Prologue

PROLOGUE

Violet

Three weeks ago

The first drop of rain feels like a death sentence.

Cold and unforgiving as it strikes my cheek, it rolls down, mimickingtearsoffearand grief.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowns out everything else. I tear through the empty streets ofMillbrook, my hometown in Northern England, a place I've known for all my twenty-one years. Tonight, though, it's transformed into something alien and threatening. The quaint shops with their hand-painted signs and the familiar red-brick houses blur into a nightmarish landscape, distorted byterrorand the relentless downpour.

"Fuck,fuck,fuck,"I pant, the words escaping in ragged gasps. My lungs burn with each breath, the cool night air like needles in mychest. Therainis picking up, fat droplets splattering against the pavement and soaking through mythincardie.

Millbrookhas always been a sleepy town, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else's business. But tonight, itfeelslike a trap closing in around me, the narrow streets suddenly claustrophobic and menacing.

Therainintensifies, driven by a bitterwindthat cuts through my clothes. My purple hair is plastered to my face in wet, stringy clumps. I wipe it away with trembling hands, my fingers numb with cold andfear. My eyes dart wildly from shadow to shadow, searching for threats in every darkened doorway and alley.

I'm being hunted. The hairs on the back of my neckstandon end, a primal warning that screams danger. It's like being a mouse in an open field, knowing the hawk is circling overhead, just waiting to strike.

Run, you stupid bitch.Run!

My feet pound against the wet pavement, eachstepsending up a small spray of water. I splash through puddles that reflect the sickly orangeglowof the streetlights, distorting the world into a surreal, watery mirror. The sound of myflip flops slapping against the pavementechoes off the buildings, tooloudin the eerie silence of the night. Itfeelslike I'm announcing my presence to whatever's chasing me, like a beacon saying,"Here I am, come and get me!"

But I can't stop. Can't let him get me.

The church clock sounds out, making me jump, striking midnight. The streets are deserted, the windows of the houses dark and lifeless. It's as if the entire town has been swallowed up,leavingmealonewith myterrorand the man who killed my parents and is coming for me.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a monstrous figure looming behind me, allfangsand claws and glowing eyes. There's nothing butrainandshadows, the street behind me is empty save for a stray can tumbling along in thewind. But that does little tocalmmy racing heart or ease the knot of dread in my stomach.

He's there. I know he's there. Oh God, why is thishappening?

I have no idea who"he"is or why he's after me. The night had started normally enough. I'd been at home with my parents, working on an abstract art piece, all swirling blues and greens with hints of gold, inspired by the way sunlight filters through the leaves in the nearby woods in the autumn mornings.

Then... what? My memories are a confused jumble, fragmented images that make no sense.Loudnoises, my parents screaming… A flash ofteeth, white andsharpin thedarkness. A whispered threat, the words lost but the menace clear. The overwhelming urge torun, to flee, toescape.

I am fleeing from a danger I can't name or understand. My world is reduced to the pounding of my heart and theburningin my legs as Ipushmyself to keep moving. My breath comes in short,sharpbursts, visible in the cold night air.

I turn a corner, my flip flops slipping on the slick pavement. For a heart-stopping moment, I think I'm going to fall, but I manage to right myself, one hand scraping against the rough brick wall of the newsagent.

I veer off the main road, plunging into the relativedarknessofMillbrookPark. The streetlights here are fewer and farther between, antique-style lamps that cast asoft, goldenglow. But right now, that romantic lighting just creates moreshadows, long fingers ofdarknessthatseemtoreachfor me, trying to drag me into their depths.

The well-maintained path gives way to soggy grass, and my feet sink into themudwith eachstep. The squelching sound is obscenelyloudin the quiet of thepark, and I wince with each footfall. I stumble, catching myself on a nearby tree trunk. Its rough bark bites into my palms, but I barely notice thepain. It's nothing compared to theterrorcoursing through my veins.

Keep going. Don't stop. He'll find you if you stop.

Ipushoff from the tree, forcing my exhausted body to keep moving. My legs feel like lead, muscles screaming in protest with eachstep. I weave between the trees, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps thatseemto echo in the stillness of thepark. The branchesseemto grab at my clothes,thintwigs catching on my cardie and scratching at my face.

Something snaps somewhere behind me, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet.

My blood turns toice, a chill that starts in mychestandspreadsoutward until even my fingertips feel frozen. I whirl around, eyes wide and searching the gloom. Is that movement in theshadowsa darker patch among the trees? Or is it just my imagination playing tricks,fearturningevery rustling leaf into a threat?

Only the patter ofrainon leaves answers me, asoftsusurration that mocks myfear. A gust ofwindsends ripples through the branches, and for a moment, I swear I hear wicked laughter on the breeze.

I retreat slowly, unwilling to turn my back on the potential threat. Branches scrape against my cardie,leavingdamp trails on the fabric. My foot catches on anexposedroot, gnarled and slippery withrain, and I stumble backwards. My arms windmill as I fight to keep my balance, the world tilting crazily around me.

"Shit!"

