Soul Sucker

“...And you, you better run because I’m going to destroy you for what you’ve taken from me.”

― Samantha Young, Blood Will Tell

Frances Dortmund’s POV

Portmahomack, Modern Day Scotland

Saturday, July 4, 847 A.D.

“And do you, Frances Amy McDonald, take James Edward Dortmund to be your husband? To have and to hold, to love and obey, from this day forward until death do you part?”

I looked up at James through the thin veil, seeing his love for me shining in his eyes. “I do,” I said.

“Then, with the blessing of the Church and Kenneth MacAlpin, King of the Picts, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may claim your bride.”

There were shouts from the crowd in the church as James lifted my veil and leaned forward, his hands wrapping around my narrow waist. My arms wrapped behind his neck as our lips came together in our first kiss. It was a magical end to a whirlwind courtship.

James was a soldier who spent the last four years fighting for his King to unite the Picts. He’d confessed his love for me just before he rode off with the King’s Army. A sword injury to his thigh ended his fighting, and he returned home last month. James had been a brash young man of seventeen, the son of the village blacksmith. I was only thirteen when he left our village.

My father turned down all suitors for me as I grew into womanhood. He kept his promise, saving me for James to return or marry another before he would marry me off. He wasn’t rich, but he was a good man. I couldn’t wait to start our life together.

The doors to the church crashed open, and a man looked about with panicked eyes. “RAIDERS! VIKING LONGBOATS AT THE HARBOR!”

James drew his sword as he turned to the door. “Stay with your father,” he ordered. “ARM YOURSELVES! DRIVE THEM TO THE SEA!”

My father led me out the side door of the rapidly emptying church. Women and children were running for shelter while the men grabbed any weapons they could find. Few had military training, so they gathered around James before heading to the fight.

“Get inside,” my father told me as he pushed me through the door. “Hide, and don’t come out until I call you.”

I went into my room and hid near my bed. I covered my ears as the sounds of battle got louder. Men shouted, swords clanged together, wounded people screamed, and women begged for mercy. I could tell from the shouting that my side was losing badly. I was crying, knowing James would never allow them to pass while he was alive.

Then I heard the door crash open. My father screamed his defiance, only for his shout to be cut short. His body thumped to the dirt floor as the Viking yelled in triumph. I covered myself with blankets, hoping they would pass me by.

I was not that lucky. I heard and felt a man approaching; he paused, and I dared to hope he didn’t see me. Instead, his hand gripped my hair and yanked me to my feet. He yelled something in Norse as I struggled in vain to escape. Soon, two more Viking raiders pushed into the small room.

*Trigger warning for sexual assault*

The man holding my hair threw me down on the bed, not letting go as I landed face-first. Another grabbed my dress, tearing it from my body as I begged them to stop. Whether they did not know my language or did not care, they did not stop.

The man holding my hair punched me in the temple with his big fist. The blow dizzied me, and he gripped my hands above my head with a single big fist. I stopped struggling after the punch, allowing the other man to force my legs apart. I felt something touching me down there before he grunted and shoved forward.

It felt like he was ripping my body in half as his manhood took my virgin opening. I screamed, tears streaming down my face as he ruined me. He rutted away for a few minutes before finishing inside. When he finished, another took his place. Struggling wasn’t working, so I stopped. My first attacker moved to the side and got ready for his turn.

Through my tears and my hair, I saw my opportunity. I snatched the knife from its sheath before he could stop me and plunged it into the side of my chest. I would sooner die than let one more man defile me.

The first man grabbed the knife and pulled it from me. I could barely scream as the blade scraped against my ribs. Blood soaked the bed as he wiped the blade clean and returned it to the sheath. The men talked briefly, then left me to die.

Death, however, did not come quickly. I couldn’t move, but I heard everything. The raiders carried away the women and children, killing every male able to lift a sword against them. I listened to the church as it burned and collapsed, wondering if the flames would spread my way. Daytime passed into the darkness of night as I rested in a pool of my blood.

I was on the edge of death when I heard soft footsteps approach. A woman crouched by my side, a small torch illuminating her face. She was beautiful in a way I’d never imagined, more like a painting than a real woman. What was someone like this doing in the burning ruins of a village? “Are you my angel?”

“Your God did not send me to you tonight,” she answered. “If you wish for death, I can give that to you. You will suffer no more.” She lifted the torn wedding dress from the bed. “Your men are dead.”

“I know,” I whispered back. “Damn them! Damn them all to HELL!”

Her soft fingers pushed my hair from my face, sending tingles down my neck as they moved to my shoulder. “If you had the power to do anything you wanted right now, what would it be?”

I didn’t hesitate; I’d been dreaming of it for hours. “I would destroy the ones who did this to me. I would hunt them down and render them helpless. I would force them to watch as I burned their homes and killed their families in front of them. They would feel every bit of loss and endure every measure of pain I’ve felt. When they beg for death, I will not allow it. They will curse the day their mothers brought them into this world. Only then will I end their pathetic existence.”

“You hold too much hate for such a young woman,” she told me. “Should not God judge them? The path of vengeance leads straight to the gates of Hell.”

“I am the one who hates,” I replied. “My life is over. I care not for what happens to my soul. I will gladly drive them to Hell and lock the gates behind me.”

“I can help you,” the woman promised. “My Master will make you a bargain. He will heal you. He will give you the power to find these men and tear their souls from their dying bodies for him to feast on. They will suffer the torments of Hell for all of eternity. You will be the instrument of vengeance upon them.”

“What must I do?”

The woman started to change. Her face and hair remained the same, but horns grew out of her head. Wings grew out of her back, with the black skin stretched tightly like a bat between the bones and muscles. A long, hairless tail with a pointed end moved to wrap around my arm. The strange being began to glow with power.

She wasn’t an angel of light. No, this was a demon, an agent of the Devil, with a power beyond any I’d ever felt.

Her voice was no longer her own. “Open your body and soul to me. Accept my Demon Lord as your Master and serve him will your entire being. Your enemies will become his, and he will feast on their souls as you take them.”

I hesitated, knowing I'd face eternal damnation.

“These men killed your husband and your father. They raped you on your marriage bed. They are headed home now with the women of this village. You don’t have much time to decide, as your life is nearly over.”

Hate has a power all its own, and I made my decision. “I swear on my soul that I will accept your Master as my own, from this day forward, to obey and serve in all things.” It was hauntingly similar to a vow I'd made just hours ago.

The woman smiled and reached out, her hands grasping the sides of my face. Her hands began to heat, and my flesh started to burn. I wanted to struggle, but I couldn’t move. The pain was indescribable as I felt my new Master push into my mind and soul. As the demon shifted into me, the mystery woman shrank. She returned to a human form, aging decades before me in moments. “Finally, I’m free,” the old woman whispered through her cracked lips, surrounded by her wrinkled face. She rolled her eyes back and collapsed, dead at my side.

“Stand, my slave,” a deep voice ordered from somewhere inside my head. I stood up to find myself fully healed and beautiful beyond measure. “We have work to do.”