Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines | Free on Inkitt & Kindle Unlimited
The Farmer's Son

Darius

Viola stays up all night reading the guidebook aloud. She insists that both of us need to be as knowledgeable as William about my kind if we’re going to confront him. When she says “we,” I don’t think she understands just how much her using that word means to me. I’m not alone in this anymore—Viola is on my side.

No matter what I tell her about staying away and keeping herself out of trouble, I know she won’t listen. I might as well accept that she’s strong-willed and stubborn—just like me.

Every now and then, Viola comes a little closer to show me diagrams and drawings from the book by candlelight. It’s difficult to focus on them and not her when she stands that tiny bit closer. A few times, she catches my eyes drifting to her lips. If I had any blood in my system, I might even blush.

There’s a lot of valuable information in William’s guidebook, and by the looks of the handwriting within, it’s been compiled over generations.

However, it doesn’t cover one major aspect—our magic. It’s a secret we’ve managed to keep hidden—since our powers aren’t grand or on display like sorcery or witchcraft. If William had known about my ability to control someone after consuming their blood, he would never have allowed me to drink from him. In this weakened state, I can’t manipulate him for very long—only observe through his eyes or perhaps influence him if the desire already exists within him.

The first time I neared death during my imprisonment, he panicked and let me drink from him. He would do anything to keep me alive, to prolong my torture, including letting me feed from him. It was only after that night that he realized he needed to replace some substitute, hence the piglets. They’re small enough to transport, and their blood is quite similar to that of a human.

Viola rubs her one good eye and closes the book with a troubled expression. “This is rather unsettling…”

“Yes, it can be disconcerting,” I acknowledge.

“No, I mean…the idea that there are people like William who possess this knowledge and lead ordinary lives among us and hunt Vampyres…” Viola’s voice trails off as she ponders, shaking her head.

“I am a Daemon, Viola. I’m already deceased, and in my time as a Vampyre, I have taken countless lives. Others like me have committed far worse deeds.”

Viola stands and slowly returns her chair to its original position in the room, clearly tired.

“I don’t doubt that, but let’s not forget that humans are equally capable of inflicting harm on each other and committing atrocious acts, sometimes just for the sake of it.” She raises a valid point. “What other supernatural creatures exist out there?”

“Besides Vampyres? Fae, sprites, witches, warlocks, necromancers, werewolves, naturalists, lycanthropes, and various other sub-daemons.”

“Right. I still believe humans might be the worst,” she muses, deep in thought.

“It’s fortunate that William remains unaware of our magic. It would be difficult for him to possess such knowledge unless a Vampyre were to divulge our secrets,” I explain.

“You have magic? Like a Warlock?” Viola asks, intrigued.

“No, our magic is subtle, manipulative, and intrinsic to our being, unlike fairies or sorcerers,” I clarify.

“Like what you did in the library?” Viola inquires.

“Exactly. Remnants of William’s blood still course through me, granting me access to his mind. At full strength, I could control him enough to release me, but the silver prevents me from getting a firm enough hold on him; they dampen my magic. With Fae or witches’ blood in my system, even shot full of silver, I could go so far as to have him put a gun to his own head and pull the trigger.”

“That would indeed be useful,” Viola mumbles, contemplating. “Do you know if there’s anything in his secret office that could prove William killed my father?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if there’s any evidence. I only know because William boasted about it to me. He seemed rather pleased with himself for capturing you,” I reply.

Viola looks down, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“There’s no other way to interpret it. It is what it is. But just because he’s captured us doesn’t mean we’ll stay put,” Viola says, meeting my gaze with a smirk. “Does it?”

I smile and shake my head. “Most certainly not.”

“If you… If were to set you free, would you kill him? Will you kill William?” Viola asks, her tone deadly serious.

“I will, Viola. Twice. Once for you and once for me,” I assure her.

Viola nods in approval of my answer, managing a small smirk. “You said you had questions for me?”

“I do, just one, really, but I think it might be too inappropriate to ask at this moment. Perhaps one day in the future, once we’re better acquainted,” I respond.

Viola nods and heads towards the door. She pauses, her grip on the handle tightening briefly. “Good night, Darius.

“Good night, Viola,” I reply, watching her leave.

