This is an excerpt of a story I'm writing and am planning to have published. It's called "Heartbeat in the Rain."

Prologue:

I never meant to be a villain.

It sounds like a ridiculously cliché excuse, but as far as I'm concerned, nobody chooses to be a villain. That is for fate to decide. And right from the beginning, fate did not deign to act in my favor. However hard I tried, it was as if the universe was bent on shaping me into what I dreaded the most.

And perhaps I'm better off that way.

My father served in the Simeran cavalry. Fought the bloodiest war in the history of our continent and came out of it alive. He was awarded medals, awards, and King Alexander himself congratulated his legion. My father was everything I was never able to become. He was the hero, not me.

Then fate decided to intervene. My father came down with a fatal disease he had contracted from the injured men on the battlefront. They call it the Blood Bane. It's spread through direct contact with infected blood, hence the name. He lasted little more than a week after he caught it.

I couldn't even say goodbye. They kept him in a quarantined room for constant supervision until the day he died. I wanted nothing more than to wring the neck of every supervisor who was standing and watching my father grow closer and closer to death.

There was nothing I could do. I couldn't bear to look at my brother, who was so much like our dad that it hurt. My mother was just depressing. She loved us - probably more than I'll ever know, but I couldn't stand the way she made it seem like the end of humanity.

I couldn't even look at my father without losing it entirely. One day I snapped. Seeing him trapped in that enclosure was bad enough. But when I saw one of the supervisors close his eyes...cover him with a cloth...take him away...

No more, a voice in my head screamed. So loudly that I wondered why the others hadn't heard it.

And I left them all behind. My brother, my mother, my father whom I had failed to save. I left them all behind and ran. No more, no more, no more, no more, no more. I didn't pay any attention to where I was headed, didn't make any plans for where to go. All I knew was that I had to leave it all behind.

That's exactly what I did. Jay Rolland ceased to exist in the face of someone infinitely better, someone with unending bravery and strength and who feared nothing and no one. Jay Rolland died...and Ryan Bane rose from the ashes.

Chapter One:

The sound of drumbeats permeated my subconscious, and I slowly came back to reality as the numbness of sleep faded. My headache from the previous day throbbed with every percussion. Groaning inwardly, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

I hadn't moved from where I last remembered - a narrow alley littered with cracked stone bricks. One of them was smeared with blood. Most people of higher standing would be horrified, but not me. I'd seen much more worrying things than a bloody brick.

From down the alley, I heard voices shouting. Obscenities, mostly; and for that reason I decided that they weren't happy. Suddenly clear-eyed and alert thanks to the possible threat, I stood in a single movement and moved for the entrance of the alley, keeping to the shadows.

It was an execution. A town guard stood behind a kneeling man in ragged clothing. A ring of other guards surrounded the two and kept the crowd at bay. As I stared at the man, I took in his full appearance.

Tall and tanned, probably from years working in the sun. Short black hair, matted with sweat and water and...blood. His knuckles were raw, and though he tried to hide it, he was panting heavily. The guard's nose was bent at an unnatural angle.

Of course. The man was probably a street fighter, and when the guard discovered them, he punched the guard in the face and ran. Right into the hands of another dozen town guards.

The punishment for harming a guard was death. Harsh, but they claimed it necessary to sustain law and order. Otherwise, the kingdom would fall into ruin overnight. I despised it all - the King, the Simeran Council, the town guards. Every single one of them.

And with that thought, I decided that no one was going to die here today. As I inched closer, I began to make out what the guard was saying.

"This man, Deric Rhine, has been accused of illegal street fighting activities and assaulting a town guard. Evidence has found him guilty, and he is therefore sentenced to death by beheading." The guard droned, his voice sounding stuffed up and nasally because of the broken nose.

The man - Deric - raised his head and scanned the crowd. His panting had decreased slightly, and there was a glint of something like despair in his eyes. I began to wonder if he had a family - if he had children and a wife. I began to wonder if he had siblings.

Such sentimentality is rare for me. Usually when I see an execution, considering I've caused plenty of trouble for the guards over the years, I get away as fast as physically possible. But this man...this was one of the few times I made an exception to that.

My temple gave another sudden throb of pain, and I winced. The previous day, I had tried to steal a loaf of bread from the local baker. Turned out that he had spotted me already. In the right hands, even a rolling pin is a surprisingly versatile weapon.

I slipped into the group just as the guard with the broken nose unsheathed a heavy broadsword. I was in no hurry just yet. I still had plenty of time. The man didn't flinch, but I could see the barely restrained panic in his eyes. Not yet.

The guard tapped the blade on Deric's shoulder, and he took that as his cue to bow his head. Deric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Waiting. The guard raised the broadsword high above his head, preparing for the deadly sweep down. Not yet.

Deric tensed suddenly as the blade swung for his exposed neck. Now.

Within the space of two heartbeats, I had drawn my knife, aimed, and thrown. The guard gave a cry of shock and pain as the knife went straight through one of his hands. The broadsword clattered to the ground with a dull thud.

Deric's head jerked up in surprise, and I felt his wide-eyed gaze on me. "Run!" I shouted, and he jumped to his feet, looking this way and that for any possible escape routes. Moments later, he vanished from my field of vision, and I prayed to whoever was listening that he had evaded the remaining guards.

I stepped to the side, dodging a savage downstroke from the crooked-nosed guard. The guard turned to me, eyes gleaming with hate, and swung again for my neck. As I bent backward, my spine straining, the momentum of his own strike carried him forward.

Where he slammed face-first into my fist. The guard recovered quickly, and within moments he regained his sword. By that time, I had disappeared into the writhing crowd. "Find him!" the guard with the broken nose roared.

