Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines | Free on Inkitt & Kindle Unlimited
The Lord Returns

Viola

My heart feels like it might explode out of my chest. Witnessing Darius’s transformation left me altered in some way—it’s real, all of it.

The hideous Daemonic creature I’ve grown so fond of has turned out to be the most stunning man I have ever seen—quite literally, the man from my dreams. Now that his eyes are his own, I’ve finally found my home—it’s with him. Now, I just need to get him out of here somehow.

As I lie in bed and get comfortable, I now understand the beauty the Vampyre novel attempted to describe but failed so miserably to convey. There are no words to capture the seductive, godlike power that emanates from Darius. It tugs at my soul, craving any touch he’d be willing to give me. Strangely, though, I can feel and be aware of his pull, yet I can choose to ignore it—I can resist his magic if I want to.

It reminds me of being around Mr. Dixon—while I feel nothing of the sort from him, I witnessed the effect he has on others. Whatever magic Mr. Dixon possesses pales compared to Darius’s power over me. It could be because of their age gap—Mr. Dixon mentioned he had been a Vampyre for 36 years, a mere fraction of the almost 250 years Darius has walked the Earth.

I’ll have to ask Darius more about that tomorrow, although I doubt he’d want to discuss Mr. Dixon, given how obviously jealous he was of him.

“Darius, I want to tell you something. Before I even met William, I started having dreams. I could never remember them, not until now.”

I close my eyes and recall the dream I had in the car. Now that I’ve seen Darius’s eyes in the flesh, the dream becomes more tangible, and I’m able to see snippets of it more clearly.

“We were on a beach somewhere warm, happy in the sunlight. Your hair was dripping wet, and there was a scent of salt and flowers in the air. It was so peaceful.” I feel my lips pull into a smile as I relive the image in my mind.

“I think I was meant to be here, in this house, to replace you. You and Elliot; he was there, laughing in the sun. This dream is my wish; I wish this for us…”

This may be my wish, but first things first. William’s impending return looms over me like a summer storm after a scorching day, threatening lightning and fury at any moment. If I manage to free Darius from his chains tomorrow, then he and I could take Elliott and leave this place for good. Explaining things to Sophie will be challenging, but I know her well enough to trust that she will follow me anywhere. Afterward, I will explain everything, and it will all make sense to her. I hope.

In the morning, Sophie assists me in dressing Elliott, and I notice that some of his clothes are already too small for him. Where has William been keeping him all this time?

I observe Sophie singing a French children’s song to him about a mischievous chameleon that changes colors, eliciting giggles as she tickles him here and there.

Children naturally gravitate toward Sophie and adore her at first sight, everyone except me. I gave her such a hard time growing up.

My mother hired Sophie just months before she passed away. My father, who adored my mother deeply, allowed her to hire anyone she pleased for the household, and her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Without Sophie looking after me, my father would not have been able to cope on his own. As I grew older, Sophie would tell me so many stories about my mother that I felt a little more connected to her. When she deemed me old enough, she eventually confided about how brokenhearted my father was at losing her.

She would always say, “Their love was genuine, a pair of souls destined to be together,” and I wished for that same kind of love.

“Ah, ma chérie, we are keeping this gorgeous boy,” Sophie exclaims, lifting Elliott off the bed after tying his little shoes and setting him on the ground. “I could listen to that laugh all day.”

Sophie catches me, wiping a tear from my eyes as I rush to hug her. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

“Oh, what did you do this time? Keeping secrets? Rendezvousing with dangerous men in pubs again?” Sophie chuckles.

“That and being such a bad kid when I was little,” I sniff.

Sophie blows a raspberry and pulls away, brushing me to get away from her.

“Get off me; you’ll put wrinkles in my shirt,” I watch as Sophie takes Elliott’s hand and starts leading him toward the door. “I asked Mrs. Abrams to make your crepes this morning. Being English, she probably made them too thick, and all they will be good for is throwing like a discus at squirrels in the garden.”

Wow, her memory is as sharp as ever—we did that a week after my mother died. It was our cook’s first time making crepes, and she made them as thick as dinner plates.

I read the newspaper during breakfast, something I haven’t done since my father died. I make sure to read it aloud in case Darius is listening, and I share some of the short children’s stories with Elliott before starting on today’s mission: free Darius from his shackles.

I imagine I look unhinged, talking aloud to Darius as I make my way to the gardener’s shed. I call it a shed, but it’s more like a large, old barn filled with a tractor and various machinery and tools.

I look around at the organized chaos in here. There has to be something in here I can use.

“Ooh, this looks promising,” I say, picking up a saw before handing it to Elliott.

I quickly retract it, thinking better. “Elliott, why don’t you bring that box over there? We can put all the interesting sharp things we replace in there.”

I watch as Elliott approaches the wooden toolbox and awkwardly waddles back with it in his arms.

“Thank you, Elliott. Although, I think this particular saw is meant for pruning tree branches… Elliott, do you know how dense silver is? It can’t possibly be as hard as steel,” I think aloud as I continue to look around. “This might work... Or maybe we can use this hammer and chisel to break that little circle part?”

We spend a good amount of time exploring and reviewing every item we replace, and I get to show little Elliott all sorts of things he probably shouldn’t be touching.

