Stirring awake from shouting above, the motion of the ship on the rough waters makes me feel sick. Wait, ship? I sit up straight, and press my back against the wooden beam I'm chained to. I appear to be in the hold of a ship. The stairs are on the far-side of the room, the only exit at the top of them.

Looking around, I see there are a few others chained down here, too. Some appear to be sleeping or maybe unconscious, but one girl is staring right at me.

“Cora?” I croak, my throat sounding rough and dry.

“Azula.” She seems to breathe out my name like a sigh of relief. Cora is a girl that lives in the main town and is just a year or so younger than me. I don’t know her well, but I'm glad to see an at least somewhat familiar face. I try to speak again, but my throat is so dry. Cora sees my struggles, a sympathetic look taking over her face as she pulls out a flask and holds it up.

“It’s water, can you catch it?” she asks, and I nod, holding out my hands. She throws it across to me, and I miraculously catch it, despite the chains rattling around my wrists. I greedily gulp down half of the contents before stopping myself from draining the rest. I take a few deep breaths, and find my throat thankfully feels less raw now.

“Where are we? How long have I been out?” I ask, trying to get a grip of my surroundings. More shouts come from above. My head is pounding, and my once white clothing is stained with blood.

“We’ve been traveling for at least a day or so. We're on the pirate ship, we were captured. How are you here? Your house is so far out of town, Azula,” she questions.

“I went looking for—he's dead,” I croak, the reality of what happened slams into me. The blood I'm covered in is his. I feel sick, and it's not just the churning of the sea making me feel that way.

“Who's dead?” she asks gently.

“My father, he was shot,” I choke out.

“Damn, I am so sorry, Azula,” she says. “I don't know if any of my family made it out. I'm not sure which is worse.”

“I hope they're okay, Cora,” I reply, trying to wipe away my tears with my hands, but how I’m sitting, tied to the beam, my wrists won't lift high enough to reach my face. I lean my head down, so I can wipe my cheeks free of the tears. “Why are we here? Why not just kill us, are they intending to drink our blood?” I ask.

Cora freezes, and considers my question, the fear apparent on her pretty face. “Maybe. I'm not sure,” she finally answers.

A loud noise blares, causing a ringing in my ears. And then it happens again, and again. Shards of wood come flying across the hold. Shouts, screams, it's like the chaos of them attacking our town all over again. I can barely breathe.

“What's happening?” Cora asks, shouting over the noise.

“It must be another ship,” a man answers her, and we turn to face him. I don't recognise his face. He must have been sleeping or unconscious before the canon fire started. I notice several other men are sitting chained back there too, all silent as they look up, listening to the fight above.

“What ship in its right mind would attack a vampirate ship?” I question.

“This ship isn't crewed by creatures of the night, girl,” the man says.

“What? But they're pirates!”

“I ain't disputing that. They're pirates, for sure, but vampires they are not. They're one of the six human pirate crews still daring to set sail,” he explains. The sound of pistols firing makes me dig my nails into my palms. “Soon to be five, I reckon,” he adds.

“PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!” I hear shouted from above and swallow.

“But they had the vampire colours flying!” I argue, refusing to believe that a human could be so evil, so cruel as to attack our town and kill my father. I want a monster to blame.

“Wouldn't you fly the colours that would drive fear into the heart of any man?” he responds calmly, as he leans back against a barrel. I don’t have an answer for him, not liking that he could be right.

We sit silently, listening to the sounds of battle above. Clangs of metal clashing, shouts, and shots fired. We listen to them all, just waiting for the result of the brawl, not knowing who to root for. With the vampirate flag flying, who would attack this ship? They couldn't be anything good, to not be afraid of the biggest evil in our world. But surely it can’t get any worse?

The door bursts open above our heads, and I see feet dangle down. Instead of climbing down the steps, they jump down, clearing the narrow, wooden stairs with ease.

The man stands up straight and then turns to face in my direction. His eyes are completely black, no whites showing at all in his chiselled face. If it wasn’t for the blood and the fear I’m feeling right now, I’m sure I would have described him as attractive. Understanding dawns on me as I stare into the black, soulless voids of his eyes.

Who in their right mind would attack a ship that’s masquerading as a vampirate crew?

Who would be fearless enough to attack, thinking that the deadliest of creatures are commanding it?

The actual bloody vampires.

“Now that, is a vampirate,” the man says, his voice wavering over the word. Vampirate. A real vampire is standing in the hold with us. I hear a whispered prayer from behind me, coming from one of the other men.

“Great Sea Witch, please be kind and grant us all a swift end, and may—” his words cut off, as I hear a smack against skin. I can only assume someone hit him to shut him up. A part of me wishes someone would knock me out too.

Here I was, thinking that things couldn’t get any worse. How damned naive could I possibly be?