Kitabı oku: «The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire»
Author’s Extended Edition
For wattpad.com.
To the team for providing a place to share.
To each and every member who read, voted, nagged and criticized. You shaped this story.
To Joanne and Terran, and lastly, to Soraya. You reached out to a child across the world and gave her the encouragement she needed. You started this journey.
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
– The Sick Rose, William Blake
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Introduction to the Author’s Extended Edition
Chapter One: Violet
Chapter Two: Violet
Chapter Three: Violet
Chapter Four: Kaspar
Chapter Five: Violet
Chapter Six: Violet
Chapter Seven: Kaspar
Chapter Eight: Violet
Chapter Nine: Violet
Chapter Ten: Violet
Chapter Eleven: Violet
Chapter Twelve: Kaspar
Chapter Thirteen: Violet
Chapter Fourteen: Violet
Chapter Fifteen: Violet
Chapter Sixteen: Violet
Chapter Seventeen: Kaspar
Chapter Eighteen: Violet
Chapter Nineteen: Violet
Chapter Twenty: Violet
Chapter Twenty-One: Violet
Chapter Twenty-Two: Violet
Chapter Twenty-Three: Kaspar
Chapter Twenty-Four: Violet
Chapter Twenty-Five: Kaspar
Chapter Twenty-Six: Violet
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Kaspar
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Violet
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Kaspar
Chapter Thirty: Violet
Chapter Thirty-One: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Two: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Three: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Four: Kaspar
Chapter Thirty-Five: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Six: Kaspar
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Violet
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Kaspar
Chapter Forty: Violet
Chapter Forty-One: Kaspar
Chapter Forty-Two: Violet
Chapter Forty-Three: Kaspar
Chapter Forty-Four: Violet
Chapter Forty-Five: Violet
Chapter Forty-Six: Violet
Chapter Forty-Seven: Kaspar
Chapter Forty-Eight: Violet
Chapter Forty-Nine: Violet
Chapter Fifty: Violet
Chapter Fifty-One: Violet
Chapter Fifty-Two: Violet
Chapter Fifty-Three: Kaspar
Chapter Fifty-Four: Violet
Chapter Fifty-Five: Kaspar
Chapter Fifty-Six: Violet
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Violet
Chapter Fifty-Eight: Kaspar
Chapter Fifty-Nine: Violet
Chapter Sixty: Violet
Chapter Sixty-One: Kaspar
Chapter Sixty-Two: Violet
Chapter Sixty-Three: Violet
Chapter Sixty-Four: Violet
Chapter Sixty-Five: Violet
Chapter Sixty-Six: Violet
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction to the Author’s Extended Edition
Welcome new readers and fellow Fangsters, to the extended edition of The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire. I have to admit, I was very excited when my editor told me that we would be doing a “director’s cut” for The Dark Heroine, returning some of my favourite scenes to the story that didn’t made the cut of the final book during the edit.
For my long-term fans on Wattpad, I hope this is a chance to reread some of the chapters that had previously been cut for length and pace. For new readers, this edition will give you even more insight into life in the Varn mansion, and into the relationship between Kaspar and Violet. But why were these scenes removed in the first place? Let me tell you an editing story…
Frantic studying, taking your last exams, going to prom, gaining a boyfriend – pretty familiar summer territory for many teenagers. How about sitting in your local library in the blistering heat with an editor, about to edit your manuscript because you had been offered a publishing contract a month after you left school? Sound a bit like something out of a book?
Oh no. This actually happened to me.
I had been writing The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire on Wattpad for roughly three years under the alias Canse12, gaining 17 million reads and what I believe is the best fan base a girl could have – the Wattpad kind, of course. I was writing serially – posting a chapter every month or so (when I managed to find the time!) and learning so much from readers and fans as I went along. That brought me to the attention of my awesome agent, Scott, and I knew that at some point I was going to have to face the editing process.
So what is the edit? Simply put, the edit is comprised of three steps: a structural edit (usually a list of revisions to do with plot, characterisation, etc. sent to the author), a line edit (word changes), and a copy edit (spelling, grammar and punctuation). The first two are the stuff of nightmares for writers. Being told you have to cut, add to and alter your precious, precious story (think Gollum from Lord of the Rings here) is something none of us want to do, but inevitably have to. And for me, it was going to be really, really hard, because:
1 The turnaround for my book, from acceptance to eBook publication, was two months. (To put this in context, contract to print, it usually takes years).
2 My manuscript was 200,000 words long. Yes, you read that correctly.
Therefore, things were going to be done a little differently: instead of an edit letter containing revisions, I got my actual editor, Amy McCulloch from HarperVoyager UK. Together, in my beautiful home country of Devon, we spent two days looking over her suggestions for the structural and line edit, drinking coffee and emailing revisions to each other at midnight. A week and an all-nighter on my part later, 50,000 words had been cut from The Dark Heroine. It made my history exam look like a piece of cake.
Now, I’m so pleased to be able to share The Dark Heroine extended edition with you all. It’s still been copy edited and proofread, but now contains even more Violet, Kaspar and Fabian…
Happy reading!
– Abigail Gibbs
ONE
Violet
Trafalgar Square is probably not the best place to stand at one o’clock in the morning. In fact, it is probably not the best place to be if you are alone at any time of the night.
The shadow of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square loomed above as I shivered, the cool air of the July night rushing between the buildings. I shuddered again, pulling my coat tightly around myself, seriously beginning to regret wearing a skimpy black dress – my choice of wardrobe for the evening. The sacrifices I make for a good night out.
Jumping as a pigeon fluttered down beside my feet, I scanned the empty streets for any sign of my friends. So much for getting a ‘late night snack’. The sushi bar was only a two-minute walk away; twenty minutes had passed. I rolled my eyes, in no doubt that some guys were in their knickers by now. Good for them. Why would they have to worry about little old Violet Lee?
I walked towards the benches, sheltered by the sparse and gloomy canopy of trees. I sighed as I rubbed my hands across my knees to try to get the blood flowing, bitterly regretting the decision to wait behind.
Taking one last glance around the square, I pulled out my mobile, hitting speed dial. It continued to ring until, eventually, the voicemail cut in.
‘Hi, this is Ruby. I can’t answer right now, so leave a message after the tone. Lovage!’
I groaned in frustration as the tone beeped. ‘Ruby, where the hell are you? If you’re with that guy, I swear I’ll kill you! It’s bloody freezing out here! As soon as you get this, call back.’
I ended the call, slipping the phone back into the inside pocket of my coat, knowing that my efforts were likely to be in vain as she probably wouldn’t listen to the message for days. Rubbing my hands together and drawing my knees up to my chest in a bid to keep warm, I debated whether I should just get a cab home. But if Ruby did turn up, I’d be in trouble. Resigning myself to a long wait, I laid my head on my knees in the quiet, watching the orange haze that coated the city of London.
Opposite, late-night drinkers disappeared into a side-alley, stumbling along until their raucous laughter was lost in the darkness. A few minutes later, a red double-decker bus with the words ‘Visit the National Gallery’ splashed across its side appeared from behind the very attraction it was advertising. It followed the road around the square before disappearing amidst the maze of Victorian buildings that dominated the city centre. As it left, the dull hum of far-away London traffic seemed to fade away into silence with it.
I wondered which of the two boys we had met tonight had struck lucky with Ruby. I felt a pang of regret, wishing I could be as carefree and, well, loose as she was. But I couldn’t. Not after Joel.
More minutes passed and I began to feel uneasy. Nobody had drunkenly stumbled through for a while and the cold night air was descending like a blanket around my exposed legs. I glanced about for a taxi but the roads were empty and the square deserted, save for the light skimming over the surface of the water in the two fountains either side of the central column.
I pulled my phone back out, thinking I could call my father and ask him to pick me up, when something flickered in the corner of my eye. Almost dropping my phone I jerked up, heart in my mouth, scanning the square for any sign of movement.
Nothing. I shook my head, the panic waning. It was probably just a pigeon, I assured myself. I began to dial my home number, the cold numbing my fingers, though I glanced up every few seconds, willing my breathing to slow.
But no, something had moved.
A shadow had flitted across one of the huge fountains, too quick for my eyes to discern a shape. The square, on the other hand, was deserted, save for a few panicked pigeons taking flight. I shook my head, pressing my phone to my ear. The line crackled, ringing feebly and breaking every few seconds.
I tapped my foot impatiently. ‘C’mon …’ I muttered, glancing at the screen. Full signal.
My eyes wandered as the number dialled and dialled, lingering on Nelson’s Column, towering hundreds of feet in the air. The blazing floodlights that lit up the statue at the very top flickered, like a flame in the breeze. They stilled again, as intense and bright as before.
I shivered, but not from the cold. I prayed someone would answer the phone, but the line crackled and with one last pitiful ring, went dead. I stared at it, wide-eyed, before adrenaline began to rush into my veins and instinct cut in. I slipped off one of my heels as my eyes glued themselves to the column, watching in disbelief as the shadow I had seen just moments before swept across the statue, vanishing from view as quickly as it had come. Fumbling with the last strap, I wrenched the other shoe from my foot and snatched both up in my hands. I started forward. But no sooner had I taken a few steps than I froze, rooted to the spot.
A gang of men, clothed in brown coats and carrying long, sharpened canes were descending the steps. Their grim, weather-beaten faces were dark and heavily scarred, every brow set in an unwavering, determined line. Their heavy footfall rang in my ears, pounding out an uneven march on the paving as they moved ever closer.
Stunned, I shrank back into the shadows, silently crouching behind the bench. Hardly daring to breathe, I tried to make myself as small as possible whilst inching towards the edge of the square.
The man at the head of the group barked something and the men spread out, creating a line as wide as the square, stretching from one fountain to the other. There were easily thirty of them. As one, they came to a halt just in front of the column, only their coats moving as the wind billowed in the fabric behind them.
Not even the trees made a sound. Every one of the men looked straight ahead with unwavering concentration, watching and waiting. I glanced towards the top of the column, but the statue was bathed in light as usual, the only shadows being those cast by the men and the trees that I sheltered under. A few leaves drifted languidly to the ground, settling on the bench beside me.
Then it happened.
The square came alive in a frenzy of movement and out of nowhere something sprung from behind the trees, soaring high above my head and landing without so much as a stumble on the hard stone, about ten feet away. I blinked, not believing that my eyes had seen a person, but before I could take a second look, whatever it was had disappeared.
Taken as much by surprise as I was, the line of men staggered back a few paces in panic. Those at the very end of the line edged inwards, order only restored as the man I presumed to be the leader raised a hand. From his coat he pulled a silvery baton, one end sharpened to a lethal point. With a flick of his wrist, it became twice as long. He spun the baton a few times, as though admiring the way it glinted when it caught the light. His lips curled into a satisfied smile and he stilled, waiting once more.
The leader was quite young – twenty at the most. Tall and lean, his face was free of scars unlike those around him. His hair, cut short, was bleached so it was almost white, a stark contrast to his leathery coat and tanned skin. His smile widened as his eyes darted towards the figure that had landed so close to me. I drew in a sharp breath, expecting him to spot me, but his attention was whipped away as a man stepped out from around the fountains.
No, not a man, but a boy, not much older than I was. His eyes were sunken, skin ashen pale and almost translucent, pulled taut over hollow cheeks. He too was tall, but beneath his tight shirt I could see the rippling trace of muscles. His arms were just as pale but covered in red blotches, as though he had been badly sunburnt. His lips were stained a bright, bloody red, as was his hair, which was spiked and unkempt.
