Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines | Free on Inkitt & Kindle Unlimited
Mr. Dixon & the Printer's Daughter

Viola

Disappointment still lingers within me the morning after my failed attempt to procure Darius pig’s blood.

After all, it was a brilliant idea to go to the farm and scope out what I could procure. When John Madsen showed me around, I learned that they had slaughtered two pigs earlier that day, destined for our weekly delivery—my luck seemed almost too good to be true. Despite their initial reluctance to share such details, I assured them of my lack of squeamishness, prompting them to disclose that every part of the pig was put to use. When I inquired about obtaining blood for blood sausage, John Madsen graciously provided me with a parting gift of pig’s blood for Mrs. Abrams to use.

The problem arose when I encountered Mrs. Abrams, who was unexpectedly awake. I’m still unfamiliar with the household staff habits enough to anticipate these kinds of setbacks.

Amber perches on the edge of my bed and shares insights into Mrs. Abrams’ nightly routines, which include gin and newspapers. “She reads them until she falls asleep. I think she had trouble sleeping after her husband died last year.”

“How did he pass away?” I inquire, taking a bite of my toast.

“His heart gave out, and he dropped dead right in front of her. According to Mrs. Norris, they were married very young. True love,” Amber replies wistfully, her thoughts no doubt drifting to John Madsen.

“Has Mrs. Abrams worked here very long?”

“We all started here at the same time,” Amber responds casually.

“What do you mean by that?”

“The old household staff was let go all at once, so we all began working here around the same time. It’s been about three years now,” Amber regencies. “The house I worked in previously wasn’t as grand as this one, but they offered more pay since they needed a whole household staff at once.”

Three years is exactly how long Darius has been imprisoned here, meaning that not only did William bury his wife but also removed anyone who had any memory of her. He wiped his home clean of her and has held Darius prisoner in these walls ever since.

“Amber, do you happen to know any of the former staff members?” I ask casually.

Amber nods. “Oh yes, some of them found new jobs in town. Cook Gillian now works at the pub along with Alice, the housemaid. She takes care of the rooms, does laundry, and such.”

“Which pub?”

“The Prancing Stallion,” she informs me.

I remember admiring the sign that hangs outside The Prancing Stallion on the way to Dr. Gibbons’ office—it’s a magnificent black stallion, rearing up on its hind legs, with its mane flowing in the wind. I couldn’t help but envy how free it appeared.

If I want to uncover more about what happened to the late Lady Emily Spencer, that’s where I need to go.

A new day, a new agenda.

I use my injured eye as an excuse to come into town and visit Dr. Gibbons, but luck is once again on my side—he’s away on a home visit. With Sophie as my chaperone today, I can roam freely. I trust Sophie to support me no matter what, although the way she’s watching me as we exit Dr. Gibbons’ hospital tells me she suspects something—she knows me too well.

“For goodness sake, Viola, what are you plotting now?” She asks in French, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Why do you always assume I’m up to something, Sophie?” I reply.

As I glance at her, my eyes quickly shift past her and fixate on a man across the street, casually leaning against a lamppost. He’s unnaturally handsome, with long golden hair tied in a neat braid—it’s out of fashion, but on him, it’s perfect—to remove it would be blasphemy. He’s incredibly well-dressed and exudes a magnetic aura that screams Vampyre. The way his eyes wistfully gaze up at the hospital behind me, where the printer’s daughter recovers from her bloody attack, can’t be a coincidence.

My hand instinctively tightens on Sophie’s arm, prompting her to follow my gaze. The Vampyre notices our scrutiny and smirks.

“Sophie, please wait here a moment. I need to ask him something,” I say urgently.

“That man is dangerous, Viola. I will not allow it,” Sophie warns.

Does Sophie know about Vampyres, or is she just being her usual overprotective chaperone? I decide to ignore her for now. This Vampyre might surely be willing to help one of his own kind.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I whisper as I gently unhook my arm from Sophie’s and approach him.

The Vampyre watches me draw near with a curious brow raised, and as I reach him, he scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Are you the one who bit the printer’s daughter?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and the Vampyre subtly bares his fangs as a warning.

He looks away and huffs. Darius mentioned that Vampyres are abnormally proud by nature—perhaps insulting him isn’t the best way to gain his aid.

The Vampyre gazes back up at the hospital behind me—the love in his crystal blue eyes is unmistakable. I suspect there’s more to him, so naturally, my sense of curiosity is piqued.

“I can hear her heart still beating, my beautiful Dahlia,” he says with the slightest hint of an unfamiliar accent.

“You were turning her?” I step forward, and the Vampyre’s nose scrunches even further.

“Keep your distance, foul wench,” he growls.

“Why? Are you planning to feed on me right here in the open?”

I glance around at the somewhat busy town. There are too many witnesses—he wouldn’t dare. At least, I hope I’m not overestimating myself.

He snickers. “You reek of rotten flesh. I wouldn’t feed off you if you were the last human alive.”

I certainly wasn’t expecting that response. Do I smell the same way to Darius? Maybe that’s the true reason he wants me to keep my distance, and he’s just too polite to tell me.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he says coldly before turning to leave.

