Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines | Free on Inkitt & Kindle Unlimited
A Personal Visit

Darius

Relief finally releases the band of guilt that has held a tight grip around my chest for the last two days, allowing me to take a satisfying breath again—although I truly have no need to breathe.

The moment I hear Viola’s soft voice, I try to let go of the guilt that has taken hold within. It may have only been a matter of time for William to strike her with a firmer hand, but this one’s on me.

When Viola first arrived, her movements seemed guarded, as though she carried a heavy burden and didn’t want to be noticed. However, after her conversation with Mrs. Norris this morning, she appears transformed. Her actions are purposeful and focused, and she even started singing—a positive change is clearly underway.

With the keys now on Viola’s belt, I can hear her movements throughout the house without even trying. Her gait is distinct from Mrs. Norris’, whose keys jingle constantly due to her perpetually frantic state. I highly doubt there would be a key to this room on Viola’s set, but if they were Emily’s old keys, it’s a possibility.

William opened the curtains before he left on his trip, leaving me exposed to the sun for days now. My wings are starting to tire. When I muster the strength to lift them, I’ll wrap them around myself for shade during hot days like today.

Viola spends her morning randomly walking around the house, opening and closing doors—I assume to familiarize herself with her new keys. At some point, she goes outside, and that’s where I lose track of her. I need to take time to focus on my meditation—I’d like to think that after years of imprisonment in solitude, my mind is still sane, and I need to ensure I don’t lose my grip on reality.

Physically, any damage done to my body can be undone with copious amounts of blood, but mentally, it’s much harder to recover from such trauma. I imagine William will keep me here until the day he dies. If he passes away, I doubt he’ll be able to pass on his little hobby to another willing sadist. If that happens, I’ll be left here to finally die in peace.

In the grand scheme of things, three years is not a very long time, especially for an immortal like myself, but they haven’t exactly been the most pleasant years.

As I try to meditate on a peaceful memory, swimming in the waters off the coast of Marseille, I sense movement outside one of the windows. I open my tired eyes and wait a moment for them to adjust before lowering my wing. I glance over it to see the shadow of a woman approaching the colorful glass of the stained glass window.

I smirk, knowing it’s Viola—she’s a curious one.

Viola taps her fingertips on the glass.

“I found you, Mr. Daemon,” she whispers before turning on her heels and walking hurriedly away.

By the sound of her beating heart, she’s rather excited about replaceing me. Curious. Young women her age don’t intentionally go looking for trouble the way she does—it makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. I suspect she can empathize with my predicament. Both of us are prisoners of William in our own unique way. While I’m a literal prisoner bound with chains, she’s trapped in a marriage and unable to flee and live an independent life bound by the societal limitations placed on her sex in England. Perhaps if she frees me, I can take her away from this backward place.

I shake my head and push any fantastical thoughts aside. I am Vampyre—the moment she gets near me, my hungry beast will drink her dry.

I lift my wing to once again shield myself from the light—looking directly at the windows has made my eyes overly sensitive.

The piglets William fed me were enough to save me from the clutches of death, but they were far from sufficient to restore me to my full self. At this point, I’d need to drain at least five fully grown human beings to return to any semblance of normal—and that’s five, minimum.

Alternatively, a drop of Faery blood would work wonders. It provides my kind with a temporary boost in strength, heals our bodies with incredible speed, and induces such a euphoric high that it was common forVampyres to become so addicted that they hunted the Fae. We drove them to near extinction, ruining it for those of us practicing self-discipline. The Fae fled to other realms beyond the reach of Daemons like me. What I wouldn’t give for a drop of fairy blood right now—I’d tear William apart and set his house ablaze with everyone inside it. Save for Viola, Sophie, and Amber, naturally.

I lick my dry, cracked lips at the thought of a little drop of Fae.

I’ve sampled Faery’s blood twice before, back when I was at my peak. Just a few drops were enough to grant me the strength of three Vampyres. While that might not sound significant, for a trained warrior like me, it provided a considerable advantage in combat—particularly given that a single male Vampyre can tear a horse in half with bare hands.

The Fae who shared her blood with me was an ancestor of my bloodline before my transformation. Just before the First Vampyre War, she gave me five ampules of her blood to safeguard our family and home. I had three left, but now they’re lost to the world, useless to anybody but my kind, or dried up with time.