I blinked, and he was gone. I searched the square as others appeared, all with the same pale skin and haggard gaze. They circled the group in the middle, their faces twisted into a mixture of amusement and disgust. They appeared from nowhere, darting from one side to the other at inhuman speed, vanishing and emerging within a second. I rubbed my eyes, convinced that I was just too tired to focus. They couldn’t be moving that fast.
The boy with the flaming hair appeared again, leaning against the fountain as though standing at the bar. Near him stood a young man with sandy-blond hair who I thought I recognized as the one who had sprung from behind me.
In total there were five of them, casually herding the group of brown-coats into the centre like animals. The tanned men’s faces were contorted into a picture of fear and loathing as they broke their ranks, stumbling back a few steps with their stakes lowered. Only the leader remained unmoved, his smile becoming a smirk as he clasped his baton to his side and jerked his head upwards.
Suddenly, a man dropped from the column – all one hundred and sixty-nine feet of it. He plummeted faster and faster towards the ground, surely to his death. But I watched, amazed, as he landed nimbly on the stone, dropping to a crouch in front of the gang’s leader.
The square stilled and the leader, for the first time, stirred. ‘Kaspar Varn, such a pleasure to see you again,’ he said, his voice tinged with an accent I couldn’t place.
The man, Kaspar, straightened up, his face blank and unreadable. He was as tall as the leader but his bearing and well-built, muscled stature made the other man seem a lot smaller.
‘The pleasure’s all mine, Claude,’ he answered coolly, his gaze sweeping right to left. He gave a curt nod to the sandy-haired boy and I managed to steal a look at him.
He, like the others, had pallid, slightly sallow skin, devoid of any colour or blush. His dark, almost black hair was streaked with shades of brown and was windswept, his fringe falling across his forehead. If anything, his features were gaunter than any of the others; his face shadowy as though he had not slept for days.
Perhaps he doesn’t sleep, a voice in my head muttered. As the thought crossed my mind, he seemed to look past the sandy-haired boy, his brow creasing a fraction. I held my breath, realizing he was looking directly at me. But if he saw me, he chose to pay no attention as he turned back to the leader, his face clearing and becoming impassive again.
‘What do you want, Claude? I have no time to waste on you and the Pierre clan,’ the darker haired man said, addressing the other.
Claude’s smile widened, running a single finger down the sharp edge of his stake. ‘Yet you came.’
Kaspar waved his hand dismissively. ‘We were hunting anyway; it was no great distance.’
I shuddered. What is there to hunt in a city?
Claude chuckled darkly. ‘As are we.’
In a flash, he brought the stake up to the other man’s chest, thrusting forward. But it never found its mark: Kaspar reached up and brushed it away. It seemed to take no effort; he hardly blinked, but Claude lurched backwards as though a truck had hit him. The stake clattered to the ground, the metallic ring echoing in the silence.
Claude staggered, tripped, then clumsily regained his balance and straightened himself up. His narrow eyes darted towards the stake and then back to the man stood in front of him. His lips curled back into a smile.
‘Tell me, Kaspar, how is your mother?’
Out of nowhere, the pale man’s hand snatched forward, seizing Claude’s throat. Horrified, I watched as his eyes bulged and his feet left the floor, the colour draining from his face. He coughed and spluttered, his feet writhing in midair. His hands grappled with Kaspar’s wrists, but he soon began to give up as slowly, agonizingly slowly, he turned purple.
Without warning, the pale man let go. Claude crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, feverishly rubbing his neck. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the man collapsed on the ground didn’t. His whimpers became pleas and his face seemed to show some sort of recognition as he stared up at the maddened face of Kaspar. He shuffled back, squirming and grabbing the hem of a coat one of his men was wearing. The man did not move.
Kaspar’s chest was heaving and a deranged, sick expression was twisted onto his face. He lowered his hand, clenching it into a tight fist.
‘Do you have any last words, Claude Pierre?’ he growled, the menace in his voice barely restrained.
The leader drew in several long, shaky breaths. He wiped away the sweat and tears on his sleeve, bracing himself. ‘I hope you and your bloody Kingdom burn in hell.’
Kaspar’s lips widened into a smirk. ‘Wishful thinking.’
With that, he pounced forward, his head ducking behind Claude’s neck. There was a sickening crack.
I gagged. My hands instinctively clapped to my mouth as bile rose in my throat. With it, came fear. Tears leaked from my eyes, but I knew that if I made any noise I would be next.
Self-preservation kicked in as Claude’s lifeless body dropped to the stone. I was witness to a murder and I had watched enough of the six o’clock news to know what happened to witnesses who stuck around. I have to get out of here. I have to tell someone.
If you ever get out of here, said that same, niggling voice.
I hated to admit it, but it was right: all hell had broken loose.
The pale skins jumped onto the men, a huge, bloody fight breaking out, if you could call it a fight. The men barely had time to use their stakes to defend themselves against these killers: like lambs to the slaughter, their tanned bodies dropped to the floor, blood splattering everywhere.
My stomach clenched and I swallowed hard as I felt burning in my throat. Unable to look away, I watched as Kaspar yanked yet another of the men towards him. My mind told me he must have a weapon; my eyes saw none. Instead, he sank his mouth into the flesh above the man’s collar and tore. I caught a glimpse of twisted sinew before the man collapsed to the ground, shrieking. His killer followed him, dropping to one knee and wrapping his lips around the wound, cradling the man in his arms. Drops of blood pooled on the stone beneath them and into the cracks between the paving. My eyes followed it as it seeped outwards, forming a bloody grid, joining with the blood of another man, and another, until my eyes had risen to take in the full carnage they had created.
Every one of the tanned men was dead, or dying, their necks broken or bleeding; several had sunken to the bottom of the fountains, staining the water a grim red. One man near me lay on his back, his head so contorted his ear rested on his shoulder.
Six teenagers had just slaughtered thirty men.
I whimpered on the bench, drawn as far into the shadows as I could possibly get, praying to every deity alive that they wouldn’t see me.
‘Kaspar, are we going to clean this one up or just leave it?’ said the one who stood nearest the fountain, even his fiery red hair dull compared to the water he swirled his fingers through.
‘We’ll leave it as a little message for any other hunters who think they can cross us,’ he replied. ‘Scum,’ he added, spitting on the nearest limp body.
His voice had lost its cool and had been replaced with a deep, satisfied sneer, and anger began to override the fear as I watched him carelessly kick the arm of another dying man out of his way, causing him to let out one last meagre moan.
‘Jerk,’ I breathed.
He froze.
So did I. I held my breath, stomach knotted. He can’t possibly have heard me from across the square. That’s just not possible. But slowly, almost leisurely, he turned so that he faced me.
‘Well, what do we have here?’ He chuckled darkly, voice carrying, his lips curling into that same cruel smirk.
Instinct worked faster than my mind and before I knew it I had jumped up, sprinting my way across the square. Leaving my heels far behind, my feet thudded against the cold stone as I ran, literally, for my life. The nearest police station wasn’t too far, and I would bet on the fact I knew London better than them.
‘And where do you think you’re going, Girly?’
I inhaled sharply as I crashed into something hard and cold, so cold I sprung back from it instantly. Standing right in front of me was the dark-haired man. I recoiled, eyes darting from the spot he had been stood in before to where he stood now. That really isn’t possible. I backed away, my hands grabbing at the air behind me as though they expected some magical saviour to appear. He didn’t even flinch, as though a girl running into his chest was an everyday occurrence.
‘N-nothing. I was just going to … err …’ I stuttered, my eyes cycling between the bodies, the man and the road: my only possible escape route.
‘Going to report us?’ he questioned. He already knew the answer, but my eyes widened guiltily and he leaned in so close that I could see that his eyes were a vivid shade of emerald. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘I’m afraid you can’t do that.’
Close up, I could not help but notice how staggeringly handsome he was. Something deep in the pit of my stomach stirred. I recoiled again, repulsed.
‘Like hell, I can’t!’ I yelled, ducking around him and making another frantic getaway. Running, I glanced behind me. To my astonishment, none of them pursued me. Spurred on I kept going, the tiniest spark of hope striking into life in my heart. I was just metres away from the road when I stole another look over my shoulder.
This time he seemed to give an exasperated sigh and I didn’t allow myself to watch any longer, not wanting to slow down. My feet were just about to step out onto the road when I was yanked back, a hand clutching at the collar of my coat. I teetered, fighting for balance whilst also fighting the hand that restrained me. I wrestled, kicking and screaming, but it was no use – he held me with ease.
Turning around with my eyes ablaze and sounding a lot braver than I felt, I screeched out a threat: ‘You have ten seconds to get off me, freak, before I kick you so hard in the bollocks that you’ll wish you were never born!’
He chuckled again. ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?’
As he laughed, I caught sight of his upper canines, both perfectly white. Perfectly white, and tapered to an unnatural point.
Hunting. Hunters.
Something in my brain registered that this was not normal. Not even close to normal, but just as quickly, rational thought dismissed the conclusion my mind was rapidly forming.
Struggling again, I tried to get close enough to kick him, but his grip tightened on my collar, holding me firmly away.
‘You saw all of that.’ His words were chillingly cold. It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway.
‘What do you think?’ I retorted, pouring as much sarcasm into my voice as I could muster.
‘I think you’re going to have to come with us,’ he growled, taking my elbow and beginning to drag me away. I opened my mouth, but he was quicker. He clamped a hand down on my lips. ‘Scream and I swear I will kill you.’
And, thrashing and biting, I was dragged away; dragged away from the gruesome bloodbath these pale monsters had created.
TWO
Violet
We flew through the streets, speeding to a sprint as we left the square. Kaspar had a firm grip on my wrist, tugging me along in his wake. His fingernails cut deep into my arm and I felt them tearing open my skin, gouging out considerable amounts of flesh. I winced – it was like falling over and scraping my arm in slow motion – but did not say anything: I would not give him the satisfaction. We weaved from alley to alley, Kaspar at the front, leading us down roads I never knew existed. Already, I could hear the whining sirens of police cars and the side streets were awash with flashing blue lights.
‘Bloody police,’ Kaspar snarled. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered. He thrust me forward, straight into the chest of one of the other men. ‘Fabian, look after Girly here.’
For the second time that night I hit something rigid. He too was cold and I sprung back like I had been stung, toppling over into the gutter beside the pavement. But I never reached the ground. I looked down at my arm, caught in midair by a hand almost as pale as my own.
‘Don’t fall,’ a soft voice said. I followed the arm up, dazed, to find the smiling face of the boy who had jumped over me in Trafalgar Square, sky-blue eyes twinkling down at me with some sort of amusement. For a brief, ludicrous moment I admired his fair, untidy hair and muscled chest, just visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, before my mind caught up and I pulled my hand away, horrified at my thoughts. Unperturbed, however, he carried on.
‘I’m Fabian,’ he said, holding the same hand back out.
I shrunk away, rubbing my hands and wrists on my coat where his blood-tainted hands had touched me. He frowned, eyeing me as I backed away, his hand left hanging in the air.
‘We won’t hurt you, you know.’
Four other pairs of eyes watched, tensed and waiting for me to run. But I had given up hope of that. Instead, I was relying on the fact that this Kaspar would be gone long enough for a passing police car to spot us.
‘That back there’ – he gestured along the street – ‘was necessary. I know it doesn’t look that way but you have to believe me when I say it needed to be done.’