“Please, I beg you.” My hand shoots out on its own to grab the Vampyre by his arm. “My husband has one of your kind chained with silver and starved to the brink of death. Please, help me help him.”

The Vampyre eyes me with curiosity. He glances at my hand, which I quickly retract.

He lifts his brow and stares blatantly into me as if deciphering something in my soul beyond my comprehension.

“You are the new Lady Spencer,” he states.

It isn’t a question, but I nod regardless. He tilts his head ever so slightly while examining my face before smirking.

“This is a gift from your husband,” he states again, motioning to my swollen eye with a subtle nod of his head.

“Yes,” I mutter.

He nods. “Very well. Follow me.”

Hope swells within me. He’s going to help me?

My heart thumps away as I trail behind him into the Prancing Stallion. Sophie follows closely behind but keeps her distance.

“You know my name; what shall I call you?” I ask as I try to keep up with his graceful stride.

“Dixon.”

“Are you Scandinavian? You remind me of the Vikings I’ve read about,” my mouth says without my brain’s consent.

He looks at me with disapproval. “No.”

“May I ask your age?” I ask in a hushed tone.

“I have been like this for thirty-six years,” he says disdainfully before entering The Prancing Stallion.

All eyes are fixed on Mr. Dixon, my new Vampyre acquaintance, as his charm envelops everyone around us. Surprisingly, I feel immune to his pull.

I stress the importance of avoiding hiding in the shadows—my husband’s social network in town is far larger than mine, and word of his wife being seen with a mysterious man would surely reach him. I need to control the narrative.

The young barmaid smiles bashfully after taking our orders.

“My cousin is quite handsome, isn’t he?” I ask her, planting information into her mind before she spreads presumptuous rumors.

“He’s single,”I add, wiggling my one able brow like an idiot.

Her cheeks practically catch fire as she nods and hurries off to fetch our drinks.

Sophie sits at a nearby table, glaring daggers at me. I’ll have to face her wrath later.

“Well, cousin,” Mr. Dixon plays along with our false familial connection—we could never be related—he’s far too pretty.

“You were right earlier,” he continues. “I was attempting to turn her. A hunting party discovered us, and since I didn’t want to cause unnecessary harm, I left and allowed them to take Dahlia. She won’t perish. I injected enough venom and blood to sustain her life force. She’ll recover, and then we’ll try again.”

“You’re in love…”

He nods. “She is to be my bride.”

“Then I sincerely hope it works out for you, Mr. Dixon,” I say with a comforting smile.

Mr. Dixon surveys the pub. “Tell me, did you know what your husband was before you married him?”

“I didn’t marry him for love, Mr. Dixon.”

“Unforeseeable circumstances?”

“Precisely. Unlike yourself, I have not been fortunate enough to meet someone I’d be willing to spend all of eternity with.”

“Not even this shackled friend of yours?” I feel my cheeks burning.

Mr. Dixon notices my change in temperature and chuckles, amused by my visceral reaction. Why do I get the feeling he knows something I don’t?

Getting straight to the point, with uncertain time for conversation, I get to the point.

“Mr. Dixon, what’s the fastest way to restore the life of a drained Vampyre?” I ask quietly.

“The blood of a Faery works wonders and has rather pleasant side effects,” he states. “A drop of witch or warlock would be even better, but witches are tricky. Their blood is more potent than even Fae’s but cannot be taken by force. It makes the process of obtaining far more…interesting.”

“Why?”

“Without consent, a witch’s blood is pure poison and would kill any Vampyre that feeds on an unwilling witch in seconds. You said your friend was shackled in silver?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“That’ll be the real issue; silver is an inhibitor, and prolonged contact dampens our ability to heal and use our magic.”

“I cannot remove the shackles. He won’t let me come near him. I don’t even know if they require a key.”

Mr. Dixon clicks his tongue and glances around, clearly losing interest in our conversation. “Nitric acid will dissolve any silver into liquid form. It’s highly corrosive, so you mustn’t touch it yourself, but your friend will heal afterward if it comes into contact with his skin.”

“So all I need is a Faery and some acid?” I laugh at the absurdity of the words coming from my lips—this is a strange new reality I’m living.

“Are you willing to risk angering your husband for this Vampyre of yours?” Mr. Dixon asks with a knowing smirk.

I can’t help but smirk back at the notion of Darius being referred to as “mine,” and I already know the answer without hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Your husband is currently out of town,” Mr. Dixon observes, lowering his voice.

I nod in confirmation.

Mr. Dixon’s amused smirk widens, revealing his fangs, which he doesn’t bother to conceal. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me to take care of him on your behalf.”

“His life is not for you to take. Also, I don’t know your character, Mr. Dixon. I can’t put myself in a position where I am in your debt.”

Mr. Dixon merely smirks again. “Interesting.”

Suddenly, he glances to his left as if hearing something I cannot before gracefully rising to his feet.

“It was a pleasure seeing you again, cousin. I’m delighted to hear your marriage is a happy one,” he says loudly, shooting me a wink before striding out of the pub.