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He didn’t seem to notice me slipping onto the coffee table as I tried to catch his hushed words, which were becoming quieter and quieter.
‘The Queen went on a state visit to Romania to open up discussions. She went to the Pierre’s ancestral home in Romania, and before she could even … they had leapt on her …’ He was choking up, sobs escaping his lips but no tears falling. ‘They leapt on her, and pushed a stake through her heart!’
My hands flew to my mouth and I took in a sharp breath. ‘She was murdered?’ I didn’t know what I had expected, but it wasn’t that. I felt something wet drop into my lap and, astonished, found tears falling from my own eyes. I glided to his side and hovered beside the arm of the chair, hardly knowing what I was doing.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up.’ He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head against my stomach. I tensed at the sudden contact but he didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable he was making me.
‘It’s okay,’ he murmured back, ‘You couldn’t have known. It was two-and-a-half years ago now but for us that feels like yesterday. It ruined us. She was so loved. Thousands went to her funeral.’ His sentences were disjointed and clipped, his pain at recounting what had happened clear. ‘It was the worst day of my life. So many people cried and, Violet, vampires don’t give up their tears easily. But they did. It was awful. I’m used to people dying, but this … this was different. It was like I had lost a part of me, like half my heart had died.’
I nodded, knowing the exact feeling.
‘Afterwards, everything changed. Nobody was ever the same. The King moved out of the main bedroom and Kaspar had it instead. He died along with his wife.’
His eyes filled with more remorse; more pain; more regret.
‘There were mass killings at that time. Did you ever notice that?’
My eyes went wide. The newspaper article had compared Trafalgar Square to the Kent Bloodsuckers incident, which had happened around that time.
‘And Kaspar?’ I prompted.
‘He took it hard. Harder than the rest of us. He was so close to his mother. But it wasn’t just that. Only fourth and seventh children can inherit the throne, and her death means there will never be a seventh child and he is indefinitely heir.’
His eyes flashed a black-grey once more and his hold around me became unbearably tight. I let out a little whine as my ribcage felt like it was being crushed. He loosened his grip, but his fists remained clenched.
‘His grief changed him. He isn’t the Kaspar I used to consider as good as a brother any more.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘Sure he was a womanizer even then, but that was nothing compared to now. Now he uses and abuses his power, bedding everything that walks, and he thinks nothing of taking a life …’ he trailed off, too traumatized to carry on.
Yes, I knew that Kaspar. But somehow, through my loathing, through everything he had done to me, I felt pity. I knew how he felt. I knew how grief shaped and remoulded your life. I knew how it could make you hate the ones you love with such a passion. I knew how you would do anything just to ease the pain for a single moment.
‘I wish, Violet, that you could have seen us all before it happened. You would think of us differently then.’
I said nothing. I couldn’t agree. That hate of vampires was embedded deep within me, passed from generation to generation, all the way back to those first humans, who had first learned to fear these powerful creatures.
‘And with her died any hope of peace with the humans and the slayers. Now the war is just getting worse.’ He squeezed me, as though I wasn’t on the opposite side of this so-called conflict. ‘It will destroy us, unless you’re one of those who believes in the Prophecy.’
I prised myself away and lowered onto the arm of the chair. ‘Prophecy?’
‘The Prophecy of the Heroines. Some eighth-century crackpot predicted that if nine ‘chosen heroines’ find each other and learn to work together, they could create a lasting peace between us and humanity. But why leave something so important to fate? Everyone believed that the Queen could do it … but now we have to wait for the impossible,’ he finished in a bitter undertone.
‘But do you know what the worst thing is, Violet?’ he asked after a long pause, which included the flexing of his fists. ‘It was planned. We had an anonymous tip that someone within your government ordered her murder. We don’t know who. But I swear, if I ever find out, I will drain someone they love, so they know what it is like to lose someone. So they can feel that pain too.’ He finished, growling, lips rolled back. His eyes were blood red, but flashing to black and back.
I drew back, scared of this side of Fabian I knew of, but had never seen. He looked down at me, his blond hair falling over his livid eyes. Immediately, his expression softened, and his eyes returned to their airy blue.