I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking thewindfrom my lungs. For a moment, I just lay there, dazed and gasping for air like a fish out of water. The world spins around me, trees and sky blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope.Rainpatters on my face, eachdropfeelinglike a tiny, cold kiss.

Get up! Get up, you idiot!

I scramble to my feet,caked with mud, my jeans and cardie covered with it. Every muscle in my body screams in protest, begging me to just lie down and give up. But thefearcoursing through my veins won't let me rest. It's like a live wire, jolting me into motion even as exhaustion threatens to drag me down.

I take a hesitantstepforward, then another. I have to keep moving, have to find help. Maybe if I can make it to the police station. It's not far, just a few blocks away. Surely someone will be there, even at this hour .

I turn, ready to make a dash for theparkexit – and slam into a solid wall of flesh.

I stumble back with a strangled cry, my feet slipping in themudagain. My eyes slowly travel up the figure before me, taking in details that myterror-stricken mind somehow finds important. Expensive shoes. A crisp white shirt, somehow still immaculatedespitetherain and mud. Tailored trousers with knife-edge creases, part of a suit that probably costs more than my parents make in a month.

Made.

And finally, a face that makes my bloodruncold.

He's handsome in a severesortof way, withsharpcheekbones that could cut glass and astrongjaw. His hair is dark and cut short. His eyes truly capture my attention. Black pools of pure evil. They glitter with cruel amusement, like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

But it's his smile that truly terrifies me – a predator's grin that promisespainand suffering. His lips curl back, revealingteeththatseemtoosharp, too white in thedarkness.

"No,"I whimper, backing away. My heel catches on a root, and I nearly fall again, barely keeping my balance."Please, no."

The man's smile widens, and now I'm certain – those canines are far too long, toosharpto behuman."No?"he says, his voice smooth as silk and cold asice. It's cultured, with the crisp accent of the upper classes, at odds with the wildness in his eyes."You don't have a choice, little flower. You are owed to me. "

I shake my head frantically, raindrops flying from my hair with the movement."I don't know you!"Iscream.

He tsks, taking a step towards me. Despite the mud and rain, he moves with a fluid grace that is almost inhuman. "You will, Violet. You will."

"Stay back!"I warn, trying to inject some steel into my voice. It comes out more like a frightened squeak, high and trembling. "I'llscream. Someone will hear–"

The man moves faster than my eyes canfollow. His hand clamps over my mouth, fingers digging into mycheekswith bruisingforce.

"No one will hear you,"he whispers, his breath ghosting across my ear and making meshudder."No one will come to save you. You'remine,Violet. You've always beenmine."

Istruggleagainst hisgrip, clawing at his hand. My nails scrape against his skin, but it's like trying to scratchmarble. He's inhumanlystrong, holding me in place with ease.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

But it is. This is no dream, no drunken hallucination brought on by too many pints at the pub. My parents' murder. Therainsoaking through my clothes, themudsquelching between my toes the irongripof the man holding me – it's all terrifyingly real.

"Shh,"the man soothes, as if comforting a frightened animal. His free hand comes up to stroke my hair, the gesture almost tender if not for the cruel glint in his eyes."Don't fight it. It will all be over soon."

He removes his hand from my mouth, but before I canscream, he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head to the side, exposing my neck. Thepainissharpon my scalp and immediate,and tearsspring to my eyes.

"No, please,"I beg, the words choked with sobs.Tearsmingle with therainon mycheeks, hot trails of salt water that quickly cool in the night air."I don't want to die."

The man chuckles, a sound devoid of any real humour. It rumbles through hischest, and I can feel the vibration where our bodies are pressed together."Oh, my sweetViolet,"he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks."Who said anything about dying?"

There's a flash of gleamingfangscaught in a stray beam of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Thepainexplodes in my neck, white-hot and all-consuming. Iscream, the sound tearing from mythroatand echoing through the emptypark. But no help comes.

The world begins to fade around me,darknesscreeping in at the edges of my vision like spilt ink. My struggles grow weaker, my limbs asheavyas lead. I can feel my life draining away with eachpullof the monster's mouth on my neck, my heartbeat slowing with every passing second.

This is it. This is how I die.

As consciousness slips away, my last coherent thought is of my unfinished painting, still sitting on its easel in my bedroom. The swirls of blue and green, the flecks of gold leaf I'd planned to add. I'll never get to complete it now. It will sit there, forever unfinished, a testament to a life cut short.

Then there's nothing butdarknessand the sound ofrain, asoftpatter that follows me down into oblivion.

The first thing I notice is the cold. It seeps into my bones, an icy chill that makes me shiverdespitetheheavyblanket ofdarknesssurrounding me. Slowly, other sensations filter through the fog in my mind. Thesoftwhisperof fabric underneath me. The flickeringglowofcandlelight, dancing behind my closed eyelids, casting an amberwarmththat does nothing to dispel the cold. A thirst—a parched, desperate need that claws at mythroat, unlike anything I've ever experienced before.