I stopped. ‘Necessary? It’s not necessary, it’s wrong. Don’t patronize me, I’m not a child.’
The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think about anything beyond wanting to buy myself time. My hands tightened around my wrists and I stopped rubbing. They seemed shocked that I had found my voice and Fabian’s eyes darted behind me every now and then.
‘Then how old are you, one who knows so much about morality?’ He cocked his head to one side and I closed my mouth, hesitant about whether to tell them but glad they had ignored the rest of my outburst. ‘Well?’
I bit on my lip. ‘Seventeen,’ I murmured.
‘I didn’t know seventeen-year old girls wore such short dresses these days.’
Jumping at the sound of a conceited voice behind me, I spun around, my dark hair whipping behind me, heavy fringe settling over my eyes. Kaspar was leaning against a lamppost with his fingers in his pockets and his thumbs sticking out, a grotesque smirk tugging at his lips again. His eyes raked my form and I wrapped the coat tightly around myself to try to cover the flimsy dress.
His smirk widened. ‘Blushing really clashes with those purple eyes of yours, Girly.’
I flinched at his reference to my eyes – an odd shade of blue and the reason behind my name. I should have been used to the mockery. Between having freak eyes, a matching name and being a devout vegetarian, I had my work cut out dodging jokes. I opened and closed my mouth several times. But as my eyes naturally averted, his smirk vanished.
‘Go!’
The others had already disappeared, swallowed by the darkness of an alley, whilst I was thrown violently sideways, landing behind a line of bins. I looked around, dazed. The only light came from a seedy bar further down the alleyway, tucked between a fire escape and an overflowing skip. Heaving for breath, winded, I began to clamber to my feet, but a hand clamped down on my mouth, the other yanking me fully up as I was half-dragged, half-carried along the alleyway, feet coated in grime from the paving.
Just as we rounded the corner at the end of the alley, blue lights illuminated the brick walls. A drunkard, slumped against the skip, shirked away, moaning loudly and muttering curses even I reddened at. But his groans could not drown out the growing sound of sirens, rising to a crescendo just a few streets away.
‘You have to run faster,’ Kaspar told me. The panic was absent from his voice but it was written in every other feature of his face. Every face was the same. I recoiled.
‘Are you fucking crazy? Why should I run faster for you? You murderer!’ The words were pouring from my mouth, unchecked – the adrenalin was back and it was banishing the fear.
His eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment I thought they lost their emerald gleam. ‘We’re not murderers.’ Though he did not raise his voice nor change his tone it still sent shivers running up my spine, making my hairs stand on end.
‘Then what are you and why did you kill those men?’
The question hung in the air; nobody offered a reply. Instead, I was pushed onwards, tugged from alley to alley, changing direction as the police cordoned off more and more of the city, working just a road behind us as we fled the centre.
London was coming alive. Every window reflected cyan blue as the protective ring sprawled outwards.
‘Come on!’ Kaspar hissed, tugging on my sleeve.
‘I can’t!’ I screeched. And I really couldn’t. A side stitch clutched at my ribs and my breaths were coming in short, sharp rasps.
‘Tough,’ he said coolly.
‘I can’t b-breathe,’ I gasped, trying to do exactly that. A few tears leaked from my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. ‘I’m going to pass out and die or something!’
‘Oh, and what a loss that would be,’ he muttered dryly, rolling his eyes.
‘I didn’t volunteer for this!’ I winced, dropping to my knees, wondering why he had gone to the effort of keeping me alive if my death didn’t bother him.
‘No, you didn’t. But you’re a part of it now and how I see it, Girly …’ He yanked me up by my collar. ‘You don’t have any choice. Now go.’
I did not move, still rubbing my chest. ‘My name is not “Girly”! It’s Violet!’
Like a shot he was just inches away from me, forcing me against the wall as his hand wrapped around my neck. A single finger was pressed against my vein, stroking it.
‘And I’m the fucking Prince!’ he snarled, grip tightening. My eyes widened and I struggled under him but his grip just tightened further. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his face, so close to mine and reeking of blood. A single image flooded my mind behind my closed eyes: the lifeless body of Claude Pierre, crumpled and bleeding on the stone flag.
‘I could snap that pretty neck of yours in two with less effort than it would take for you to squeal,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘So I suggest that you do what we say, because you can’t outrun us and the police won’t stop us.’
I didn’t know what the hell he meant by ‘Prince’ but I believed the rest of it. The sincerity in his voice was equal to the malice. I bowed my head, beaten.
‘Better,’ he murmured. He grabbed my hand and tugged. As I whirled around to follow him, I saw a man sprinting into the end of the street. His dull beige suit looked odd when compared to the narrow streets and sordid bars of the back alleys. His feet slowed and he came to a stop, staring straight at us, his hand shooting up to his head, almost as if in defeat. I inhaled sharply. I knew him. He worked with my father. Or rather he worked for my father.
He took a few hesitant steps forward, his eyes resting on me. For a brief moment, I met his gaze, but he averted his eyes and backed away. With a raised hand, he gestured behind him as policemen and -women rounded the corner. Their steps slowed and they came to a halt, watching us with fear burning in their eyes as Kaspar turned, allowing his gaze to roam across the officers, almost daring them. He exhaled and squared his shoulders, pulling me close to his chest. I tried to fight him and yell out for help, but he twisted my arm behind my back, leaving me yelping as though daggers were being thrust into my side where the stitch was. Entwining his arm around my waist, he backed away a few paces, dragging me with him.
He bent down to my ear and snarled. ‘Too slow.’ Without another word, he swept me up in his arms and flung me over his shoulder. I started to protest, pummelling his back, but he didn’t seem to notice as everything became a blur. The buildings were flashing by and when I looked up, the crowd had gone. In fact, we were not even in the same street. My heart sunk. He had been right. They had not chased us. Why had they not tried to stop us?
In minutes, we had left the chaos behind. I did not want to know how fast we were moving – all I knew was that it was fast enough to make my head spin. I closed my eyes to keep my head and breathing in check, but just a few seconds later my feet made contact with the ground and I landed in a heap at Kaspar’s shoes beside two very expensive-looking cars.
I blinked, convinced I was seeing double. They were identical, from the perfectly polished black of the body to the heavily tinted windows. Even the number plates were similar, except for one letter.
Who the hell are these people? Handsome and brilliantly rich; their fatal flaw was murder. I swallowed as those thoughts faded. I knew enough of London to know the hallmarks of organized crime. Yet the police didn’t stop us.
The sound of distant sirens broke the quiet of the side-street and somebody behind me picked me up, bundling me into the backseat of the nearest car. He slammed the door and walked around, getting in the other side. I recognized him as the one who shared the same eye colour as Kaspar – emerald. Kaspar and Fabian got in the front of the same car, with Kaspar driving.
‘Put your seatbelt on,’ ordered the guy sitting next to me. I ignored him, sitting as rigid as a plank, with my arms folded across my chest. He gave an exasperated sigh and reached across, grabbing my belt.
‘Freak,’ I muttered. The boy chuckled.
‘The name is Cain, not ‘freak’. I’m his younger brother,’ he revealed, nodding in the direction of Kaspar, which explained the uncanny likeness. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Violet. Violet Lee,’ I muttered and with that went silent. Gazing out the window I could see yet more police cars pass by. My stomach flipped as I saw a policeman glance over at us. His eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, before he turned away, as if he hadn’t seen me at all.
We were leaving the city behind now, already out of the congestion zone. As we started hitting the open roads, I felt the car speed up and I glanced at the speed dial. It was hitting one hundred. I felt a familiar thrill in my stomach, but for once, it wasn’t welcome. My head was pounding and throbs of pain were still shooting down my side. I pressed my hands to my ribs and it eased a little, but not much.
I curled up on the seat, drawing my knees up to my chest, leaning my head against the cool window. My eyes were drooping and my body was begging for the release of sleep, but I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I allowed myself to drop off. Holding back the tears, I mechanically began analyzing my situation with as much detachment as I could muster.
I had just witnessed the mass murder of thirty men in the centre of London. I had been kidnapped by six fast and strong guys who did not seem to want to kill me – yet. I did not know where the hell I was going, who the hell these people were, and what the hell was going to happen or how long it would take for someone to notice I was missing.
I began to contemplate jumping from the door, but just as a plan had started to form there was a click and the central locking turned on. A dry sob escaped my lips.
Joining the deserted M25, we left the city I loved behind. The scenery gradually changed from city to suburban and eventually to sprawling fields, dotted with the occasional town or village. The signs we passed read Kent and I began to wonder whether they might be heading to the port at Dover to get to France. A glimmer of hope began to ignite in my heart. There was no way they would get through the port. But that hope dwindled as we veered not south, but north, towards Rochester.
Another sob escaped and I saw Kaspar glaring into the rear-view mirror. His brother, Cain, placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a kid.
He smiled. In my mind, I heard a man shrieking.
I shrugged him off and turned into the seat, my hair forming a curtain, shielding me from view. I let my forehead rest against the window. Tears began to fall, unchecked, streaming down the glass and tracing patterns in my breath on the window. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I delved into my mind.
I knew what I had left behind. The question was: What was I going to find ahead?
THREE
Violet
An hour stuck in a car with three deranged killers was not my idea of fun. I couldn’t sleep, for fear of what might happen. I couldn’t talk because Mr Charming-went-out-the-window constantly reminded me that I was at his mercy and should therefore keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t even look out the window, because it was too dark, so instead I had to listen to an animated conversation about someone called Amber von Hefner’s tits. Lovely.
The sun was beginning to rise, and I glanced at my watch: an early birthday present from my father. My father. What would he and my mother do when they found out what had happened to me? What about Lily, my little sister? She was just thirteen; she should not have to deal with this.
But more crucial thoughts ran through my head: What would these strange killers do? Hold me to ransom? ‘Silence’ me? It didn’t even bear thinking about.
Looking back at my watch I realized it was half-past four in the morning and approaching sunrise, the first glimmers of light appearing. The fields were falling away, giving way to thick, dense forest. The road was becoming more winding, and fewer and fewer cars were passing by, as all the time we climbed up and up.
The road swept sharply around to the left as we passed through a large gatehouse. Huge, intricate iron-wrought gates were swung open, the Gothic arched windows guarded by gargoyles.
As we passed, I could have sworn I saw several faces peering from the windows, but before I could take a second glance we were again enclosed by the forest. The road continued to weave as the trees began thinning out, sunshine sporadically breaking through the needles of the many pines. A little further on, they gave way to leafy blooms and as the trees fell away, I gasped, hardly able to hold in my astonishment.
Before us, surrounded by a vast expanse of lawn, was a magnificent mansion, so large the forest seemed to quail at its presence. It was a strange mix of architecture: tall Gothic spires jutted up from the pale stone, hundreds upon hundreds of arched windows lining the three floors, whilst an elegant balcony protruded from the centre, resting on four pillars above the entrance. In the distance I could see rows of garages and stables; early morning light danced off lily pads floating on a lake at the foot of the grounds. The whole area was enclosed by trees of every shape and size before they gave way to the pines that made up the forest. Sheltering the mansion behind was a steep hill, also coated in forest.
We swept around the sandy drive, rounding a fountain and stopping outside the impressive entrance.
‘So where’s the drawbridge?’ I breathed to myself. But instead of a drawbridge, wide steps led up to a set of marble double doors, which in turn were covered by the stone balcony.
My door was flung open and somebody grabbed me by the shoulders, yanking me off the seat.