‘I’m sorry, Violet. You don’t want to know this,’ he murmured softly. He pulled me back to him and I sank onto the arm of the chair, letting the onslaught of information sink in, fitting its way around what I already knew. It made so much sense.
‘You need to go to bed,’ Fabian’s musical voice chimed in my ear. I nodded, my eyes dropping.
I felt him begin to lift me and, in seconds, I was being lowered onto soft sheets. My eyes were just about open when I saw him sweep down. For a moment, panic swept through me, but it faded as his lips, as cold as they would be on a winter’s day, brushed my cheek.
‘Sweet dreams, Violet.’
I heard a click and the lamps went out. Lazy thoughts drifted in and out of my mind, forming the beginnings of dreams.
My father had entered government just three years ago. He didn’t like vampires. My eyes flew open, and I sat bolt upright in bed.
He couldn’t have, could he?
It’s a coincidence, I told myself firmly. A coincidence. Anyone could have ordered her death. Desperate, I placed all thought of it into a box in my mind, locked it and chucked away the key. I would not think of it again.
FOURTEEN
Violet
So much time passed here unnoticed, as if the sands of time seemed to take pleasure in dropping when my back was turned. Before I knew it, the sun had set over the Varns’estate, Varnley, and the moon would be rising, if it were not covered by menacing storm clouds that rolled in over the forest-covered hills. It had started raining earlier, just as it had on my first night here. I gave the weather merit – the rain persisted right through the afternoon and well into the evening and still fell as night drew in.
Just as I changed for bed, the first flashes of lightning illuminated my dark room. Great shadows were cast on the walls, and I watched, almost in awe, as forks were sent rocketing to the ground. Seconds later, great clasps of thunder echoed over the valley. The voiles covering the French doors swayed a little, as the fierce winds found there way through minute cracks in the frame. I slipped into bed, forcing the childhood fear of a storm aside and pulled the sheets tightly around myself, banishing the cold. I screwed my eyes shut and waited until I fell into an uneasy sleep.
A cloaked figure swept his way through the forest, deep into the parts where rogues ruled. Rogues like himself.
He didn’t make a sound as he walked, his movement fluid, graceful as a lark, but stealthy as an eagle and as fast as a falcon. He had been compared to them all and he enjoyed that.
The figure knew the path well, so he need not look down. Instead, he focused on the ever-nearing building: his destination. It was an ornate building, but quite insignificant considering what it concealed. It was not large and was built entirely of grey stone – granite, perhaps. The figure did not know, and he did not care.
A breeze blew through from the open door, and eager to be done with his business, the cloaked figure descended the steps inside, taking three at a time, impatient. When he reached the bottom, had he been human, he would have felt the considerable drop in temperature and the chill in the still air.
He bowed his head, not out of respect, but to prevent bumping his head on the low roof, and walked quickly down the long corridor, passing the resting place of charred corpses of long-dead vampires. His footsteps were the only sound in the darkness and even he admitted he had to strain to hear them. He smiled to himself. Not even the rats dared venture down here. His ego swelled, knowing only he had the courage to explore the dark depths of the catacombs.
He came to a room and allowed his eyes to sweep across it until they came to rest on a young girl, tied to the legs of the stone throne that guarded the tombs. Her head drooped and there was no colour in her cheeks. Huge gashes on her neck oozed blood and her clothes were ripped, leaving her almost naked – he could see that her young, once-smooth breasts were covered in small scratches and her stomach looked red and swollen, like she had been punched several times. The frayed rope tied around her wrists had gauged out chunks of skin, and a bone penetrated the skin where her ankle should be.
He looked on, disgusted. The rogues could have at least brought him something a little more appetising. He would think her dead if he could not see the pitiful rising and falling of her chest.
He stepped forward. His footsteps echoed in the silence and, startled, the girl raised her head, her eyes searching the gloom and struggling to focus.
‘W-who are you?’ she croaked.
‘Who I am is of no concern to you, but what I am is,’ he taunted, parting his lips to reveal his two sharpened canines.
Her eyes widened in fear, and she attempted to scrabble back, but the ropes binding her prevented her from doing so. ‘Please—’
He cut her off. ‘What is your name?’
‘S-Sarah.’
