Rancor: Vampyre Hunter (Rancor Chronicles) by James McCann

to answer, but then, even though his muscled back faced the alcove’s entrance, he could tell by Shay’s familiar grin that Alix had returned. That damned grin angered him to no end, often making him wish for Shay’s demise–but rules were rules.
    He heard Shay say, much too pleasantly, “Alas, but my heart has stopped! Pray someone tell me who is this lovely vision?”
     
    “Irish dog! Why don’t you go back to where ya came from?”
    Ariana walked tightly beside Rancor through the crowded, narrow cobblestone streets. Many stared, a few shouted, but all showed their disgust for him in some manner. She looked up at his rigid jaw, bushy low-lined eyebrows, and playful grin. He seemed completely undaunted by the remarks, as if he had not heard them.
    “They do not bother you?”
    “I amn’t bothered. I don’t know dem.” And to him it was that simple. Or, could it be, she wondered, that as brawny as he was, he was that much ill-equipped to fight? Is that why he had been banished by his people?
    Rancor pointed to a minstrel and his eyes widened. He hurried close, closing his eyes and listening intently as if each note were sweet to his ear. Ariana was amazed by him.
    “Have you not heard a lyre before?” she inquired.
    “I ’ave noy. ’Ow does it work?”
    But before she could explain, a tall, wide fellow stepped between them and the musician. He glared with blue eyes, chest heaving and muscles flexed. He stood with no more than a hair’s width between himself and the Wulfsign–a challenge thrown for all to witness. When he spoke his voice was harsh and controlled.
    “We do not want your kind ’ere.”
    Rancor reached out to bring Ariana safely behind him. He met the gaze head on, without blinking, but when he spoke he did so calmly. There was even a smile on his lips.
    “I mean noy disrespect, but I cannoy ’elp da circumstance o’ my birth any more dan ya.”
    “I was born English by the will of God.” The burly fellow did not back down. Several others stood behind him, urging him on.
    Rancor looked pensive. “Den per’aps ya would share your noble position with ma by allowing ma a life o’ peace.”
    Silence. Both men glared at one another. Finally the burly fellow laughed, and patting Rancor on the shoulder, he said, “He’s all right! This newcomer is all right!”
    The crowd dispersed and Rancor, as though nothing had happened, turned to Ariana and said, “A lyre ya say?”
    “Were you afraid you could not best him?” she asked, though she knew better.
    Rancor threw a coin to the minstrel and said, “Dere is noy honor returning ta a life I ’ave chosen ta leave.”
    Ariana could not help herself. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek and said, “Wait here. I’ll gather what we need from the market.”
    “I shall way,” he said caressing the moist spot on his face. He watched after her as she walked off into the crowd. He did not know exactly the words to describe the emotions he felt when with her. It was unlike anything he had known. His heart fluttered, his lips smiled and there was emptiness in his chest whenever she was away. Was it love?
    “What else could it be?” asked a man beside him.
    “Pardon?” Rancor said, and turned to face a tall, thin man.
    “Your bravado: I witnessed everything. You are the bravest man I have ever met. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Shay Jackson.” The tall man bowed. He was pale and quite sickly-looking. It was as if he had not eaten in weeks.
    “Ya met well, friend. May I ask, and forgive ma impudence, if ya be down on ya luck?”
    Ariana returned and said to the merchant, “Would you excuse us? I must speak with my hired hand a moment.”
    They walked away from the stranger. When next Ariana spoke, she whispered, “What do you know of this man? I have heard there was a murder in the hamlet last night. How do we not know–”
    “Ariana! T’was noy a murder, but a wulf attack. Ya cannot fault dis man way superstition. Look