‘Get off me!’ I snapped. He kept pulling, but I wriggled free and got out myself, despite the gravel that made my toes curl as I crossed it. He shrugged, walking off. Kaspar flicked the car keys at a boy, about my age. My eyes followed him, dressed in a black suit lined with emerald, as he jumped into one of the cars and started it, heading towards the garages.
I tore my eyes away as Kaspar grabbed my wrist and darted up the steps, the other five following behind. The double doors swung inward and my jaw dropped as we entered. A grand staircase circled the wall, made entirely of white marble. It led up to a large balcony and a passage, lit up by torch-like lamps fixed high up on the wall. Directly in front of me were a set of double doors, identical to the ones we had just passed through, but we were headed for a smaller door to my left. We passed a butler, who bowed.
‘Your Highnesses. Lords. Sir … and Madam,’ he added, clearly surprised at my appearance. I eyed him, unsure if what I had heard him just say was correct. He composed himself. ‘A guest, Your Highness?’
Kaspar chuckled darkly. ‘No, just fun.’
‘Very good, Your Highness.’
Your Highness? Kaspar had mentioned before about being a Prince. But Britain had royalty already, unless he was some distant relative of the Queen. But I would know about that if he was. Everyone would know about a royal like him.
Kaspar made a vague sound of acknowledgement, before chuckling again. Suddenly, his attention left me and with one hard push, I found myself stumbling through the smaller door into a lavishly decorated living room. The walls were wood-panelled and the carpet a worn deep red; the same torches used in the entrance clung to brackets on the wall between huge oil portraits framed with silver. But the room held all the same modern trappings as any other: a plasma television was mounted on the wall and below it was an array of games consoles; remotes were scattered across a glass coffee table, which the boy with the dark hair and glasses slung his jacket over as he flopped down onto one of the leather sofas.
Kaspar walked over to the windows, where heavy drapes framed the glass, stretching from the high ceiling down to the window seats tucked behind the shutters. He yanked the material across and shut off the light, save for one thin strip that divided the room in two.
‘Do you want me to take your coat?’ a voice said from behind me and I drew in a sharp breath, startled. Glancing behind me, I saw it was Fabian. I shook my head. ‘Sure?’ he added, smiling, and I couldn’t help but notice that with barely any light in the room, his eyes seemed to be just two pinpricks of brilliant blue framed by shadows, gaunt and hollow. I shirked away but took it off and handed it to him. A small, sympathetic smile crossed his lips and he gestured towards the sofas. I edged towards them, but decided to go no further. Instead, I continued to absorb the room and its occupants. There were six of them in total – Kaspar and his younger brother Cain, the blue-eyed boy Fabian and three others: the one with the flaming hair, another with what looked like fake glasses and the tall blond-haired guy who had pulled me from the car.
All of a sudden, Kaspar sprung forward and reached down into one of the pockets of my coat that Fabian was now holding. He pulled away and I realized that he held my phone.
‘I’ll keep that,’ he said, smirking. He pressed unlock and began searching through.
‘Don’t!’ I said, making a lunge for his hand. He side-stepped me, letting me stumble a few paces forward.
‘Why, do you have something to hide?’ he sneered. His fingers darted over the keyboard. ‘Dirty messages from your boyfriend, perhaps?’
‘No!’ I dived at him, making a second attempt at grabbing it back. But he held it out of my reach. ‘Give it back!’ I yelled, jumping, trying to snatch it from his hand. He smirked, holding it higher.
‘Who’s Joel then?’
I went to grab his wrist but he snatched mine instead and twisted sharply, leaving me screeching. He let go, but I backed away, rubbing my wrists. With a chuckle he began reading, his voice becoming high-pitched and mocking.
‘Hey, I was just wondering if we could meet up sometime? Just you and me. We need to talk about what I did. I miss you, babe. Text back, Joel.’ He stopped and pouted. ‘And aww, look, he even put a kiss at the end.’ He was clearly enjoying himself. I scowled at him.
‘Touched a nerve, did I?’
‘Fuck off,’ I muttered under my breath, not intending for him to hear.
‘Happily, Girly, happily.’
‘Kaspar,’ Fabian hissed. He was glaring at Kaspar, his eyebrows lowered and eyes shooting daggers at the other man. They said nothing for a full minute until Kaspar tossed the phone at Fabian, who caught it, slipping it into his pocket. With a shrug, Kaspar leaned against the sofa and drummed his fingers, staring down at me with an amused expression.
‘You saw too much and that is a problem for us. So you have a choice, Girly. You can become one of us or we can keep you here, indefinitely.’
I didn’t stop to think: my mind was made up before he had even finished his sentence. ‘I’m not a murderer and never will be.’
Kaspar shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then you will stay here until you agree to change. And don’t get your hopes up of rescue. Nobody human can enter here without us knowing.’
I frowned. ‘Human?’
‘Yes. Human.’ He turned to the others, smirking. ‘So much better when they have no idea, don’t you think?’ There was a general murmur of agreement in all but Fabian.
‘No idea about what?’ I asked, cautious, glancing from one face to another.
‘How old do you think I am?’ Kaspar asked.
It seemed irrelevant but I answered, not wanting to shorten his temper. ‘About nineteen?’
They turned to each other, chuckling. But this time they seemed to decide on something.
‘Wrong. I’m one hundred and ninety-seven.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Nobody lives that long—’
‘My kind lives that long, and longer,’ Kaspar interjected. ‘Vampires, Girly.’
I shook my head as a chill passed down my spine. They were mad. I took a couple of steps back and laughed nervously, partly at the ludicrousness of what he had just said and partly because I was wondering what sort of mind game they were playing, and what response would keep me alive the longest. ‘Is this some sick joke?’
Kaspar’s smirk vanished. ‘Am I laughing?’ he answered, parting his mouth and allowing his lips to roll back over his gums. Resting on the plumpness of his bottom lip were two sharpened teeth, inconspicuous enough to pass in the dark, but now, in the light, it was clear as day that they were fangs.
‘They’re fake,’ I said, staring at them. I sounded more defiant than I felt.
‘Want to test?’ Kaspar replied.
‘Vampires don’t exist,’ I breathed, still shaking my head. ‘You’re just madmen.’
Before I could say another word, I was pressed up against the wall and Kaspar’s lips were brushing against my neck. His chest heaved and I felt his strength, his power, his hunger. His breath did not warm my skin as the breath of any other person would, but chilled it, sending a trail of goose bumps across my shoulders and down my arms. I could feel my heart pounding out an uneven rhythm so frantically that the veins in my wrists pushed against my skin, becoming raised and mottled. Closing my eyes, I felt a gentle pressure as his razor-sharp teeth traced the line of the throbbing vein in my throat before one of his fangs snagged my skin and forced its way down; down between the layers of my skin, peeling one from another. A cry escaped my lips and my eyes flew open, my hands balling into fists, my fingers kneading my palm as I gritted my teeth. I was totally helpless. He was built to kill and I really wasn’t.
He drew back, his body still pressed against mine, stopping my escape. He looked me straight in the eyes, and my breath caught. They were no longer emerald, but red.
‘Listen carefully, Girly. I am not just any vampire. I am vampire royalty and you will do what I want. So be careful what you say, because you never know when I might be hungry.’ He pulled away, and backed off. ‘Join us or remain here. Your choice.’
I didn’t hang around for him to say anything else. Scrabbling behind me, my hand searched for the door handle. I found it and pulled the door open, falling out of the room. I slammed it shut behind me, and leaned against the marble wall of the entrance hall. I doubled over as my breaths become shorter, hands on my knees, mind overloading. Something warm trickled down my neck and I ran a finger down my skin. Drawing it back, I stared at my now red, moistened finger in horror.
They were not murderers; they were predators.
Something clicked in my mind and adrenalin gushed into my veins and trickled down my neck. I sprinted towards the doors, thanking the heavens the butler had gone.
I had to run, and I had to run now.
Brambles snatched at my skin and my bare feet throbbed in protest as thorns and rotting needles dug into my soles. But I pressed on. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they realized I had fled and if they really were what they said they were – vampires – then they would know I had sought cover in the forest.
Twenty-four hours ago and I would have laughed at that thought. Vampires were works of fiction meant to frighten children. Vampires were mythical creatures girls drooled over. They weren’t meant to be real.
Around me, the pines were becoming taller and the gaps between them smaller. The light that did filter down was patchy and tinged with an early morning mist, meaning that as I slowed and looked back, I couldn’t see much beyond a few trees, let alone the path I thought I had been following.
How could people not know about their existence? How could six vampires waltz into the middle of London and feed on thirty men?
My throat burned and the dampness wrapping around my toes was almost welcomed. Blood trickled down my scratched legs and sweat mixed with grease to slick my fringe back, the tips sticking together. My dress had ridden up and one of the straps across my shoulder had frayed and was threatening to break.
Vampires. It’s ridiculous. Yet …
I reached up and touched the spot where Kaspar had bitten me. It no longer bled and only a few flakes of dried blood remained, which I flicked away. But below that was smooth skin. I pressed my whole hand to my throat, feeling around for a wound. I frowned. There was nothing, other than a small indent in my skin where the bite should be.
A twig snapped. I whipped around; searching for the source of the sound, yet everything was still. My breaths became deep and short, my chest rising and falling in time with each one. A breeze trailed across my skin and I toyed with my hair, staring into the gloom.
Run, the voice in my mind whispered. Or perhaps it was just the wind weaving between the trees. Run, it repeated. But I stayed put, still peering between the trunks.
The silence was broken as the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth reached my ears. Dark outlines appeared in the mist and the voice in my mind erupted with cries to run!
I didn’t need telling twice this time.
Fleeing, I glanced behind every few seconds, convinced that hands were grappling at my flesh, though they were not gaining. Yet I could hear them. Leaves rustled and branches groaned; the mist swirled as though something was moving – and moving fast – through it.
My feet carried me deeper into the forest, but I knew I could not keep this up for long. I was gulping down air but my lungs were empty and another side-stitch clung to my ribs. They would catch me and something told me they would not be so merciful this time.
All of a sudden, I broke free from the trees into a large clearing. I flung out my arms, teetering forward on my toes as I came to an abrupt stop. The earth crumbled beneath my feet and I shuffled back, raising my gaze and taking in my surroundings. I was standing on the banks of a small lake, its dark depths shimmering in the morning sun, a low mist clinging to the opposite bank.
An eerie silence descended. There was no crashing, no sound of footsteps, nothing. I took a lengthy look behind, searching the forest for any sign of the killers I was sure were following me.
The quiet was even more unsettling than the noise and I began to edge around, speeding up to a bolt as my hairs stood on end. As I started moving again, the crashing returned, definitely footsteps this time and they were following me around. As I sped up, so did they, and reaching the opposite bank, I realized they were circling on the other side too. I had nowhere to run.
I backed up as far as I dared, waiting, like prey herded into a trap.
Without warning, six figures leapt from amongst the trees, and in fright I scrabbled backwards, forgetting that I stood on the very edge of the bank, and with a shriek, I was sent floundering down into the water.
Before I even hit the surface I felt its chill and saw my skin turn an icy blue. As the water erupted around me, it poured into my still shrieking mouth. I coughed and spluttered, gulping down even more. My legs flailed and searched for the bottom, more resembling an octopus than a human being. Nevertheless, I broke the surface long enough to snatch a breath. But it wasn’t long enough to scream as something that felt like seaweed wrapped around my ankle. With one yank, it pulled me back below the surface. Looking down, I realized it was a tentacle wrapped around my leg, and that I was face-to-face with what looked like a giant squid.