The other guards hesitated, none all that willing to brave the unpredictable crowd. And that was what I was counting on. With every passing second, the crowd further swallowed me, until I was out of immediate danger. As I ran, a few stragglers stared at me, but I didn't return their attention.

After I deemed my position safe, I took a few seconds to curse myself for a fool. Idiotic, reckless, risky, unnecessary, brash, I thought angrily. I had risked my neck to save someone I didn't even know. I was a runaway, not a charity, but my conscience seemed to think the latter.

A hand clamped onto my shoulder. I instinctively lashed out with one elbow, catching my assailant hard in the gut. I whirled to face him, already shifting into a fighting stance to take down whatever guard had managed to catch up with me.

Before me stood Deric Rhine, bent double and wheezing for breath.

And apparently I've now lost the ability to distinguish between civilian and soldier. First my rational thinking, now this. What next? Will I start yammering away in nonsensical gibberish? "Sorry," I muttered, and he looked up at me.

"Don't apologize," he said as he regained his footing. "That's a fine defensive move. Where'd you learn it from?" He asked it in such a casual manner that in any other situation, I might have thought that he was a long lost friend or something.

"You say that as if you expect me to tell you." I replied, already turning to walk away. I sensed a presence beside me, and added "Have you learned nothing? If you touch my shoulder again, don't blame me if you end up losing your hand."

"Brave words for a boy no older than sixteen," Deric said mildly, but I noticed with no small amount of pleasure that he hurriedly withdrew his hand. At least he takes me somewhat seriously.

"Well? Do I not have the pleasure of knowing the name of my illustrious savior?" Deric said, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly.

"Ryan Bane." I said, and by the look on his face, I knew that he recognized my name. I spoke again - quickly, before he could scream, or run, or try to kill me. "If you're planning to have me arrested, need I remind you that I'm already a wanted thief and traitor. Committing murder isn't that far of a stretch."

"You don't really seem the murderous type, considering you just saved me from having my head chopped off," Deric countered. I glowered at him, and from the way he drew back slightly, I knew that whatever he beheld in my eyes was less than pleasant.

One might say that my eyes are a dark shade of forest green. Hazel, but a bit lighter. It wasn't the color of my eyes that disconcerted him, no. It was the barely restrained rage that burned behind them.

I've become adept at hiding and forgetting my emotion over the years. It's saved me numerous times, and for a while it's been the only thing keeping me in this world. But my eyes...they seem to have a direct connection with wherever my anger and hate and distrust resides.

If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, then my soul is darker than the blackest night, an unpredictable tempest, a living, breathing beast pacing inside me, waiting to be freed of its leash.

Sometimes, I let that beast see through my eyes, and for a split second, the world can see what I struggle to contain. They can see within my eyes a burning hunger for revenge, cold fury at everything that breathed.

I tightened the leash, and the rage faded from my eyes. Deric relaxed visibly, and I said to him "Don't make me regret saving you. Lie low, and don't go out into the crowds for a while. When the time comes, slip out of town and go far away, where you can start a new life."

"What about my family?" Deric asked, and his voice quieted for a moment, as if he was regretting telling me that he had a family he cared for. As if I would try to hurt them. I might not be a hero, but if he thinks I would stoop low enough to do something like that, I need to edit my reputation.

"Take them with you. With the guards on lookout, they won't be any safer than you. Take them and escape this place," I said, watching him keenly, "just like you've been wanting to do ever since you lost your farm."

Deric started in surprise, staring wide-eyed at me as if I knew every little secret he tried to hide. I didn't, of course, but he wasn't to know that. "How?" He breathed, his tone more awestruck than fearful,

"You have the look of a farmer - tanned from years of working in the sun, strong but not excessively muscled. You've resorted to illegal street fights. From there, the connection was relatively simple to make. Now you'd best go, before the guards decide to search this way."

I turned to walk away, but paused as I heard him say "Thank you." Slowly looking over my shoulder, I saw his face was set with genuine gratitude as he pulled a gold coin from his coat and held it out. He placed his other hand over his heart. "For saving my life."

In that instant, I could see nothing except my father, fighting a losing battle with the illness that had struck him down with such brutal efficiency. How many children did Deric have to care for? Did he have a son that was still despairing over the loss of the farm, worried sick for his father who hadn't returned home on time?

If he had been forced to fight for money...if I took this coin from him now, would they go hungry? I began to realize that, without meaning to, somewhere along the line I had stuffed Ryan Bane in a closet and allowed Jay Rolland to return.

The person I had once been...

Perhaps I had gone well and truly mad at that point, but I didn't hesitate to close his hand over the gold coin and step away. "Save it for your family," I told him. "They need it more than I do." And with that, I strode down the alleyway and out of sight.

That gold coin glinted in my memory, and I walked in silence. This town was no longer safe for me now that I had intervened in the execution. My best chance was to steal a horse and ride out in search of another small rural village.

Running away again grated on my pride. It only confirmed my suspicion that I was a coward. I was a coward for leaving my family. I was a coward for running from the guards. I was a coward for about thirty different reasons, all of which I hated to think about.

The logical part of my brain knew that if I stayed, I would likely be caught. But the unreasonable, spur-of-the-moment-decision part of my mind wanted to go back and find those guards. To make them pay for what their comrades did to my father.

Impulsive little Jay, I could hear my father whisper. You must learn to use your head.

"My name is not Jay anymore." I murmured. "Your death will be avenged."

Follow your heart and head. Only together do they give you good advice.

"You tell me to follow my heart," I breathed into the dawn. "But if my heart is in a thousand pieces, which one should I follow?" There was no reply, and I lowered my head before pulling my jacket tighter around myself and walking into the streets to find the nearest stable.

So what do you think? Tell me your opinions!