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

Dae

A week into our voyage across the open ocean, freedom finally permeates the air. in the air.

Even during our time in England, as we awaited the confirmation of Elliott’s adoption, each day brimmed with tension. A lingering unease plagued my mind until we set sail, leaving England vanishing behind the horizon.

I stroll along the ship’s deck under the light of a star-studded night sky. With minimal crew on deck at this hour, it’s the perfect time to feed. But as Viola sinks her teeth into one of the crew members, I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. It’s the Daemon’s ego, struggling to accept that our child requires more blood than I can possibly provide.

Despite the jealousy, a part of my human side rejoices in this emotion—it’s a tangible reminder of my existence and the reality of our child. Before my transformation, continuing my father’s legacy was my duty, but I also longed to experience fatherhood. Now, the mere thought of it fills me with overwhelming joy, to the point where I stop myself from dwelling on it too long.

Viola’s eyes catch mine, glowing in the moonlight as she feeds discreetly high up on the mast. I watch her not out of a need to watch her back but simply because she is a glorious sight to behold when her Daemon emerges.

Viola adapts to hunting effortlessly, like a duck to water. She never intends to kill her prey, so she follows my instructions meticulously every time. I observe as she withdraws her fangs from the sailor’s neck—not a single drop spilled. That’s my girl. Her venom will erase his memory of the feed, leaving him feeling a bit light-headed for a few days.

Once we return to the cabin, I assist Viola in undressing. Though unnecessary, she allows it, and it’s my favorite part of each day. I leisurely remove each item of clothing, feeling the anticipation building within her.

With her down to nothing but her undershirt, I run my hand down her large round belly to her core, sensing her entrance already wet and eager for me. Tonight, it’s my turn to worship her.

Slipping my fingers inside her, I feel her shiver from my touch. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest as I move in and out of her, her eyes fluttering closed.

The way Viola bites her lip and her soft moans tempt me beyond restraint. Her hands entwine into my hair as I kiss her, forcing me deeper into her mouth. Gentle worship, it seems, is not on her mind tonight.

I guide Viola to lie on the small bed and undress, her eyes tracing my skin, leaving a trail of sparkle wherever they land. Cradling her from behind, I relish the delicious curve of her neck with my mouth. Despite the temptation to bite her, I refrain, mindful of her vocal tendencies and our child’s need for her blood. Drinking from her would only weaken them both.

As the tip of my cock touches her slick, warm entrance, I feel Viola’s hand wrap around my length to guide me inside her. I won’t keep her waiting and slide into her until I’m buried deep within her. Her moan is almost enough to make me come apart right then and there. I growl as I try to keep it together long enough to please her. I make love to Viola slowly, deeply, and hard—just how she likes it, and being pregnant has made her needier than ever before. I, for one, am more than happy to oblige her.

“Oh, Dae,” she whispers.

I feel her unraveling under my touch and grab onto her hips as she squirms and convulses around me.

“Fuck, Viola,” I manage to growl as her climax overtakes us both, and she drags me right over the edge with her.

I remained buried inside her, knowing she was nowhere close to being satiated, and led her to unravel twice more before she melted into that blissfully tired and satiated puddle I so enjoy witnessing. Her smile, a telltale sign of contentment, is met with the greedy beast within me, urging me to extract one more orgasm from her, claiming her body and soul as my own.

That night, Viola’s dreams intertwined with mine, and we awoke the next morning with our daughter’s name burned into our memories. She shared it with us, and the moment Viola smiled at me upon waking, I knew it was her vision that had brought her such joy.

“She has your lips,” I say, planting kisses down to Viola’s belly, where I rest my ear.

“And your eyes,” Viola adds, running her nails through my hair.

“Good morning, Orphea,” I whisper to our daughter.

As I speak, I feel Orphea’s movements in response, and the love I already hold for her seems to burst within my chest.

I glance up at Viola. “Does this name hold significance for you?”