I groaned in my mind. Why can’t my life be normal?
Panicking, I started attacking the tentacle, trying to pry it from my skin but the squid didn’t seem to notice and just pulled me deeper. My lungs began to burn and scream for air and I realized there was nothing I could do but give up.
My mind became fuzzy as something white flashed in the corner of my eye. A white light. How very original. I vaguely recognized that it was moving and that its blurred outline resembled a body before my eyelids fluttered and then shut.
Kidnapped by a vampire, death by squid. How tragic.
FOUR
Kaspar
‘Violet! Wake the hell up!’ Fabian said, bending over her limp body and slapping her cheek. He raised his hand to hit her again when her eyes flew open, water spewing from her mouth. I caught sight of the fleshy roof of her mouth and her teeth, fangless. Fabian sprung back, yanking his hand away. But I stepped forward, finishing the job for him. My hand came into contact with her skin with a satisfying crack and her cheek became a bloody red.
Fabian turned to me, his eyes becoming black. Kaspar, he growled in my mind.
I shrugged, pushing my dripping fringe from my forehead. ‘Just making sure,’ I replied, aloud. Her dress had become sheer and my eyes roamed over her body, wondering what I had done to have such a good specimen cross my path. Fabian pulled his jacket off and slung it around her shoulders as she sat up, his consciousness lingering around the edge of mine.
But she didn’t miss my gaze either. ‘Oh, Kaspar, my hero,’ she said between gasps of air, her voice thick with sarcasm.
‘And yes, you are the damsel in distress,’ I answered, equally sarcastic, pulling my soaking T-shirt up and over my head.
‘That’s all the thanks you’re getting, so I suggest you take it,’ she muttered, clearly thinking I wouldn’t notice her stealing a glance at my chest. I ignored her, shouting to Cain and the others to start heading back. Two of us should be able to handle a half-drowned human girl, even if she was a little feisty.
Fabian offered her a hand and she got to her feet, only to drop again, her eyes – such an unusual colour for a human – becoming unfocused. Fabian caught her and I stepped forward, sighing, resigned to the fact I would have to carry her. Her eyes slid back into focus and back out again as she squirmed and buried herself deeper in Fabian’s arms.
‘You take her,’ I said to him, figuring she would be less likely to kick up a fuss. He whispered a few words in her ear and picked her up. Sure enough, she was good as gold. I raised an eyebrow at him and he winked, his hand wrapping around the back of her bare knee. I turned away, stepping into the shadow of the trees.
Behind, I heard her question him about the squid. His reply was vague as he glossed over the details of where it had come from and who had given it to us.
Around us, the mist was lifting and the main grounds came back into view. I extended my mind, curious, and touched upon hers. Right away I was hit with a barrage of emotions, the first being fear and the second anger. Images of the water and her phobia of swimming blurred with those of Trafalgar Square, which floated again and again to the forefront of her mind like a stuck record player. Snapshots of her friends and family passed through too and one of an ageing man in his fifties caught my attention. I focused on it and then recoiled from her mind like I had been slapped.
I stopped and whipped around. ‘Girly, what is your surname?’
‘Lee,’ she said. ‘I already told—’
‘Who is your father?’ I demanded.
‘He’s a very powerful man,’ she retorted.
‘Quit with the damsel stuff, it really doesn’t suit you,’ I growled. ‘And besides, I would bet my inheritance that my daddy could beat the crap out of your daddy. But what is his name? What does he do?’
She raised her chin, triumphant. ‘Michael Lee and he is the Secretary of State for Defence.’
I exchanged a glance with Fabian who looked as though he might drop her.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘You’ve done it this time, Kaspar,’ Fabian groaned in my direction, his eyes changing to become colourless, matching my own and betraying his worry. The girl stared openly; as soon as I met her gaze she looked away and I was glad that despite her sharp tongue, I retained power over her. ‘The King won’t like this,’ he added.
No, of course he won’t. Neither will the council. I said nothing and surged back towards the mansion, Fabian following at a slight distance as he fussed over her, adjusting her body in his arms so he wouldn’t hurt her.
The run allowed time for panic to set in. I was already on thin ground with the council, where a no-confidence vote against my position as heir was only ever a misdemeanour away. Bringing the daughter of a man so high up in government into our world, therefore breaching multiple treaties, was definitely in the sin category.
Why didn’t I just kill her?
When Fabian caught up I immediately grabbed her wrist and dragged her up the steps. She winced and trod lightly, and I briefly took in her battered feet. With a resigned sigh, I tugged harder.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, digging her heels in despite the obvious discomfort.
‘Getting out of this mess,’ I responded, relieved to see my sister, Lyla, waiting at the bottom of the staircase inside.
‘Do you think you could get out of this without slicing my wrist up?’
My stride was shorter than usual as I faltered slightly, struck by a sudden admiration at the ease with which she accepted our existence, mixed with irritation at her boldness. This girl just does not give up.
Lyla – more irritating than any sopping wet human girl could ever be – worked her features into a scowl, which was particularly effective on her usually doll-like face. She took Violet’s wrist without a word to her, instead focusing on me.
‘You really screwed up this time, little brother,’ she growled. Violet stared up at the other woman – who was almost a head taller and considerably slimmer – with utter awe. Lyla ignored it. She knew the effect she had on both sexes. Have fun with your fucking human war, she finished in my mind, sweeping upstairs with Michael Lee’s daughter in tow.
I wasn’t concerned about any war. I was highly unlikely to survive to see it, with the King’s wrath progressing across the entrance hall.
Fabian dropped to his knees in a very low bow, screwing his eyes shut and crossing his fingers at his sides. ‘Your Majesty.’
I straightened and clasped my hands behind my back, looking at anything but the hollow grey eyes piercing me. Pleading ignorance of her namesake wasn’t going to work, and so I accepted the brewing storm with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘Good morning, father. I brought breakfast.’
FIVE
Violet
‘Here,’ said the girl who introduced herself as Lyla. She smiled as we stopped by an open door about halfway down the corridor. She stepped through. I hesitated but, after a moment, followed her.
The room was huge. The wooden floor gleamed, although a large black rug covered most of it; on that rug a mahogany four-poster bed stood, deep indigo drapes falling to the floor. Black and purple voiles hung around French doors, boxed in by iron railings on the outside. Beside them were several arched windows with ledges just large enough to sit on.
I soaked it all in as Lyla began bustling about, pointing out different things, although I was only half-listening. ‘That’s the wardrobe – walk-in – over there. We’ll get you some stuff, but until then, you can have some of my clothes. I mean, you can’t be that much bigger than me. The bathroom is just across the hall.’ She frowned. ‘We thought you probably shouldn’t have an en-suite, but there’s a washbasin if you need it in the wardrobe,’ she added, brightening. She smiled again, but it faded as she turned back to me. ‘Don’t say much, do you?’
I stared at her. If she thinks I’m going to start having a friendly chat, she has another thing coming. Especially as I was beginning to feel quite sick: I wasn’t sure I had coughed up all of the water I had swallowed in the lake.
She shifted. ‘Well, you should get out of that dress, so I’ll leave you.’ She began to back away and then stopped. ‘I’ll get the servants to bring some food up to you too. You’re a veggie, right?’ she asked. My eyes widened even more. How can she know that?
I didn’t reply and after a while of just standing there, she headed towards the door. But just before she left, I spoke.
‘You don’t seem like a murderer,’ I blurted.
She laughed, like an adult who laughs at a child asking a stupid question. ‘That’s because I’m not.’ With that, she closed the door and left.
As soon as she had gone I dashed towards the wardrobe, diving in and finding the basin in a small room within the wardrobe, which was as large as my bedroom at home. I leaned over it, gagging a few times and wishing I could just throw up so the horrible lurching in my stomach would go away. Eventually, I did.
Splashing my face with water, I sipped a few drops from my cupped hand, holding them beneath the cold tap. My eyes never left the mirror but all I could see was Claude Pierre falling to the paving, dead, over and over again.
You shouldn’t dwell on that, the voice in my head said. Focus on your own survival.
It had a point and I wrenched my gaze away from the mirror, walking back into the wardrobe. A full change of clothing had been laid out for me and I flung it on, glad to take off the soaking and torn dress. The jeans were a little tight around the hips, digging into my skin and it took some effort to pull the T-shirt down over my breasts. But they were dry, so they would do.
When I went back out, a tray had been left on the bedside cabinet. On it was a plate of sandwiches cut into minute triangles, a rectangle of paper and a glass of water, which I drained in one swig. Picking up the paper, I left the sandwiches untouched. I unfolded it, revealing a note written in a sprawling and almost illegible script.
Violet,
You are free to roam the house whenever you please, but do not go into the grounds. If you come across my father, curtsey and address him as ‘Your Majesty’. I will do what I can if you need anything – just ask the servants to call me.
H.R.H Lyla
P.S. Murderers kill for pleasure. Vampires kill to survive.
I read it through twice more before crushing it into a ball and throwing it into the corner of the room. ‘Screw you,’ I muttered, walking over to the French doors. I tried the handle, fiddling about for a minute. It was locked. I guess they’re not taking any chances. Not that I would come out too healthy dropping from the first floor anyway.
I leaned my head against the cool window, smashing my palms against the glass, frustrated, feeling the huge barricades I had thrown up around myself beginning to crumble. I knew I could not be strong much longer and my eyes stung as tears started to prick them.
The hope I had maintained dissolved, replaced with an increasing sense of frustration as I realized I had no control of the situation.
I walked back and pulled the huge silken blanket from the bed, wrapping it around my shoulders as I curled up on the ledge of one of the windows, listening to the gentle tapping on the window as rain started to fall. It lulled me in my exhausted state. After a while, the drizzle became great sheets that battered the grounds, which in the sunlight had looked lavish, but just looked bleak and hostile now; or maybe that was because I now knew what stalked those grounds.
How cliché, I thought as the first claps of thunder sounded, shaking the window. A storm. I closed my eyes, holding the tears in as somewhere deep within the mansion a clock struck nine times.
I will not cry over a bunch of messed-up murderers. Never.
SIX
Violet
The rain still pummelled the glass when I woke up. It was dark outside and the blanket that I had pulled from the bed had slipped off my shoulders, piling in a heap on the floor. A few drops of water slid down my cheek as I prised it away from the window-pane, which I had steamed up with my breath. I slipped off the ledge and reached down to pick the blanket up. As my fingers closed around the silken sheet, there was a sharp jab in the underside of my wrist, like someone had thrust a needle into my arm. I dropped the blanket, hissing, and squeezed my wrist between my thumb and forefinger until the pain began to ease. My fingers twitched, leaving behind a dull ache, as though I had just had an injection. Clutching one arm to my chest, I inched over to the bed, patting the bedside table until I found the switch on the lamp. Flicking it on, I placed my wrist under the light.
Large welts coated my arms where Kaspar’s nails had dug in and a network of cuts and grazes extended all the way down both. My hand wandered to my neck. Vampires. It was surreal to think I was sat in a house full of them; it was all completely crazy.
Yet you can’t deny it, the voice said and I shook my head, trying to mask it with other thoughts.
A few drops of rain plummeted from the top of the window outside. I blinked. Drip, drip, drip. Behind my closed eyelids, I could see a stained body lying on the pavement.
No, I can’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it. If I do, that would mean a human had done that to another human. Vampires are monsters. Monsters do horrible things. Humans don’t.