I open a random drawer, and when my fingers run over a strange tool I’ve never seen before, tingles run through my fingertips. I pick it up and examine it—it resembles a screwdriver, but it’s tipped with a serrated metal arrow, most likely a custom-made tool for a specific task. Without thinking, I slip it into my pocket and continue exploring.

As I gather the last tool to put into the box, a sudden sense of danger runs shivers up my spine, warning me.

“What are you doing in here?” William’s voice startles me, and I turn around to see him casually standing at the entrance of the barn, watching us.

The clouds I’ve been walking on all morning clear, and I come crashing back to Earth.

“Looking for tools,” I manage a smile. “You’re back early. Welcome home.”

William stares at me and steps forward. “What would make you think I’m back early?”

“Oh, nothing really. Mrs. Norris mentioned you go on long trips, so I just assumed you might be away longer. Did you just arrive? Are you hungry? Perhaps we can call for tea.” I glance at Elliott, who eyes William suspiciously. “Shall we get some tea, Elliott?”

Elliott looks at me for a moment before nodding.

“Maybe some cake?” I add, trying my best to diffuse the tension. “If your father allows it, of course.”

I meet William’s gaze, but his expression reveals nothing of his thoughts or feelings. His eyes glance briefly at the toolbox before he finally responds.

“Of course, we can have cake.” William looks down at Elliott. “You know, Mrs. Abrams makes the best lemon cheesecake in town; that’s why I hired her.”

“Could you please carry this to the house for me?” I hold the toolbox up for William to take.

His brows slowly raise with curiosity, but he eventually comes over and accepts it from me. We proceed towards the house, my mind in utter chaos, thoughts rushing in and out, one after the other. Why is he back so soon? The curtains in Darius’ room are all closed. Plus, he’s somewhat fed—one look, and William will know someone was in there feeding him. He’ll know it was me. Who else in this house is deranged enough to feed a Vampire?

Glancing back over my shoulder at the barn, I realize there’s no way I can excuse myself to try and free Darius without raising suspicion. If William already suspects something after replaceing me rummaging around in there, he’ll likely play a game and set up traps for me to fall into.

William snaps me back into reality when we reach the dining room—he places the tools on the table with a thud before sitting down.

As Serena sets the table, I sense sudden tension in her movements—she avoids looking at William and is clearly uncomfortable by his being here. The idea that he’s taken her by force infuriates me on her behalf, and I feel my blood boiling beneath my cool exterior.

It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s taken every attractive girl in his household—he is the master of this house and has the right title to get away with anything he wants.

If I had loved William from the beginning, I would have resented him by now. I almost replace comfort in the fact that he married me, not some weak-hearted girl whose dreams of being his beloved wife are crushed by his cruelty.

“Mrs. Norris informed you about Elliott?” William asks casually as he sips his tea.

“Somewhat. She mentioned she was to prepare a room for him but didn’t know any more than that,” I say, watching Elliott struggle with his cake.

Without thinking, I take Elliott’s cake and start to cut it into smaller pieces for him. I slide it back over to him and watch as Elliott puts a piece in his mouth. He looks at me and smiles with cheeks full of cake.

“Does he look much like Emily?” I ask, looking at William with all the innocence and ignorance I can muster.

It tickles me to see Williams’s already stoney face turn to solid ice. I take a rather large bite of my cake and wait for him to speak. Nothing.

I switch gears into the caring, empathetic wife I know is in here somewhere and play the part. “Dr. Gibbons mentioned her when he examined my eye. I’m truly sorry for your loss, William. He said you cared for her deeply.”

William looks away, avoiding my gaze.

I dare to do so, but I reach out to touch his hand with mine. He looks at my hand, and after a moment, he turns his hand over to allow mine to rest inside his.

“I must apologize to you for the last time I saw you. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in anger like that. I couldn’t remember what happened. One moment, I was standing by the door, and the next…that book…” he trails off.

William shakes his head and looks at me. I feel his thumb drawing circles on the back of my hand. When I try to pull my hand away, he holds onto it tighter.

“Viola, what were you doing in the barn?”

My heart begins to race, but I keep my composure. “I found a book with a wonderful image of a birdhouse. Perhaps you could help Elliott and me make it? I’ve made picture frames before for my paintings, but never something so complex as a box shape.”

William’s eyes stay locked on mine. I’ve learned that liars are more prone to holding eye contact—they watch to see if the person believes their tales.

So, I give him a reassuring smile and look over at Elliott, who happily shoves more cake in his mouth. “I think Mrs. Abrams’s cakes are a hit with Elliott.”

I feel William’s grip on my hand loosens.

One thing Pollyanna always disliked about me was how effortlessly I could conceal my feelings. My mind has always been adept at maintaining a facade, thanks to all the training in social etiquette and appearances. All of that preparation has finally paid off in this critical moment of my life.

Right now, I’m grateful for the mask of indifferent ignorance I’m able to wear so easily because, internally, I’m a storm of hatred, fear, and fury. My hand tightens around the knife I still hold from cutting Elliott’s cake, but deep down, I know myself—I could never use it to intentionally harm anyone, not even William, especially not in front of Elliott.