He smiled once again, revealing his gleaming fangs. ‘Well, Sarah. I have a proposition for you.’ He stooped down to her level. ‘You and I can have a little bit of fun and you can become like me – once I am done with you of course. Or you can become my dinner and … die. Your call.’
Her eyes widened, and tears trickled down her cheek. ‘Just kill me. Please,’ she sobbed – at least, he thought it was sobbing. It sounded more like the whine of a dog.
The smile dropped from his face. This was not what he wanted. Lust and thirst were pumping through his system, driven by his dead heart, and he wanted to have his way. He wiped her tears away with his thumb, grimacing as grime coated his fingers. He stroked her cheek, rubbing his thumb in small circles, fighting to keep his calm demeanour.
‘Are you sure, Sarah? We could have so much fun,’ he prompted breathily.
‘It hurts too much! Just end it,’ she sobbed, her head drooping once more. He knew unconsciousness would soon envelop her, sheltering her from the pain. He would not let her get away that easily. He took hold of her neck with both hands, wrenching her free of the ropes.
‘You’re lucky that I am a merciful vampire.’
With that, he broke her frail neck, almost snapping her in two. The crack echoed in the stillness as he felt her go limp. So thirsty now, he yanked her neck towards his waiting fangs and began to drink.
Her blood was bitter and nowhere near satisfying, but it would do for now. He picked up the mangled body in his arms and walked outside, tossing the corpse into the dark forest.
A tiny trickle of blood escaped his lips and slid down his chin. He wiped it away, smiling to himself, already wishing for more.
I sat bolt upright in bed and screamed, the horrendous sound echoing off the walls. Cold beads of sweat ran down my forehead and I was shivering, gagging for breath between shrieks.
‘Violet!’ The door burst open to reveal Fabian, wearing a panicked expression. ‘Violet, are you okay?’ He rushed over to me, untangling me from the mass of sheets that had wrapped around me whilst I slept. Dry sobs tickled my throat and I took several short and shallow breaths, desperate for air, trying to nod my head but failing.
‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ he quizzed, placing an arm around my shoulders.
‘I was asleep …’ I began, confused, my eyes darting about the room, searching for nonexistent answers.
‘Was it a dream, Violet?’ Fabian cooed, peeling himself away from my sweaty side and looking at me through his soothing blue eyes. I nodded.
‘What was it about? Why was it so bad?’ he asked as I took deep, shuddering breaths, unsure of whether to tell him. He wouldn’t understand. How could he? He never slept; never had dreams; never had nightmares.
‘There was a man. And a girl. H-he killed her,’ I sobbed, the tickling feeling returning. Bile rose in my throat as I thought of her begging to die and I gagged a couple of times. ‘It seemed so real.’
‘It was just a nightmare, Violet.’ Fabian muttered sternly; unconvincingly. ‘But tell me if you have any more, won’t you?’
‘Only if you promise not to tell anyone that I have nightmares.’ It was a strange request, but I didn’t want anybody knowing, especially Kaspar.
‘You have my word,’ Fabian assured, extracting himself from my sheets and getting up to leave. ‘Are you okay now?’
I smiled and nodded, and he left my side reluctantly.
But I wasn’t okay. Even as my eyes closed and I tried to drift back towards sleep, a far more disturbing thought crossed my mind. If they were real, then an innocent girl had just died and somewhere out in the darkness of the night, a true monster prowled the nearby forest.
FIFTEEN
Violet
I woke up early the next morning, my dream still troubling me. I was groggy and tired, but eager to be awake before the Varns returned. The sun was breaking through the fluffy white clouds and the day had more of a summer feel to it – finally. I got ready, and headed out, only to stop dead in my tracks when I reached the top of the stairs. My mouth fell open. The Varns had returned. But they weren’t alone. I darted back into the shadows and stared wide-eyed at the opposite wall. I need to go back and change.
‘I saw you, Girly,’ a voice sneered from the bottom of the stairs – Kaspar. All pity that I might have reserved for him after learning of his mother’s fate evaporated with his tone of voice and I groaned. ‘Don’t be rude. Come down.’