The clock beside me read 5 o’clock in the morning. I rubbed my eyes, realizing this was the earliest I had been up in years and that it must be the next day, August 1st. One day. One day would be long enough for the police to find witnesses, set up a search party and start to find me. There was so much evidence. The friends I was with. My heels. The man who worked for my father had even seen me. Yet he had done nothing.
An uneasy feeling crept through my chest. What if he had known about vampires? Had he kept away because he knew he would put his own life at risk? It wasn’t too far a stretch to assume that people within the government would know about vampires – someone must know about them. If he knew and he didn’t do anything, does that mean they won’t come after me? I didn’t want to think about it. My father would come find me. My father wouldn’t abandon me, not even to vampires.
Or would he? said the voice in my head.
I glimpsed Lyla’s note, on the carpet. Picking it up, I read it through once more. She had mentioned being free to roam the house and I was desperate for a wash to get rid of the grime on my feet.
I dropped the note and darted towards the door, stuffing one of the sandwiches – dry and stale now – into my mouth. Pressing my ear flat to the door, I listened. It seemed to be silent outside, but the door was wooden and probably thick so that didn’t mean much. I took a deep breath and opened it, to find the corridor empty. A little way down on the opposite wall there was a door, which must lead to the bathroom that Lyla had mentioned. Opposite that, on the same wall as ‘my’ room, there was a set of double doors. They were panelled and would have blended in with the wall if they were not set back a little into an alcove. Two gas lamps hung on brackets, one either side, although they were not on, leaving the corridor to be lit by the natural light that was beginning to stream in from the window at the other end of the corridor. I edged down, tensed and ready to spring back into my room if I needed to.
Nobody came and I began to relax, allowing my hand to wrap around the knob of one of the doors. It was smooth and warmed at the touch like glass, although it had the same appearance as the marble downstairs. I placed my other hand on its twin and turned. The one on the left glided around and clicked with no effort, but the one on the right was stiff and would not turn. The left door swung open a fraction. I stared at it. Should I? The temptation was strong but curiosity really would get the cat killed this time.
Just as I started to shut the door again I heard footsteps coming from the stairs. My heart hammered and I jerked forward, bursting through the doors. Shutting it with as little noise as possible, I kept hold of the handle to stop it from turning and clicking shut.
I waited, petrified, and only when everything went silent again did I allow myself to take in the room. It was huge – much bigger than the one I had slept in. All the walls were wood-panelled, and an all-black, wrought-iron four-poster dominated the one side and a fireplace the other. Above the mantle, which was strewn with magazines, there hung a painting of a man and a woman. The man resembled Kaspar, although he looked older. I took a guess that it was his father in his younger days. The woman beside him must be his wife, Kaspar’s mother, judging by the hand of the man placed on her bare shoulder. She sat upon a stool, her emerald dress hugging a curvaceous figure, dark chestnut curls tumbling down to her waist, which was so tiny it must have been encased in a corset. Her eyes were wide and bright, full of the same colour and sheen as her dress. But what really caught my gaze was her skin: whilst her husband’s was pale and papery, her skin had a tinge of olive in it, although the sunken sockets of her eyes were encircled by deep purple rings – she was without doubt a vampire.
I trod as softly as I could around the bed, almost tripping over a guitar that poked out from under the bedstead. A breeze stirred my ankles and, as I neared the fireplace, the black drapes that hung around the open French doors moved. A feeling of unease crept up my arms. Doors are left open when someone is not far away. The lamps dotted about the room had been left on too, although first light was beginning to filter through the trees and across the grounds.
Forcing myself to be calm, I reached up on my tiptoes and ran a finger across the canvas of the painting. It was thick with dust and as I wiped it off it floated away in clouds, smelling heavily of musk mixed with that of expensive cologne, which already hung in the air. I waved my hands in front of me, coughing and spluttering. I can see – or rather smell – why they left the doors open. I grabbed one of the magazines to try waft the dust away, but took one look at what was on the cover, blushed, and dropped it, realizing just who this room must belong to.
‘Crap,’ I breathed, backing away towards the door. I didn’t bother to check whether anyone was outside as I practically fell out of one door and through another into the bathroom. It slammed behind me and I was relieved to find it had a chunky bolt for a lock, which I slid across.
Turning, I was once again struck by the grandeur. The whole room was almost entirely made out of red marble, even the bath. The shower was of the same larger-than-it-needs-to-be proportions and would fit three and still leave room to move. It was spotless too: there wasn’t an old toothbrush or squeezed-to-death tube of toothpaste in sight.
I fiddled about with the shower dials for a while, confused by the settings until water poured from the shower head. I began to strip down, but caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and stopped. I was not a pretty sight.
My hair looked as though electricity had been passed through it and bits of twig clung to the knots. There were countless cuts and grazes dotted about my neck and mud was smeared across my face, mixed in with my smudged make-up. The rest of my body did not look any better. Dried blood caked my arms and my feet were brown and muddy and I realized I must stink. But it was my eyes that looked the most pitiful. They looked old and weary, as though they had seen a hundred years of suffering, not two days.
I shook my head and turned away, disgusted and angry. I continued to strip down and stepped in, letting the water run over my sore muscles.
I got out when the water ceased to feel warm on my skin. I grabbed a towel, dried myself and got dressed, slipping back into the T-shirt and jeans. I wrung as much water as I could out of my hair and darted back to ‘my’ bedroom, freezing as I noticed somebody had been in and tidied up.
The blanket that I had moved the day before had been spread back out on the bed, the sheets tucked in. The plate of food had been removed and, right on cue, my stomach growled. I ignored it, dropping onto the bed. But it only got worse and I realized I would have to go and search for Lyla to get some more food. She didn’t seem that bad, but the prospect still wasn’t a great one.
Outside in the corridor, things were still quiet, although I sensed that wasn’t because everyone was asleep. I passed the double doors, unnerved at the fact the room must belong to Kaspar. When I reached the top of the staircase, I leaned over, thinking I could ask the butler where Lyla was. Just as I did, Fabian emerged from the downstairs corridor. I jumped, trying to scamper back into the shadows but he spotted me and smiled.
‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully, stopping. I didn’t reply but eased back towards the banisters, eyeing him with caution. ‘Hungry?’ he asked. The mention of food set my stomach off growling again and he chuckled. ‘Guess so. Come on, I’ll find you something.’ He gestured for me to follow him and started walking towards the living-room door. When I didn’t follow him, he paused, smiling again. ‘I’m not going to do anything to you. I promise.’
He looked sincere enough and I scrambled down the stairs until I caught up with him. He opened the door and led me across the living room and through another door. It was like stepping through a time portal. Whereas the main entrance hall didn’t look as though it had changed in hundreds of years, the passage we walked down was thoroughly modern and, as we entered the kitchen, I was hit by an array of stainless steel and glass counters, cabinets and tables, although the floor was made of the same marble as the entrance.
Fabian rounded the breakfast bar and began searching through the cupboards. ‘Do you like toast?’ he asked, his head popping up above the counter. I nodded, hoisting myself up onto a stool. ‘Toast it is then,’ he said, dropping a couple of slices of brown bread into a toaster. I watched him as he pulled a plate from another cupboard, fascinated by his fluid movements. He met my gaze.
‘Hey, I know I’m inhumanly hot, but you don’t have to stare.’ A huge grin appeared on his face and he winked.
I blushed a tomato red and my eyes hit the floor before bouncing back up to him. ‘I wasn’t staring.’
He put his hands in the air. ‘Sure,’ he chuckled. ‘Good to see you talking though. You don’t strike me as the shy type.’
He’s right, I thought. I’m not usually shy, but then again, I’m not usually being held captive by vampires.
I continued to watch him as he pulled the door of the fridge open and took the butter out. Before he closed it again, I caught a glimpse of several tall bottles containing a red liquid that didn’t look like wine. I shuddered.
‘I’m sorry I can’t do anything nicer than toast, but we only keep snacks in here,’ he nattered, spreading the butter on the bread, which was burnt around the crust. ‘The servants usually cook downstairs when we actually want food and not blood.’
He slid the plate towards me, took one look at my face and then spoke again. ‘Okay, you have questions.’
I nodded, biting on my lower lip. ‘Can I ask anything?’
For a second, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but it soon disappeared. ‘Of course,’ he replied. I didn’t speak for another minute or two as I rehearsed what I wanted to say in my head. He said nothing, pouring a glass of juice and pushing that in my direction too.
‘It’s real, all of this, isn’t it?’
He placed his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands, watching me with as much fascination as I had watched him. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘I don’t want to believe any of this, but I do. I’ve seen too much not to.’ I tugged on a strand of hair, picking out patterns in the marble floor.
‘‘How many have you killed?’
‘I’m not sure I should tell you that,’ he murmured.
‘How many?’ I repeated.
‘Hundreds, thousands, maybe … I lost count,’ he said. I felt my eyes widen and I leaned away from him. That many? He shook his head. ‘Don’t look at me like that, that is a pretty good track record considering I am two hundred-and-one.’ The calm blue of his eyes dissolved and became black.
‘What about the others?’ I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse as I fought back the horror.
‘Kaspar, thousands, and Cain, around thirty, but only because he isn’t full-fledged yet. I’m not sure about the others.’
My fingers gripped the edge of the steel counter, warming the spot they touched. ‘Can’t you drink donor stuff?’
‘We could.’
‘But you choose to kill people instead.’
‘No,’ he hissed and I was taken aback at his sudden change of tone. ‘We choose to drink from humans. We don’t set out to kill them.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I breathed. ‘Was that the plan when you killed all those men in Trafalgar Square? Because it didn’t look like you were just dropping by for a pint to me.’
His eyebrows lowered. ‘That was different.’
‘Was it?’
He didn’t answer and I went back to my toast. Aware that he was watching me, I lowered my head and hid behind my hair, which was drying and twisting into ringlets. It chilled me that he could talk of the people he had killed as though they were just numbers and not people with loved ones and hopes and dreams. It chilled me even more that he wanted my approval. But they were his prey and it was probably easier for him to think like that.
‘I know you think that we’re murderers, Violet. And I know you would do anything right now to get out of here, but maybe, for your own sake, it would be better if you hold judgement until you know us better.’
I didn’t move my gaze away from the plate, afraid he might see my eyebrows arching in disbelief. I’m not going to get to know you any better, I thought. I’m not going to hang around for long enough.
Don’t be so sure, the voice in my head chuckled. It wasn’t my mind imagining someone chuckling, but the actual sound, bouncing off my skull. I heard Fabian say something and I blinked a few times, coming back to my senses.
‘What does full-fledged mean?’
He walked around the counter and pulled up a stool beside me. I shifted my stool back. ‘Changing the subject, are we?’ His eyes had returned to blue and a watery sheen coated them, making them twinkle in the light that slipped through the small windows high up the walls. ‘A fully-fledged vampire is an adult vampire.’
Seeing my confused face, he smiled. ‘A vampire born into vampirism – yes, most vampires are born and not turned,’ he added, interrupting himself. ‘A born vampire ages normally until he or she is eighteen. As in each year, they look a year older. They are not fully grown yet, so they are slightly weaker and not as thirsty. Cain is sixteen, so he won’t be full-fledged for another two years. Get it?’
I flicked a crumb across the plate. ‘Sort of. But what happens when a vampire reaches eighteen?’