I’m so lost in reminiscing about Fae blood that I don’t hear Viola entering the library until she starts humming to herself while approaching the bookcase. Is she really going to stroll right in here for a visit?

I sense her presence just on the other side of the door, likely questioning her choices. Then, unexpectedly, Viola begins whistling as she audibly goes through each key on her new set.

I can’t help but laugh, my voice as dry and raspy as death itself.

“What’s so amusing, Mr. Daemon?” She mutters dryly as she tries the next key.

“You, Lady Viola,” I say loud enough for her to hear across the hall and through that door—her hearing isn’t as acute as mine. “You’re making a mistake coming here.”

I hardly recognize the sound of my own voice. William really has ruined me, as promised.

She snickers. “You’re not wrong there. You can hear me all the way in here?”

“I can hear your heartbeat all the way from here,” I inform her, and to my ego’s delight, her heart skips a beat.

“That’s handy. If your hearing is that good, maybe you can tell me why everyone in this house is such a fucking clodhopping, addle pate,” she mutters.

I laugh louder than expected. “I never imagined you to have such a filthy mouth.”

Viola sighs. “I think we’re out of luck with the key situation, friend.”

I hear her movements—it almost sounds as if she’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the door or peering through the keyhole. With sunlight flooding the room, she can see my repulsive form in all its grotesqueness. I don’t consider myself a vain Vampyre, but William once showed me what I looked like in a mirror to highlight just how much he had destroyed me—I half expect Viola to faint.

My face has sunken so far that I resemble an ancient, decaying corpse with more bone than flesh. For some inexplicable reason, I want Viola to replace me appealing—it pains me to think that I might disgust her.

The slight gasp that escapes her lips upon seeing me sends a wave of disappointment through me. I painfully adjust my wings to conceal myself better. Yet, Viola’s level of fear is surprisingly low—if she were truly scared, I’d be able to taste it in the air, even with a door between us.

“Are those wings? Can you fly?” Viola asks excitedly.

“I don’t have the strength to stand, let alone fly, little mouse,” I try to adjust my wings again, but with my arms outstretched like this, it’s impossible to be comfortable.

“In the book, the sun burns up one of the Vampyres on contact,” I hear her flipping through pages, no doubt the book I gave her. “Since you haven’t turned into a pile of ash and ember, then I assume this is dramatic for the sake of fiction?”

“Not exactly; the sun drains me of life force the longer I’m in it.”

“The crucifixes that surround you?” She asks without missing a beat.

“Do absolutely nothing.”

“A steak through the heart?”

“Annoying, not necessarily lethal.”

Viola snaps the book shut. “So, how does one kill a Vampyre, exactly?”

My chuckle is dry and raspy. “Exactly? That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re planning on using this information against me.”

I hear Viola chuckle softly. “No, I’m just curious. I’ve never heard of your kind before reading this book.”

“You’ve not read Dracula then?”

“No, I’ll have to add it to my reading list,” she stands and resumes trying to unlock the door.

“There’s a key to this door in the room you’re in right now. I can tell you where it is, but you must promise me one thing if I grant you entrance here.”

“And what would that promise be, Mr. Daemon?” she asks, clearly unamused by my attempts to manipulate her.

“It’s not safe for you to be near me; you must keep your distance,” I say.

The lock suddenly clicks. Emily had a key, after all.

“Got it,” Viola grips the handle and pushes the door open. “Looks like you won’t manipulate a promise out of me after all.”

I cautiously peek over my wing to catch a glimpse of her, but the sunlight floods my sensitive eyes, rendering it impossible to see anything but light. I quickly shut them and listen as Viola enters the room.

I sense Viola’s intense gaze fixated on me, as scorching as the sun itself as she approaches. She takes a moment to examine me before she proceeds to close the curtains one by one. They’re not easy to handle—they’re long, heavy velvet curtains that hang from the tall ceiling. By the time she closes the last one, she’s breathing heavily.

As my skin begins to cool and relief slowly washes over me, I hear Viola drag a chair over to sit before me. “Christ almighty, my head is throbbing.”

Peeking cautiously over my wing, I notice that she has left the last curtain slightly open to allow a bit of light into the room, preventing us from being in complete darkness.

My eyes adjust gradually, and I can discern her figure. She’s slumped forward in her chair, her hands covering her face. It’s not fear or avoidance—it’s evident that she’s in pain from the blow she received from William.

Rage surges through me, compelling me to demand her attention. “Viola, look at me.”