?

She was shocked at how fast these ideas were pushed from her head. The only thing she could think about was how he had saved her from the werewolves' vicious attack that night and how he had hurried to her aid.

Sharp and indisputable, the reality struck her like a blast of cold water.

As the truth dawned on her, she covered her lips with one palm and whispered, "Oh Lord." "Oh God, keep this decent man safe. I am aware of his current actions. Why, oh, why didn't I tell him I loved him sooner?