I went to flick another crumb, but the plate tipped and fell off the edge of the counter. I cringed, waiting for it to smash. But the sound never came as Fabian reached down and snatched it from midair. Unfazed, he placed it back on the counter, brushing the remaining crumbs onto the floor.
‘We get faster and stronger,’ he said in a low voice, watching me watching him, my mouth ajar. He had moved so fast; so effortlessly. ‘And we start to age, but very slowly. Centuries pass and it doesn’t put a year on us.’
‘So vampires aren’t immortal?’ I asked, feeling a slight spark of interest.
‘Theoretically, no. But it’s such a slow process, we practically are. The oldest vampire in the Kingdom is hundreds of thousands of years old and he is still going strong.’
‘Wow,’ I breathed. I couldn’t even grasp being that old. A thousand questions popped into my mind, as I buried the initial repulsion. ‘Can you go out in sunlight?’
‘Yes, but we’re at risk of getting really bad sunburn. So pushing me outside won’t kill me if you are thinking about it,’ he said, pulling funny faces and making it look as though he was melting. ‘And if you are thinking of bumping me off, feeding me garlic bread will just make my breath smell; buying me a necklace with a cross on it will just make me look religious and giving me a shower in holy water will make me smell rather pleasant.’
I snorted into my drink at his mockery. ‘How do you kill a vampire then?’
‘You can push a stake through his heart and break his neck or break and bite his neck or suck him dry,’ he explained, a wicked look in his eyes. ‘The remains are often burnt, although you don’t have to do that.’
‘Brutal. Can you turn into a bat?’
His lips quivered and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. ‘No.’
‘Can you cross running water?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you enter a house uninvited?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that would be rude. And to answer your next question, the only way a human can become a vampire is if they have their blood drained by a vampire whilst they also drink the vampire’s blood and yes, our eyes change colour according to mood.’
I crossed my arms over my chest, shifting away again. ‘How did you know I was going to ask that?’
He tapped his temple with a finger and grinned, his cheeks becoming round and puffed. ‘Psychic.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Yes, and we’re telepathic too, but not with humans,’ he stated in a matter-of-fact way. ‘And I’ll let you in on a trade secret. As long as you are here, lock everything private in your mind in boxes and just focus on one thing if someone tries to get in your mind. I know, it sounds crazy, but you will stop smiling when you realize there are some here who won’t respect your privacy.’
I sobered. ‘Like Kaspar?’
‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged, spinning around in the seat to look over his shoulder. ‘Speaking of …’
Kaspar appeared beside the fridge and in the time it took to blink, the dark-haired boy with the glasses had dropped onto a stool beside me and spread the newspaper he had tucked beneath his arm out on the counter. He started to read, peering over the top of his glasses.
More vampires were not far behind. The ease that I had begun to settle into with just Fabian around disappeared along with the warmth of the room.
‘Morning, I told you my clothes would fit,’ Lyla said brightly in my direction. ‘And I hear that this rude bunch have not introduced themselves,’ she chirped. ‘That’s Charlie,’ she nodded her head towards the fair-haired boy who nodded his head in reply. ‘That’s Felix.’ The boy with the flaming-red hair waved. ‘And that is Declan.’ The last boy looked up from his newspaper.
‘Pleasure, I’m sure,’ he said in a thick Irish accent – so thick I had trouble working out what he was saying.
‘You know my idiot brothers.’ She pinched Cain’s cheeks and he shoved her away, groaning in embarrassment. ‘And Fabian, of course.’ Her mouth curled a little and she sat down on the other side of him as one of the red bottles and several glasses were passed around.
‘Kaspar,’ muttered Declan in a dark undertone as he turned a page of his paper over. ‘You should see this.’
Kaspar darted over and Declan wordlessly slid the paper across so he could read. I shuffled my stool across a few inches and looked over his shoulder. My eyes bulged.
Dominating a double-page spread was an aerial photograph of Trafalgar Square, cordoned off, and for the most part, shielded from public view by large white tents. The photo was black-and-white, but areas of the paving were dark where pools of blood had gathered. Printed in large, bold font above it was the headline LONDON’S BLOODBATH: MASS MURDER IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.
I realized I had stood up and I gripped the breakfast bar, fighting to stay on my feet.
In the early hours of yesterday morning, London awoke to one of the worst mass murders in centuries, after thirty victims, all male, were found lying dead in Trafalgar Square.
The Metropolitan Police cordoned off the scene at approximately 3 a.m. on July 31st. The victims were pronounced dead upon arrival at the scene. All thirty, as yet unidentified, were found with broken necks and serious flesh wounds, also to the neck. Nine had also been found to be drained of their blood, sparking controversy among the public.
John Charles, head of the Metropolitan Police, said, ‘We are deeply shocked by this horrific incident, and we are determined to bring these evil and very dangerous killers to justice. We have forensic teams working at the scene, but we are appealing to witnesses who may have been in the area between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. on July 31st to please come forward.’
Miss Ruby Jones, who discovered the scene, was unable to comment and is being treated for shock at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.
A pair of high-heeled shoes have also been found and are being treated as evidence, although insiders have reported they may belong to a young woman, believed to have been at the scene during the incident. It is feared that she may have been taken by the murderer[s], although confirmation is yet to be released.
This gruesome murder is being compared to the infamous ‘Kent Bloodsucker’ incident, where three young women were found dead near Tunbridge Wells two and a half years ago. All three had broken necks and had been drained of their blood.
Any witnesses are being urged by the Met. Police to either visit a local police station or call a special hotline on 05603 826111. All identities remain anonymous.
For further images, turn to page 9. For opinions, turn to page 23.
By Phillip Bashford.
I lifted the corner of the page, wanting to turn to the pictures, but Declan laid a hand on the print, holding it down so firmly that as I tried to lift it, it tore down the middle. I let go and he folded it up, leaving the sport page face-up. I tasted salt on my lips and realized I was crying.
It was sickening. But I was crying because Ruby had found the scene. She wasn’t as strong as me.
I looked up and saw Kaspar standing behind me, holding a glass of blood in his hand. I rounded on him. ‘Why did you do it?’
His brow lowered and small creases appeared around the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them, surveying me. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he murmured, his lips barely moving.
‘Wouldn’t I?’ I challenged, taking a step closer.
‘No.’ His lips parted even further and he looked as though he wanted to say something else, but chose not to. The room was silent, other than the sound of my heavy, irregular breathing.
‘Those men had families!’
‘So do we,’ he muttered.
I shook my head. ‘You’re sick,’ I spat, placing two hands on the shirt stretched over his chest. I shoved, pouring every emotion into the thought of hurting him. To my complete surprise he took a step back. It wasn’t a stumble: I hadn’t forced him to move. He just let me push him back without a word. ‘Sick,’ I repeated.
I pushed past him and fled the room, tears flowing unchecked now. The thought of those men, lying in a pool of their own blood kept bouncing around my mind, making my stomach turn. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and it was my turn to be sick.
SEVEN
Kaspar
‘Feisty,’ Felix muttered. He switched to his mind, musing on one thought. Maybe it would have been easier to just kill her?
No, it wouldn’t have been easier. I let the thought fill my head, before throwing up walls around my mind, wanting the others out. I needed to think, privately.
Something about the look on the girl’s face had disturbed me; made me step back when she pushed me. It was a feeling I thought I remembered, but couldn’t grasp.
‘He means it would have been better for her if she didn’t have to deal with us,’ Declan clarified. I felt him pushing against my mental barriers and I lowered them slightly. Your reasons for taking her were selfish, Kaspar, despite what you might tell the King.
And so what if they were? Then your selfishness has got the Kingdom in trouble. He opened the paper back up, turning to an article about the rising costs of defence. Blocking his mind to everyone but me, he pointed to the headline. Michael Lee: taking the hard line on defence. He will want his daughter back. And you know he has been looking for an excuse to drive us out since they won the election. This is exactly the ammunition he needs. He wouldn’t dare do anything. He’s too scared. I drained the rest of the blood, enjoying the warmth that came with freshness. Declan’s exasperation came across in waves, but he didn’t say any more on it. He knew that a lecture from father was enough for one day.
‘I talked with her. She is scared and angry, but she’s curious too,’ Fabian said, participating in a conversation I hadn’t been listening to.
‘You answered her questions?’ Lyla asked with a poor attempt at offhandedness.
Fabian nodded and Declan peered from over his newspaper again. ‘That is only because she is still clinging to hope. Once she realizes she is stuck here, that will go.’ He returned to the paper, apparently satisfied with his doom-and-gloom prediction. ‘And when I’m right, I will happily say, “I told you so”,’ he added, rustling the paper. Cain glanced in my direction and I knew my eyes must have dropped through to black.
Yes, I didn’t kill her! I roared to myself as way of reply to their disapproving expressions. But not because I wanted her as a toy, though I would happily let them continue thinking that. I didn’t know why I had taken her. I didn’t know why I had saved her – why I had done it personally, and not let Fabian, always the nice guy, play saviour.
No, it wouldn’t have been easier to kill her, I thought, continuing on from Felix’s earlier statement. Because I suspect this particular human would have weighed on my conscience.
EIGHT
Violet
I didn’t know where my legs were taking me. I lost myself in the maze of corridors, my awe increasing with every turn. It wasn’t a welcoming place – there were few windows and most of the light came from gas lamps fashioned to look like torches or the occasional spotlight, which would highlight an alcove containing an expensive-looking painting or vase – but it was certainly grand. There was wood panelling everywhere and the floor was so clean I could see an outline of my reflection on the polish. It was cold too and if I lingered for too long on one spot, it felt as though I was standing on a pile of snow in only my socks. The few windows I did come across I fiddled with, trying to open them, but every single one was locked or too stiff to lift; the one I did manage to open was several floors up and positioned on a completely smooth wall, high enough to rule out jumping.
I found another set of stairs and climbed them. The upper floors seemed to be deserted, adding to the eeriness. I found empty room after empty room and there were only a handful of windows on the whole floor, it seemed – but from those few I could just about see over the tree-tops to the sea, a thin blue strip sandwiched between the green of the trees and the silvery lining of the sky.
Tucked away in what must be the back of the mansion, I came across a large wooden door. Scratches lined the frame and someone or something had gouged chunks out of the wood, exposing the paler rings below. The brass doorknob was blotched and smeared, like it had been used over and over. Unlike the ones downstairs, it didn’t warm up as I wrapped my fingers around the metal.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I glanced each way down the corridor, as what sounded like a whisper floated along the walls. Far away, a door slammed shut and the gas lamp flickered and with a pop, went out.
Startled, I ripped my hand from the brass and turned and fled. I didn’t stop, even when I realized I must have taken a wrong turn. I wasn’t superstitious, but something about that corridor had chilled me to the bone and I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
I was getting more and more lost when the wood panelling ended and I found myself in a whitewashed corridor, lit with bright, artificial light – a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion. I doubled over, catching my breath.
‘Excuse me, miss, but are you okay?’ I jerked my head up, startled at the new voice. ‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to scare you,’ the voice said, thick with a cockney accent. It came from a young girl, not much older than I was by the looks of her. She was dressed in a plain black dress and a maid’s cap. Her face was round and plump, her mousy-blonde hair framing rosy cheeks. She would be quite stunning, if it was not for the lines of hard work that adorned her face.
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I replied, trying to smile and failing.
‘You must be the human the Varns took from London. Violet, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘I’m Annie,’ she said, smiling, revealing two small fangs.
I eyed them, my eyes sliding down to her dress. ‘Do you work here?’