Viola locks the door behind her, and I listen as she returns William’s guidebook to the top drawer of the desk and makes her way toward the library.

“I won’t leave you here, Darius, no matter what,” I hear her say as she exits the library.

“I know, Viola,” I murmur into the darkness.

It’s late afternoon by the time I hear Viola going about her day. Listening to her move within these walls brings me comfort, but it’s clear that all these late nights with me are taking their toll on her. She practically leaps out of bed and gets ready in a hurry.

“Shit,” I hear her mutter as she rushes down into the kitchen and, by the sound of it, nearly stumbles.

She must have caught herself because she takes a moment to compose herself before letting out a controlled exhale and entering the kitchen.

This isn’t her usual routine. What trouble is my Viola sticking her nose into now?

Mrs. Abrams, the cook, prepares a light meal for her, which Viola insists on eating in the kitchen among the staff. Even Amber seems perplexed by her presence, but Viola makes every excuse to stay right there in the kitchen. When the farmer’s son arrives with his usual weekly delivery, nothing is out of the ordinary until he goes to leave, and my Viola chases after him as he heads out to his truck.

“Excuse me, Mr. Madsen, do you have a moment?” she calls out, a little out of breath.

John Madsen climbs down from his truck and walks back along the gravel path to talk to her. “Yes, milady, what can I do for you?”

“One of my maids tells me you supply us with meats as part of your tenancy.”

“That’s right.”

“I was hoping to come to see your stock one day,” Viola says curiously. “I don’t know much about farming, but I like animals. Are cows amiable?”

What in the devil is she on about?

“Oh yes, milady. They’re rather like large dogs, very friendly when used to being around people; they enjoy a good scratch every now and then. We also have some pigs at Lord Spencer’s request. I can take you up now if you like. We’re not far.”

“Perfect. I’ll be a moment; I imagine I’ll need my boots,” Viola says before returning to the house.

Jealousy stirs within me, and I can’t seem to reign it in—my Viola is about to spend the day with a man I know to be tall, strong, and handsome, according to Amber, who seems to fawn over him every week. I know Amber is in love with him—I hear her heart speed up whenever he makes his deliveries.

Shortly afterward, much to my displeasure, John, Amber, and my Viola head off to look at John Madsen’s cows. Perhaps Viola is scheming to bring them closer somehow? Whatever her plan, I don’t like it one bit. While I do not doubt Viola’s capabilities, it bothers me to be unable to stand by her side, watch over her, and shield her from any potential danger.

Hours crawl by before I hear the truck rumbling down the driveway. When I catch Viola’s laughter mingling with Mr. Madsen’s inside, envy seizes me on a level I’ve never experienced before. That’s my laugh—how dare she laugh for him?

I clench my fists, trying to control the beast within me as they pull up at the house.

“Thank you, John, for an amazing afternoon,” Viola says, hurrying back towards the house, leaving Amber and John alone.

I follow Viola’s footsteps until she reaches the kitchen and bumps into Mrs. Abrams. “Oh, Mrs. Abrams, I’m sorry. I thought everyone would be in bed by now.”

“What ’ave you got there, milady?” Mrs. Abrams hiccups—she likes to hit the gin when she’s off the clock and is already slurring her words.

“Oh, this? This is a tank of pig’s blood for blood sausage,” Viola manages to say, her tone somewhat deflated.

“Wonderful! Here, I’ll take that from you, milady. I’ll pop it in the ice chest, and we can make blood curd first thing in the morning for blood sausage,” Mrs. Abrams’s heavy footsteps clumsily make their way to the cellar where the ice chest is located.

“Right, thank you, Mrs. Abrams,” Viola responds, her disappointment palpable.

As Viola resumes her movements, all her excitement dissipates, replaced by disappointment over losing her haul of pig’s blood.

She had gone to Farmer Madsen’s and returned with pig’s blood, presumably intended for me. My lips form a smile on their own. This beautiful girl, this stranger, is going through all this for me. I’m undeserving of such kindness.

Viola grumbles to herself as she settles into bed after getting ready, clearly upset that a day out at the farm has yielded no results.

Viola sighs audibly.

“I don’t even like blood sausage. We’ll have to think of something else,” she grumbles resentfully.