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

Viola

Since Mr. Dixon’s departure abruptly cut short our conversation, I refocused on my original plan to locate Mrs. Gillian and Alice, who, according to Amber, are currently employed here.

Sophie joins me at the table but hardly speaks a word as we eat lunch together.

When the barmaid informs me that neither Mrs. Gillian nor Alice are working today, I can’t help but feel disappointed that yet another day has yielded no results. With my husband away, every day is precious.

Sophie gives me the silent treatment most of the way home, and I’m grateful for it. Deciding I can’t confide in her about Darius, I observe her stern face as she ignores me and chuckle to myself when she rolls her eyes, huffs, and tries even harder to ignore me.

Resting my head on the glass of the window as we drive, the hum of the engine soothes me as we drive home, allowing my mind a moment of respite. I watch the passing scenery, and my thoughts naturally turn to Darius.

It’s been over a day since I last saw him, and I already miss his presence. I must be going mad because when Mr. Dixon mentioned spending eternity with my shackled friend, something about the idea felt strangely right, making my heart ache and yearn simultaneously.

Lulled into a shallow sleep, I begin to hear the distant, rhythmic sounds of rolling waves from the nearby sea. The gentle crash of the ocean waves and the distant calls of seagulls make it feel as though I’m standing along the sun-kissed shore. The air is thick with the tang of salt, each breath carrying the essence of the sea. I take a deep breath of the warm coastal breeze. It smells incredible.

Caught between wakefulness and dreams, I practically feel the hot sand beneath my feet.

We must have hit a bump in the road, which caused my head to gently knock against the car window. Am I truly dreaming?

“Viola!” a warm voice calls out from somewhere behind me.

Turning around, I see a small boy running up, his arms wrapping around my leg in a tight embrace. The sun is too bright to see his face clearly, but his joyful, childish laughter rings out over the sounds of the ocean, easing my fears and worries.

Following the boy’s footprints in the sand, I look up to see a tall man approaching. When my eyes meet his beautiful brown gaze, a sense of completeness washes over me. I’m home—he is my home, and all is right in the world.

A gentle hand squeezes my shoulder, pulling me from the dreamlike state, and when I open my eyes, I’m met with Lord William Spencer’s house looming before me. All remnants of the solace and joy I lived just seconds ago slip away like sand through my fingers. That world now feels painfully out of reach. This is my reality.

The vague residue of my fading dream leaves me with an empty, hollow feeling that sends me plummeting deep into melancholy. The weight of my emotions grips me tightly, refusing to be shaken off as I enter the house.

When I reach my bedroom, I quickly shut my door—my breath becomes shallow and quick, each inhale feeling insufficient to satisfy my lungs. A tightness grips my chest, making breathing difficult, causing a wave of dizziness, disorienting my senses. I need to see him.

Overwhelming sadness propels me straight to Darius. Each step I take makes it more impossible to fight back the tears—only being near him can stop this. Only his presence can fill this inexplicable emptiness.

Before I know it, I’ve unlocked the door and am rushing toward him without regard for my own safety.

Darius panics and gets to his feet, trying to move away from me as I barrel towards him.

“Viola, stop—” he starts, but it’s too late.

I throw my arms around his skinny frame and hold him tight, desperate for him not to push me away. I feel him tense up in my arms, and as I bury my face into his cold, bony chest.

“You are reckless,” his chest grumbles beneath my ear, and I feel his hand hover above my lower back.

He’s finally holding me. I’m finally in his arms. I’m home.

Darius’ body slowly relaxes, and his large hand presses into my lower back, pressing me closer to him.

Only now do I recall what I’m doing and what he is. I look up at him—his eyes pierce into mine. This close, they look so young set into his ghastly face. I watch him drift closer and bury his nose into my neck, reminiscent of the way he did in the library.

My heart hammers in my chest as I expect him to take a bite out of me. I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I want him to do it. Take me. I take a long, deep breath and hold it, anticipating the wonderful pain of his fangs to pierce my skin—but it never comes. Instead, Darius seems to grumble with pleasure as he exhales.

“Interesting,” he finally says, almost to himself.

As I start to drift away from him, his massive hand keeps me pressed flush against his ice-cold body.

“Hold still, please, little mouse,” amusement plays in his hushed voice as he goes to smell me again.

This close, I feel the timbre of his voice vibrate through me with the few words he speaks. I relax in his grip and know for certain that I have no need to fear him. I do not fear him—I’m excited by him, turned on even.

My body relaxes and leans into his, wanting to be even closer.

I look up to see him watching me with confused curiosity. “Well, that is peculiar indeed.”

“What is?” My voice is barely a whisper.

Darius tugs on his other hand, but the chains prevent him from doing so, leaving him with only one hand to touch me.

“What’s curious, my little mouse, is that my beast does not have the uncontrollable urge to feed on you,” he says, his face drifting down again, gently placing his nose at my neck and takes another deep inhale as he runs his nose slowly up to my ear.

Every time his skin comes into contact with mine, I can’t tell if he’s ice-cold or burning hot.

“I want to, but it’s almost as if I can choose not to. Even this starved…” he looks at me and smirks. “What a curious little thing you are.”

I scan his blue eyes and examine his deathly face. My logical mind knows I should feel horrified, but there’s something inexplicable in the way he looks at me.

Darius’s eyes linger on my swollen eye. “While I have you here.”

He pricks his thumb on his elongated fang and spreads his blood over my swollen eye.

“What are you doing?!” I try to pull away, but he quickly returns his hand to my back, pressing me back into him.

“Stop squirming. This should help you heal faster. I’m unsure how much magic is left within my blood, but the longer you leave it on, the more likely it will help.”

I nod and stop resisting and watch him as he carefully spreads his blood over my eye. Who knew a Daemon warrior could be this gentle?

“This can’t be sanitary,” I mutter, but when he finishes, he looks at me as if expecting me to move away. I don’t budge. I don’t want to go anywhere; I want to stay right here.

Darius smirks almost bashfully and lowers his gaze for a moment. I suspect if he had any blood left in him, he’d be blushing.

“Thanks,” I whisper, “I think.”

I gaze into his deathly eyes, seeing beyond his frightening appearance. His cold hand gently caresses my cheek, and his thumb spreads blood across my bottom lip as he traces over it.

In a moment of impulse, I take his thumb into my mouth. As he slowly pulls it out, I find myself lifting onto my toes to kiss him. He’s too tall for me to reach, but his drift-down lips meet mine.

At first, his lips are cold, but the moment I feel his tongue make contact with mine, the temperature spikes as desire ignites within me. Our lips move together fervently, and I want him to consume me, my hands unable to hold him close enough. Darius growls with pleasure, one arm pressing me close to him while the other remains stretched out.

When our lips part, he rests his forehead against mine.

“You taste like peaches,” he muses. “At least, I think that’s what they used to taste like, I haven’t been able to taste anything for so long…”

Darius places a tender kiss on my cheek. I reach out to touch his face, but he turns away quickly—shame evident in his demeanor.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I wish you could see the real me, Viola. Not like this…I must look like death itself.”

“But I do see the real you, Darius,” I reply softly. “It’s because I see the real you that I’m even here, it’s why… I…”

I trail off, unable to finish my sentence.

Darius still refuses to meet my gaze, almost as if he were sulking.

“Darius…” I try to touch him again, and this time, he allows his face to drift into my hand.