‘I’m one of the servants,’ she replied. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she added.
I shrugged. ‘Lost, I guess.’
‘Well, I can help with that.’ She smiled and picked up the bucket and mop beside her feet. ‘Take the servant’s stairs. They are at the end of here.’ She pointed in the opposite direction from where I had come. ‘Go three floors down and follow the main corridor and it will bring you to the entrance hall.’ With one last smile, she hurried off before I could even thank her.
Sure enough, at the end of the corridor there were a set of narrow spiralling steps, which twisted around and around a column until they opened out into a wide hallway, which in turn had smaller passages branching from it.
I stopped, staring down its length. The emptiness of the place left me feeling very alone and very vulnerable, as the scale of the situation hit me again. At the end of the corridor, blending with the darkness, I could see a man crumpling to the ground, rubbing his neck and scrambling away from me.
I shook my head, smacking my palm against the panelled wall.
‘Shit,’ I breathed, as I realized a tiny trickle of blood was flowing from my raw knuckle. I quickly wiped it away, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention.
‘Father says you shouldn’t swear. It’s unladylike,’ said a quiet voice from below me. I looked down to see a little girl with the widest, most emerald-green eyes. Her long blonde hair fell in tight ringlets around her face and she had perfect features, right down to her button nose. She looked to be about four.
‘Who are you?’ I asked, taking a couple of steps back.
‘I am Princess Thyme,’ she sung, twirling around, making her pink frilly dress whip around after her. She smiled, revealing two pinpricks for fangs. A kid vampire. ‘And you are Violet, and Kaspar brought you from London.’ It was a statement, not a question. I said nothing, astounded at the sureness she had of her words.
After a minute, I recovered my voice. ‘You’re Kaspar’s little sister?’ I asked, bending down to her level.
‘And Cain’s and Lyla’s and Jag’s and Sky’s,’ she chimed, doing another pirouette.
‘Who are Jag and Sky?’
‘They are my big, big brothers. They are really old,’ she stated with pride. ‘I like them better because they are fun when they come and visit from Romania.’ She pouted, looking down at the ground. ‘All the others are mean when I ask to play games.’ Her bottom lip quivered and I panicked at her complete change of mood.
‘Hey, don’t get upset.’
Her little eyes filled with hope, and she looked up at me. ‘You’ll play a game with me, won’t you?’ She tightened her grip around my hand. ‘Will you carry me?’ She didn’t wait for me to answer, but took a few steps back and made a running leap – I only just caught her in my arms. Realizing I didn’t have much choice, I complied and followed her directions down the corridor.
‘Do you have a sister?’ Thyme asked, twiddling with my hair.
‘I have a little sister,’ I answered. ‘She’s thirteen.’
‘What’s her name?’ she asked with vague interest, more preoccupied with my hair.
‘Lily,’ I answered.
‘That’s a pretty name. Do you have a brother?’ she carried on.
‘I did. But he died,’ I mumbled.
‘That’s sad,’ she replied.
‘Yeah, it is,’ I breathed.
‘Do you have a mummy and daddy?’ I turned my head and saw her cute little face twisted with something I couldn’t read and she tugged a strand of my hair, making me wince.
‘Yes, I do.’ I stopped myself, wondering why I was volunteering so much to a little girl. My eyes misted over and a sick feeling clutched at my throat. Homesickness. ‘What about you? Do you have a mummy?’
‘Mummy can’t be here at the moment,’ she said with a blunt tone far beyond her years. ‘My daddy is always too busy to play with me. He is always in a bad mood.’
We fell into silence for a while. She started playing with my hair again, twisting it around her finger.
‘You’re really pretty.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, unsure how to take the compliment. ‘You’re really cute,’ I replied.
‘I know.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I wish I had a sister like you. You are nicer than Lyla and much nicer than those horrible girls Kaspar keeps bringing home,’ she muttered darkly, again sounding far older than she must be.
‘Girls?’ I asked, trying not to seem too interested.
‘His friends. But they always stay for the night and they are really mean to me,’ she blabbered.
It didn’t take much brainpower to work out what these ‘friends’ were here for. Again, she seemed content to play with my hair until I felt a cold breeze on the back of my neck and I almost dropped her.
‘What the heck are you doing?’ I screeched as she ran her teeth up and down my neck. She pulled away, giving me a toothy grin.
‘I’m not going to bite you, silly!’ She giggled. ‘I’m smelling you.’
‘Well, don’t do it. It’s not very nice.’ I replied, trying to keep my cool whilst eyeing her with suspicion.
We wandered through the corridors until she finally pointed out a door, telling me it was her playroom. We went in and she soon had her dolls lined up, ready to attend a tea party. She kept me captive for what seemed like hours, although it can’t have been much more than one.
‘Thyme, I think I had better go back now,’ I announced at last, setting aside my imaginary cake and tea. Her eyes became round and a sheen coated them, but she gave in when I remained firm.
‘Okay,’ she said in a wistful tone. Taking a hold of my hand, we headed off again. She led the way as I had no idea where we were until we broke out into the light of the entrance hall. We crossed and were just passing the staircase when Kaspar appeared from behind the banisters.
‘Thyme! Why aren’t you with your nanny?’ he barked. I froze. Thyme wiggled out of my grip, scurrying behind me and peeking out from behind my leg.
‘Give her a break, she was looking after me,’ I explained, trying to dislodge her from my jeans.
His face went from blank to furious in less than a second and I saw his eyes become black. ‘Thyme, go to your room. I need to have a word with your friend here.’ His voice echoed across the hall and Thyme disappeared in a flash. Although his tone remained steady, there was a steeliness to it that made me regret opening my mouth. I knew he meant business when he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me through one of the grand doors that mirrored the entrance.
Wow, talk about a ballroom. The door we had just entered through was raised on a balcony overlooking a huge room, at least the size of several tennis courts put together. The walls were made of white marble flecked with gold and the huge pillars that were embedded within the walls were coated in gold leaf. The floor was wooden and so well varnished it resembled liquid more than anything else. At either end there were two arched, cathedral-style windows and to the left a throne had been set upon a slightly raised platform. But what really caught my eye was the chandelier dangling precariously from the ceiling. Hanging from a central ring, tiny baskets woven from glass cupped thousands of black candles, all unlit. As Kaspar shut the door behind us, a gust of air whipped through the air and stirred the glass. A few of the baskets jostled each other and they were so delicate that I half-expected them to break. Instead, they chimed and continued to ring long after the baskets had stopped moving, chased by the echo of the door closing.
‘How dare you tell me how to treat my own sister?’ He only needed to whisper as his voice travelled across the empty room. ‘You know nothing of my family! Nothing!’ he hissed, as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
‘I know enough.’
He narrowed his eyes and the dark circles below them became even darker and the area between his nose and the corner of his eyes became shadowy too. He stared and something began to feel out of place in my mind. I searched through, feeling restless all of a sudden. I thought he might say something, but he just kept staring and as the bugging sensation increased, it hit me. He is in my mind.
I realized he could see every memory and struggled to focus on one thing. Thoughts seemed to slip through my grasp like water and, giving up, I settled on the word jerk. I screamed it in my head and pretty quickly, I felt him withdraw.
‘Jerk? I suppose Fabian told you how to guard your mind. Pity.’ He placed a hand on the wall beside my head and I went to sidestep away, but he placed his other hand on the other side of my head, trapping me. ‘No. You know nothing of my family.’ His body pressed up against mine and my nose wrinkled in disgust as I tried to fold into the wall, away from him. He bent to my ear and spoke. ‘Do you fear me, Violet Lee? Do you know what I could do to you?’
I could smell blood on his breath, copper and iron, mixed in with the heavy musk of cologne that smelt identical to the one that hung in the air of the bedroom with the painting.
‘I know what you can do.’ The tip of my tongue ran over my lips and I could taste salt. ‘But I’m not scared of you.’
He hummed a low, disbelieving note, which I could feel rumbling in his chest, pressed to mine. ‘Do you lust for me, Violet?’ He might have said something else, his voice was so low, but there was no mistaking that smirk as he drew away to enjoy my reaction, allowing his lips to brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
I forced myself to keep my voice steady. ‘No.’
‘Then why is your heart beating at twice the rate it should be?’ I bit my lip, realizing he was right. It was pounding against my ribs like there was no tomorrow. ‘And why are you flushing?’ My cheeks were hot like I had stood in the sun for hours. ‘And why,’ he said, roughly grabbing one of my wrists and pulling it up to my eye level, ‘are your palms sweaty?’ I didn’t want to look, but I stole a glance. Right again. I averted my eyes.
He hummed again, satisfied this time. ‘Humans. You hide nothing.’ I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he let go of my wrist and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back, which just flopped right back into place. ‘Don’t be ashamed of it though, Girly. I’m royalty, I’m rich and I’m damned good looking. I’m designed to be attractive to humans. But you’re resisting.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why is that?’
Oh, where to begin? ‘Because you are a bloodsucker and a murderer. And a jerk. The list goes on.’ My body might betray me, but I wasn’t truly attracted to him: I was repulsed.
His head snapped up, and his eyes, a dark, forest green around his large pupils, met mine. ‘Is that so? Well I will get to you, Violet Lee,’ he lingered on my name, drawing his sentence out. ‘You will give in to me; I will make sure of it.’
‘No. You really won’t get me.’ I made to move to the side, away from him, but he placed his hands either side of my head again, dragging his nails down the wood, making a horrendous screeching sound, like chalk on a blackboard. He ran his hands all the way down, until they reached my waist. His hands moved around to my back, pulling me into him, and he began to close his fist around my waist, pinching the skin just below my ribs.
‘Get off me! You have whores for this!’ I shrieked. His eyes found mine in an instant and I saw recognition in them.
His irises became as black as his pupils. They lost all shade and tone – they were black, just black. ‘You will pay for that one, Girly,’ he said, his voice trembling.
In one swift movement, he had brushed away the hair from my neck and pushed my head away. In the corner of my eye, I could see him lowering his jaw to my neck and I began to duck away. But he grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged. I yelped, seeing him bare his fangs as he forced me onto my tiptoes.
‘Don’t!’ I begged, cowering away from him.
‘I will teach you to fear me,’ he growled, taking no notice of my pleas for mercy. ‘And I will make you regret the day you ever stood in Trafalgar Square.’ With his taunting words, I felt pain as his fangs pierced my skin. They drove deep into my flesh, ripping my skin. I cried out in pain, unable to stop curses spewing from my mouth as stars flickered in front of my eyes. But every time a word formed my jaw moved and the skin on my neck stretched taut over his fangs, releasing a dribble of something warm, which trickled down to the round collar of my T-shirt.
He extracted his fangs and his tongue chased the drip, leaving a trail of saliva. He sucked at it, his lips forming words against my skin. ‘Sweet,’ I thought he said.
He rubbed his thumb across the material of my collar and brought his eyes up to meet mine once more, but my eyes flicked to his lips, which I saw were coated in blood. My blood.
I felt weak and my knees began to buckle. Only the force of him pushing me into the door kept me upright. ‘The Princes of this Kingdom always get what they want,’ he breathed and drew away from me, leaving me to crumple to the floor, pale and sickened. He watched me slide to the ground and, unable to bear the smirk on his lips, I buried my head in my arms, drawing my knees close to my chest.
‘Keep denying me and you could make your time here very unpleasant. And believe me, Violet Lee: your time here shall be long.’
With that, the door slammed, leaving me whimpering on the floor, very quickly learning how to fear him.
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