Lyra needed to rest as her body adjusted to the metamorphosis. It would be a slow process and the first two days were the most painful and tiring. Kane had facilitated the process by feeding her from his own veins prior to his attack to his attack. Watching Lyra convulse had been both excruciatingly painful and exquisite simultaneously, just as the words of her surrender had captivated and aroused him so ardently. She belonged to him and rested in his arms, having succumbed to pure submission as he carried her back to the cabin.

Kane pulled the blanket from the bed and laid Lyra down. Gently, he undressed her and washed the blood from her face and covered her with the duvet.
‘Kane,’ Lyra whispered. He tilted his head to show that he was listening. ‘What have you done to me?’ The pounding and pulsating thumped in her veins, but it was softer than before. Fatigue spread over her, and she closed her eyes, giving in to it. Kane did not respond to her question; she was far too exhausted for explanations. Instead, he removed his gloves and rested a hand on her forehead.

You belong to me now, Kane clarified. No more running, no more betrayal. Lyra acquiesced with a slight nod. She had made her choice; a choice which she did fully comprehend. The pulsating changed; morphed into a sensitive ache that washed over her nerves. Lyra flexed against the pain as it grew inside of her. She grunted under her breath and winced. Her back arched with the sudden onslaught of nervous spasms, which subsided into a warm stinging sensation which clawed at her blood vessels.

Kane waited for the spasms to subside and held Lyra as she panted. Beads of sweat formed on Lyra’s brow.
‘Kane,’ she moaned in unbearable torment. The creature pulled her across his lap and into his arms, so that he could cradle her through the worst of it. Lyra’s body heat emitted a profound glow, yet she shook with chills. Kane tilted her chin up and locked his eyes on hers. Relax, he willed. Lyra complied instantly, taking a deep breath and giving in to the pain. She let her head fall into the crook of Kane’s elbow and reached her arm about his waist. Relax, for me, the monster insisted. Her muscles collapsed under his will as the pain flowed through her. Gradually, the pain returned to pulses which slowly ebbed away, and Lyra sank into a deep sleep.

Kane watched over his woman as she drifted in and out of consciousness restlessly for two long nights. Lyra could sense his presence; either next to her or close by, sharpening his weapon and tools or installing some new security measure. Occasionally she heard Harlon’s voice as he delivered the unusual stew. Kane would wet her lips with water every few hours, yet her throat still dried; he also embraced her when the pain seemed to be at its worst. As the moon rose for the third time the pain eased and Lyra slept peacefully.

She woke to the sound of bells. Kane did not rush away as he had previously done, but instead waited for Harlon to arrive and keep Lyra company. She heard him fasten the scabbard and dart into the tunnels. Harlon sat on an old rocking chair beside Lyra.
‘How you feelin’ there, Missy?’ he asked with a genuine concern in his voice.
‘Better than I was,’ Lyra replied groggily.
‘You hearin’ things clearer?’ the old man asked. Lyra focused on her ears. The sounds of rats scurrying in the basement rang out clearly; she could tell the direction of the wind by the breeze through the trees, and she could even hear the nocturnal animals roaming outside in the woodland.

‘I can hear everything,’ Lyra replied at length. Harlon lit a small lamp in the corner of the room, tilted Lyra’s face up to look at him, and examined her wounds with his hands.
‘You healed well too, you’re a strong one!’
‘What’s happening to me?’ Lyra asked wistfully, ‘Kane will not tell me anything.’
‘I don’t wanna be treadin’ on the boy’s toes now, Missy, do I?’ Harlon replied, whilst sitting her up and checking over her back and shoulders. ‘Yep, healed well you have.’ The old man raised Lyra’s pillows and sat her up. ‘You eat something now, some stew?’
‘Why stew, why nothing else?’ Lyra queried, fearing that she already knew the answer.
‘Things are different for ya now, Missy, all you need is in what I make you.’ Lyra nodded slowly as the reality of her situation dawned on her.

