Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines | Free on Inkitt & Kindle Unlimited
New Blood

Darius

The sound of the car approaching the house down the rocky drive rouses me from my slumber. The remnants of my dream evaporate into nothingness, leaving me to ache for any fragment of it—my dreams are my sole escape from this grim reality, but every time I awaken, any memory of them is instantly incinerated.

As the car halts by the house, I catch snippets of conversation from within the vehicle—an unfamiliar French accent, attempting to uplift another passenger.

William threatened me with a surprise before he left—she must be it. Could it be a new wife? I pity her—she will soon realize the nature of the beast she’s bound herself to. William can be charming when the situation requires it—I’m sure he’s bewitched some innocent, naive girl into falling in love with him and brought her here, but by the sound of the collected heartbeats, William is not among them.

I listen as Mrs. Norris leads the new Lady Spencer and the Frenchwoman who introduces herself as Sophie to their new quarters.

The longer I listen to the new arrivals, the more I feel that something isn’t quite right. Naturally, one would expect a new bride to be excited at arriving at her glorious matrimonial home, yet she’s completely silent, nearly weightless in her movements, like a shadow or ghost.

It doesn’t add up—this girl doesn’t make sense. William relishes breaking strong-willed women, but she seems timid, and her first words within the walls of this house only confirm my suspicions.

“I don’t know if I want to survive this, Sophie. Will you stay with me tonight?” Her voice barely rises above a whisper.

She’s already broken. She will not survive William.

Either William has already revealed his true, hideous self to her, or he’s somehow deceived this naive girl into this union against her will. Whatever the case, I’m powerless to help this poor soul.

As I drift back into sleep, I hope my dreams return, offering a brief respite from this eternal torment. I can momentarily escape this prison, even if it’s only in my mind.

The piercing morning sunlight rouses me through the large windows as it rises in the East.

Vampyres like us don’t burn up when exposed to sunlight, contrary to the legends. While prolonged exposure weakens us, we typically avoid it. The idea of burning up is a myth spread by our kind to reassure humans that we have a weakness they can exploit.

To prove you’re not a Vampire, simply walk out into the sunlight. Garlic being used as a Vampyre repellant? Utter nonsense. Crucifixes? Nothing special. Despite being surrounded by them for years, I personally have come to detest the sight of them—William is foolish to think they have any effect on me.

What William did get right was the silver, starvation, and sunlight. Our three true adversaries. My window-riddled prison will allow it to beat directly down on me all day until she sets again, while the silver shackles that bind my wrists aid keep me in a perpetual state of weakness.

At this point, it won’t be long before I die and am released from my torment. At least, I hope he allows it to happen this time. Whenever I get close to death, William drags me back into my life of perpetual suffering.

Every few months, he draws the curtains and makes me drink. He doesn’t even have to force me either—the starved beast inside me compels me to consume whatever is within reach, desperate to stave off permanent death.

I listen out for the new Lady Spencer for most of the day, but she’s as quiet as a mouse. Her maid, Sophie, makes an effort to get her out of her room, trying to use the garden and library as bait, but she doesn’t bite and says nothing in response.

“This moping has gone on long enough. Where has ma petit tigresse gone?” Sophie finally asks.

Tigresse? This girl is no tiger; she is a mouse.

Sophie stings a few colorful expletives together that would make a sailor blush and leaves the room in a huff. Lady Spencer jumps out of bed the instant the door closes and, from the sounds of it, hurries to get dressed. I try my hardest to follow her feet as she walks aimlessly around the house. What is she looking for?

Soon enough, she locates the library, where I hear her pulling books off the shelves and flipping through their pages. The prospect of books appears to have enticed her out of hiding.

Only when William returns home that evening does she finally exit the library. Amber, the younger maid, is dispatched to retrieve her and escort her to her chambers, where William awaits his bride. I strain to listen as she enters her room and softly closes the door behind her.

“Viola, did you bring that blue dress with you?” William asks.

I assume Viola nods because William continues.

“Good. Put it on,” he says, moving around the room.

As the seconds pass, I sense William’s heartbeat accelerating. Something about this blue dress the mouse quietly changes into must be sending him into a lustful frenzy—a frenzy that he will unleash on this poor girl any moment. I try to see through William’s eye to catch a glimpse of his new pet, but when I’m this weak, he’s too far for me to form a link.

He was on her fast and hard. His bride didn’t resist him, but she didn’t give her consent either. The duties of a wife, I suppose.

It was evident that William hadn’t revealed his bestial side to her—he must have deceived her into believing he had some humanity left in him. At least he was efficient about it. I suspect the fact that she didn’t scream or resist must have angered him—William enjoys it when they put up a fight. After he was finished with her, he departed, leaving me straining to catch any sound.

I heard no sounds to imply that she cried—not even a sob.

The next morning, her maid seems oblivious to any change in Lady Spencer’s demeanor. If she did notice, she said nothing, and neither did Viola.

William comes to her room the next night. From the sounds of it, he has her bent over a table and is pounding into her like a deranged animal.

I don’t want to listen but feel compelled to. Somehow, I have to be there for her—this girl knows nothing of my existence, yet something inside me urges me to bear witness on her behalf.

Unexpectedly, Viola’s soft-spoken words startle me—words I’d never anticipate from someone so quiet during such a violent event.

“Harder William,” she says.

William stops, almost as if needing time to process what she had said. “What did you just say?”

“Harder…please,” she moans.

William grunts as he moves, most likely withdrawing from her. I imagine her smirking at having successfully taunted him with two simple words.

A ghastly sound echoes all around me, and I realize it’s coming from me—I’m laughing. For the first time in years, I’m laughing at the idea that I misjudged this creature as a meek mouse. Perhaps she’s a tiger, after all, quietly laying dormant, stalking, waiting for her moment to attack. Only time will tell.

The moment I hear his hand come into contact with Viola’s face, my laughter ceases. I’m left powerless to do anything but listen as he manhandles her and forces himself inside her again.

This time, Viola stays quiet.

In the morning, I hear Viola’s footsteps crunching on the gravel path in the garden. She walks for hours alone, pausing now and then, likely to admire the plants in full bloom.

Eventually, she sits down, sighs, and speaks with a strength and determination I hadn’t expected.

“I am Viola Elizabeth Clifton, daughter of Fredrick and Willow Clifton, and I hereby swear on my parents’ graves that I will leave this Lord and his house in utter ruin.”

Not only do I believe her, but her voice sounds eerily familiar. It wraps around my heart, and for the first time in years, I feel something faintly resembling hope.