Reluctantly, I edged back around the corner of the wall and teetered on the top step, folding my arms around my middle. First to look up was Fabian, who smiled. In a flash, twenty other vampires were staring up at me.
They were mostly men, but there were a few women too, Charity amongst them, shooting me murderous looks. They were a mix of ages, some looking as young as Kaspar, some looking like they should be lying in a coffin.
There was a wolf-whistle from the bottom of the stairs and I looked down, searching for the source of the sound. Leaning against the bottom step was a man, his tussled blond hair cut short, a little stubble on his chin and his skin an odd pale orange in colour. He looked up casually at me, not bothering to hide the fact that he was staring at my breasts.
‘Well, who’s this then, Kaspar?’ He had an American accent – a complete contrast to the Varns’ upper-class British voices.
‘Who’s the leech?’ I muttered, not intending for them to hear, but of course they did.
‘The human?’ The man’s voice filled with glee as he quizzed Kaspar, who nodded. ‘Well, come on down then. I’m sure Kaspar won’t mind sharing.’
I wasn’t going to move but Kaspar’s glare made me think otherwise. I didn’t have to hang around long until his glare turned into a weapon as his eyes scanned the writing on my – well, Lyla’s – T-shirt:
‘SORRY, I DON’T DO SPARKLES. BUT I WOULD TAP VAN HELSING ANY DAY!’
‘Kitchen. Now,’ Kaspar growled. He pointed towards the living-room door and followed me through, rounding on me as soon as we reached the counter.
‘What the hell?’ He pointed at my T-shirt.
‘It’s Lyla’s!’ I protested.
He rested against the countertop and ran a hand down the side of his face. ‘That’s half the council out there and you had to wear it today! God, you are more trouble than you are worth.’
‘Vampires have councils?’
‘Plainly; you were just looking at it,’ Kaspar retorted. ‘Go, just go. But you’re to be down for dinner later. Wear something nicer than that.’ He gestured at my clothes and motioned for me to leave at the same time.
I gave a disinterested humph, and left, climbing the stairs. But as I climbed the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I was compelled to glance behind me. Someone was watching. Sure enough, a young man in the far corner of the room was studying my back with unwavering concentration. He had long silver hair, tied back, and an extremely angular face, with prominent cheek bones. He was not plain, quite handsome in fact, but there was something that made him repulsive. Perhaps it was his stance, looking up at me through his slit-like eyes, expression cold. Or maybe it was his crimson cloak, the same colour as blood. I turned away and sped up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I crashed on my bed, thumping the mattress in frustration. Dinner with a vampire. Joy.
The clock was nearing six and, reluctantly, I slipped off the bed, sleepy after my afternoon doze. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I was paying for the early mornings. Lyla had already laid a short, dark brown dress out, which I changed into, disgruntled by how low the cut of the lace neckline was.
It wasn’t long after when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it must be Fabian, I got up to answer. But when I opened it, I did a double-take as I saw who was outside.
It was the vampire from the far corner of the entrance hall. His dark blue eyes were wider now, warmer, and a smile adorned his face. He wore a black suit with a red tie and his long hair was loose.
‘Forgive me, Miss Lee, but I have been sent to escort you to dinner,’ he said in a smooth voice. I blushed.
‘Right.’ I nodded, trying to remember what to say. ‘Err, just give me two minutes, I’m nearly ready,’ I said, backing away and darting back into the wardrobe.
‘Of course,’ he called after me. I ran back in and scrabbled around, searching out a pair of shoes.
‘So who are you?’ I called from the wardrobe.
‘I am the Honourable Ilta Crimson, second son of Lord Valerian Crimson, the Earl of Wallachia.’
I sprung up as I heard his voice right behind me.
‘Do not be scared, Miss Lee. I will not hurt you.’ He reached out and took my hands in his. ‘I am simply inquisitive about your most intriguing future.’ He smiled, a little too nicely, revealing his sharp fangs, which I could have sworn were far longer and pointier than any of the Varns’ or their friends’ fangs.
At that moment, Fabian appeared in the doorway, surprise then anger covering his face. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, turning to Ilta. I glanced at our hands, still joined, and wrenched them away.
‘I am here because I was sent by the King to escort her to dinner,’ said Ilta.