‘I’ll eat the stew, if you tell me truthfully what he is, and what I am becoming,’ Lyra bargained. Harlon sighed; the woman had some tenacity given that she had sacrificed her will to the creature. Harlon sighed with resignation,
‘He’s what they call ‘Immortalis’ like legends that you read about. He doesn’t die; you won’t die, but your strength depends on…’ Harlon waited to see what she knew and what she had guessed.
‘Like vampires?’ Lyra suggested after some thought.
‘Vampires is a myth that come from Immortalis. Everyone is different and has different ways of living and feeding. The boy, well, he has a lot of anger in him and he likes the hunt, so that’s how he does it.’ Harlon jumped up and shuffled out of the room, returning with the stew.

‘I told you now, so you gotta eat!’ the old man insisted. Lyra took the container and spoon and did as she had promised. Her probing continued after a few mouthfuls,
‘So, it’s not blood then, you know, like vampires?’
‘It is the blood, you got that right, and it has to be fresh, not cooked.’ Lyra looked drearily into the bowl, imagining the old man pouring blood into the food, and grimaced. ‘Now, you don’t really have much choice, do ya?’ Harlon muttered.
‘How did he become this way?’ Lyra asked, knowing that he had met Harlon as a boy.
‘Old Harlon is very old, very, very old. They called us ‘Ghouls’ once. We protect the Immortalis. When the boy came to me, he was sick; I asked for help from an old, old friend, Lilith, and took the boy on.’ Harlon paused to avoid divulging too much information.
‘What do you mean, took on?’ Lyra mumbled between mouthfuls, ‘Surely he could look after himself if he was immortal?’

Harlon laughed,
‘You think that once you’re immortal you know everything, Missy? Or you get superpowers?’ Lyra shrugged. ‘Ain’t like that. You have to learn to use what nature gives to ya, and Old Harlon, well, he trains the immortalis and makes sure they don’t get into no trouble.’
‘So, you trained and protect Kane?’ The old man nodded, ‘And you,’ he added. Lyra narrowed her eyes in confusion,
‘Train me for what?’
‘Train you to protect yourself, to fend for yourself, to use your gifts.’
‘What gifts?’
‘Everyone has gifts, Missy. The boy see a gift in you!’ Harlon took the empty container from Lyra.
‘What, my art?’ Lyra asked, wondering how on Earth she could defend herself with a paintbrush.
‘No, not your art. What was in your art; you see people for what they are and what they think,’ Harlon corrected.
‘You’re talking about empathy!’
‘Yes, you’re an empath like Old Harlon, that’s why you can hear the boy. Now you got other senses that need exercising.’ Harlon hoped that she would be satisfied with his answers, but Lyra persisted,
‘What senses?’
‘I already told ya, Missy, Old Harlon gonna teach you to hunt.’

Kane had been preparing new traps as Lyra slept; testing new methods to catch trespassers. The tone of the bell indicated that one of those traps had been activated. The trap was such that he did not have to rush and was able to summon Harlon to protect his woman. Once the old man had arrived Kane marched through the tunnels to the depths of the forest where the bank set the trees apart. He exited the tunnel with haste and walked slowly and menacingly towards his prey.

‘Hunt what?’ Lyra asked awkwardly.
‘You know well what,’ Harlon insisted, ‘Not just hunting though, Missy, there are thems that’ll hunt you; you gotta know how to defend yourself.’
‘Who would hunt me?’ Panic rose in the woman’s throat as she spoke.
‘Thems that don’t want gods on the Earth, I s’pose,’ Harlon muttered nonchalantly.
‘People?’
‘Humans trained since birth is what they are,’ Harlon corrected, ‘Good for us there ain’t too many, but still there are a few. Trained in the fighting and the old texts, they do come every now and then.’ Lyra grunted under her breath; the information had become overwhelming and more than she expected.
‘So, am I like him now?’ Harlon raised a wrinkled finger and scratched the corner of his eye,
‘Almost,’ he muttered.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning not until you done your first hunt and…’
‘And what?’ Lyra snapped, already knowing the answer.
‘Blood of the flesh is in the life is what!’