She nods. “It’s reminiscent of Orpheus, the Greek god of music, but its origin, ‘orphne,’ means darkness.”

My brows furrow in confusion.

“That seems rather fitting, don’t you think?” I press my ear to Viola’s belly. “Are you certain that’s the name you want, little one? Not something beautiful, like Nari?”

Orphea’s kick prompts laughter from Viola. “I suppose she’s made her decision.”

Later that day, the ship’s captain married us, happily obliged under the guise that we were simply renewing our vows. With Viola visibly pregnant and Elliott, who easily passes as my son, we aimed to avoid any judgments. Though I suggested a wedding in Korea with my family, Viola preferred a smaller affair, and I dared not press further. As long as she becomes my wife, I am content.

Our daughter entered the world a day after our arrival in my homeland. Overwhelmed by joy and love, I found myself at a loss for how to handle such intense emotions.

Unfortunately, Orphea grew rapidly and was walking within days, depriving us of the cherished newborn phase. Elliott became fiercely protective of little Orphea, staying by her side at all times. Even before she could walk, we noticed her eyes glowing with some form of magic, and we would often catch Elliott laughing as if they shared a special connection. It was a bit unnerving not knowing the nature of her gift, but all our worries dissipated one morning when Elliott approached Viola and uttered his first words. “Mama, I’m thirsty.”

The sheer joy that flooded Viola’s face at his words is unforgettable. It was as if her heart exploded with happiness, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hurried to fetch him some water. Sophie, equally ecstatic, converses with him solely in French, hoping he will pick up her language and start repeating phrases in French.

By the time we reach my hometown, Orphea is already the same size as Elliott. We must be cautious with her. Born a Dhampir, she possesses strength surpassing that of a fully grown man. If she does anything to reveal herself, it’ll be troublesome. Yet, growing up alongside Elliott seems to instill in her a keen awareness of her strength, and she handles him with great care, particularly as they begin playing together.

In most parts of the world, Vampyre law dictates that children should not be turned. They lack self-control and struggle to manage their bloodlust, posing a threat to our world. Despite this, some individuals, typically female Vampyres desperate to become mothers, defy this law, endangering the lives of those around them by turning children who then run rampant. Vampyres will often hunt down the child, destroy the mother, and cover up such mass deaths with plagues or pandemics.

When we notice her fangs beginning to emerge, Viola urges me to teach Orphea to hunt. We opt to steer clear of cities and my family until Orphea learns to control her thirst, unwilling to risk endangering my human relatives. The thought of my daughter posing a threat to what remains of my sister’s bloodline is unsettling.

Orphea proves to be a swift and eager learner, much like her mother. Quickly, we feel confident enough to introduce her to my family, where we can start building a home and embark on our journey as a family.

I have big plans for Orphea and Elliott, especially for Elliott. I intend to train them as warriors, ensuring Orphea can protect herself as she grows stronger, but also empowering Elliott, who remains human and carries a history of suffering. My goal is to equip him with knowledge and skills that will instill a sense of safety and confidence in himself. I want him to become a man vastly different from his father: honest, caring, and empathetic, traits that already define Elliott. In William’s hands, Elliott’s spirit would have been crushed and molded into something ugly.

I watch as Orphea and Elliott play in the room of the inn we’re currently staying, wielding the wooden swords I crafted for them, and witness Elliott land a strike on Orphea, who feigns death in a very dramatic fashion accompanied by choking gurgling noises. Catching my eye, she flashes a knowing smile—she allowed Elliott to land a blow.

I laugh, glancing at Viola, who nervously prepares our belongings for tomorrow’s journey to meet my family at last. No matter how many times I tell her she has nothing to be concerned about, her nerves remain.

Elliott runs circles around Orphea, pretending to sprout wings, and flaps his arms.

“I’m a bat, just like daddy!” he exclaims before playfully pouncing on Orphea and pretending to bite her, sending his sister into a fit of giggles.