Free The Night by Felicity Heaton

CHAPTER 1
    “ T hey say she’s a witch.”
    Zane looked across at the old man crouched beside him behind the bush. The man was grinning, a twinkle in his eye that told of mischief. It wasn’t often that he met a self-proclaimed witch hunter but they were usually a little younger and stronger—more able to defeat the people they were going after.
    He gave the old man a grim smile in return and then pushed aside the branches blocking his view of the woman. She was standing on the porch of a white wooden house. It seemed to shimmer in the evening light. The trees around it swayed softly in the breeze and the cobbled dirt road in front of it sparkled in the late sun. His gaze lingered on her. She was staring up at the darkening sky, her hands idly smoothing down the long black dress over her slim frame and brushing her blue-black hair from her face.
    His eyes narrowed and his fingers ran over his black hair, pushing the long tendrils out of his face so he could see her better.
    “A witch?” He paused and raised an eyebrow as she descended the three stone steps to the path that snaked through the small garden to the road. She carefully bent down and placed several shallow bowls onto the raggedy lawn. “But she is too young to be a witch. She is barely in her twenties. Even if she were, she would surely be in training by now, not up here alone in the Waning Woods.”
    “And they say that those cats she feeds each night... aren’t cats,” the old man continued as though he hadn’t spoken at all.
    Zane turned to look at him again and frowned now. There was far too much excitement in the man’s eyes. He looked back at the woman as she emptied some meat into the bowls and then sat down on the bottom step of the porch, gathering her skirt up to reveal bare feet and hugging her knees. Cats appeared from the dense dark words around the small clearing in which the house stood. It was as though they had been waiting for her.
    His gaze moved back to the man again. The strange excitement still glimmered in his eyes.
    “They be spirits,” the man whispered, as though he feared angering them by speaking those words.
    Zane chuckled quietly.
    “Now you are definitely talking rubbish.”
    The man frowned, all enthusiasm drained from his face and replaced with confusion. “Now I’m speaking rubbish?”
    “Of course... after all... she is a witch.” Zane grinned. His teeth extended into sharp canines and he grabbed hold of the man’s arm to stop him from leaving. “Thank you for telling me everything I needed to know.”
    His hand clamped down over the man’s mouth at the same time as his teeth punctured his neck.
    He hated it when they tried to scream.
    When the old man’s body went limp in his arms, Zane released him and let him fall to the floor. The man’s eyes fixed on the darkening sky in a sightless stare, his mouth open in a soundless scream. Zane spat the blood out onto the floor and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He was thankful that the man was quiet now. All evening he’d talked. It had been difficult to resist killing him straight away before he had proof that the man was after the witch.
    “Such a hard sufferance for such little information,” he said to no one in particular and sighed.
    His attention drifted to the woman. She was still watching the cats. He remained hidden in the bushes as she stroked the one nearest to her, smiling warmly as it wound itself around her leg.
    “Spirits.” He shook his head and stood when she went back into the small cottage.
    A noise made him look away from the door as it closed and he frowned at the ginger cat staring at him.
    It hissed.
    Zane hissed back.
    The cat gave him a disgruntled look and slunk off into the shadows. When the path was clear, he made his way across the road and over to the house, keeping to the increasing shadows and heading for the back garden. He moved silently up the steps to the back door and paused with his hand over the doorknob.