Kane marched slowly towards the human; a young girl, hunter of sorts, hanging upside down from the canopy of the trees. The barbed wire that he had planted looped tightly about one leg, cutting deeply into the skin. Her long dark hair splayed downwards, and she struggled; fighting against the pain in a bid to escape. Kane marched towards her in the moonlight, ever so slowly. The girl caught sight of him, and with the rifle still firmly fixed in her hands attempted to shoot. Kane sidestepped each shot with ease, his movements deliberately tormenting. It was unlikely that a girl like that, so vulnerable, would be in the forest alone. He waited until further shots rang from behind and swiftly disappeared into the shadow of the trees.

‘So, you expect me to drink someone’s blood?’ Lyra asked disgustedly.
‘You drank the boys, didn’t ya?’ Harlon smirked. Lyra flushed shyly.
‘That’s different, I…’ she began, but found herself unable to explain that particular choice.
‘It’s the way it is, Missy, and that’s all there is to it.’ Harlon took her hand in his. ‘Old Harlon promises you that it ain’t gonna taste bad to ya, not now, not anymore.’ He tightened his grip reassuringly.

‘Where is he?’ a large bearded hunter called up to the strung-up girl, his plaid shirt blowing behind him in the breeze.
‘I don’t know, just get me down,’ the girl screamed.
‘We tried that already; I can’t budge the wire. I have to go get help.’
‘Are you kidding, John? Don’t you dare leave me here!’ the girl snapped, flailing in the trap. A strange humming rang out in the nearby trees.
‘What the…’ the girl began. John looked about him curiously. The sound grew louder and closer.
‘Sounds like a…’ John began. His words cut short as his waist was severed by the whirring blade of a chainsaw.

‘I don’t know if I can kill another person,’ Lyra muttered, gripping the old man’s hand.
‘Ain’t another person, you’re different now, didn’t Old Harlon tell ya that?’ Harlon could see the possibility of an internal struggle rearing its head again, ‘They have a choice; Old Harlon sees outsiders in town, he tells them not to come, warns them. They choose.’
‘But…’
‘But nothin’,’ Harlon interrupted, ‘You need to feed. You gave yourself to him, didn’t ya? So, his choice, not yours.’
‘Is that true of all Immortalis?’
‘Nope, you’re not listening, are ya? They’re all different. The boy, well, he’s what they call a sadist; he wants your submission. He look after you, and the time will come.’

The two parts of John’s body separated and fell to the ground, wrapped in spurts of blood. Kane’s ears rang with the girl’s exquisitely hideous screams. He switched the chainsaw off and dropped it, drawing the machete from the scabbard and holding it above his head. A wire ran slyly up the trunk of one of the trees, and he loosened it. The girl dropped down so that her head hung just above the forest floor.

‘What time?’ Lyra pursued nervously.
‘Time you see him the way he is, Missy?’ Harlon replied sternly.
‘You mean unmasked?’ Lyra mumbled. She had heard that he was deformed and monstrous to look upon and feared what she would see.
‘Unmasked, yep. Then he see how devoted you really are!’
‘Is he that frightful?’ Lyra asked.
‘He don’t take kindly to no one who can’t bear his face, he can’t.’ Harlon released her hand. ‘If you’re truly devoted, you’ll kneel to him whatever his face, won’t ya?’ Lyra rubbed her head,
‘Kneel?’
‘Like I said, the boy wants to know you’re loyal whatever.’

Kane dragged the machete blade over the girl’s face and along her hanging body. Rain started to pour from the night sky.
‘Please,’ the girl begged, ‘Let me go. I won’t say anything. I promise.’ Reasoning, they all tried to reason. Holding the machete with one hand, he raised the other hand and pulled up his mask. The girl screamed at the sight, riddled with abject horror. The fury burned through him, and with an almighty rage he threw the blade down between her legs and bisected her in one horrendous blow. One half remained dangling in the barbed wire. The other slithered to the floor.

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