Iforcemy eyes open, blinking against the dim light. Candles surround the bed I'm lying on, their flames castingshadowsonstonewalls. Theceilingis high, far higher than at home. Gothic arches loom overhead, disappearing intoshadowsso deep I can't make out the top of it. Flicking my eyes right, I seeheavyvelvet curtains hanging from towering windows, blocking out any hint of the worldbeyond.

For a moment, I think I'm dreaming. This can't be real. I can't be here. It's like I've stepped into the pages of a gothic novel, all darkstoneand flickeringcandlelight. But thehungergnawing at my insides is all too real. It's not just thirst now, but a ravenous emptiness that threatens to devour me from the inside out. I've never felt anything like it before—it's as if every cell in my body is crying out for something, though I don't know what.

I try to swallow, but mythroatis too dry. My tonguefeelsswollen, sticking to the roof of my mouth. I need water or something more. Thehungertwists inside me, a living thing with claws andteeth.

"Violet."

The voice cuts through my confusion like a knife, as smooth and cold as polishedmarble. It resonates through the room, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I turn my head, and my breath catches in mythroat.

He's there, lying beside me on themassivefour-poster bed. The man from thepark. The monster who chased me through the streets ofMillbrook.

We're lying on top of athinsheet of deep crimson silk. I'm wearing somesortof old-fashioneddressthat shoves up my breasts and reaches my ankles. But he doesn't move closer, doesn't try totouchme. He simply watches me with thosestrange, shifting eyes—green one moment, gold the next. Theyseemtoglowin thecandlelight, filled with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But I can't. I'm trapped in hisgaze, like a rabbit in front of a wolf.

He's beautiful, in the way that deadly things often are. His face hassharpangles and perfect symmetry, with high cheekbones and astrongjaw. His skin is pale, almost luminescent in the flickering light. His white shirt is open at the neck, his black pants immaculate and uncreased. He looks like he's been carved frommarbleby a master sculptor, which is too perfect to be real.

Panic rises in mychest, a tidal wave trying to drown me. My heart beat is sluggish and almost painful."What's going on?"I try to sit up, to move away from him, but my body won't respond. I'm frozen in place, trapped by nothing more than hisgaze. My limbs feelheavyand unresponsive, like I'm trying to move through treacle.

"Shh,"he soothes, his voice impossibly gentle for a creature I know to be capable of such violence."Be still,Violet. There's no need to be afraid."As he speaks, his eyesseemto pulse with an otherworldly light."I'm not going to hurt you."

As he speaks, astrangecalmwashes over me. It starts in mychest, awarmththatspreadsoutward, dulling the edges of my panic. Thefearrecedes, replaced by a fuzzy, detachedfeeling. It's like I'm watching myself from a distance, unable to fully connect with my own emotions. I know I should be terrified, should be fighting with every ounce of strength I possess. But I can't muster the will to do more than lie there, my eyes locked on his face.

"Who are you?"Iwhisper, the words slipping out. My voice soundsstrange, distant and disconnected.

His lips curve into that predatory smile I remember from thepark. It's a smile that doesn'treachhis eyes, which remain cold and calculating."My name isNathaniel,"he says, the name rolling off his tongue like dark honey. Each syllable carries a weight, as if the act of him speaking his name aloud has power."And you, my dearViolet, belong to me now."

"I don't understand,"I mumble, fighting against theunnaturalcalmthat holds me in itsgrip. It's like trying to swim through molasses, every thought slow and sluggish."What do you mean, I belong to you?"

Nathanielreaches out, trailing one cold finger along my jawline. Histouchis likeice,leavinga trail of goosebumps in its wake. Ishudder, hating the way my body responds to him. Every nerve ending comes alive under histouch with revulsion and something else. Something I don't want to name.

"You were promised to me long ago,"he explains, his tone maddeningly patient, as if speaking to a child. His finger continues its path, tracing the line of mythroat."By your parents, and now, after all this time, you're finallymine."

My parents. The mention of them shatters the artificialcalm, memories crashing over me in a brutal wave. The fog in my mind clears, replaced by crystal-clear images that play out before my eyes like a horror film.

I see them lying on the floor of our living room, blood pooling around their still forms. The cream carpet is stained crimson, the metallicscentof bloodheavyin the air. I hear my mother's last gasping breath, a wet, rattling sound that echoes in my ears. I see my father's eyes go blank and lifeless, the light fading from them as he stares unseeing at theceiling.

In my memory,Nathanielturns to look at me, his mouth smeared with blood. My parents' blood. He smiles, and I see the glint offangs. I remember theterrorthat gripped me, the way I turned and ran, my feet pounding on the pavement as I fled into the night.

"You murdered them,"I choke out,tearsstinging my eyes. The words taste like filth in my mouth."I remember now. You killed them, and I ran... how long ago?"It's so vivid, but I feel like I've lost time.

Nathaniel'sexpression doesn't change. His face remains an impassive mask, betraying nothing of what he might befeeling."Three days. But it was necessary,"he says simply, as if discussing the weather rather than the brutal murder of my parents."They tried to keep you from me. I couldn't allow that."

Three days. It feels like longer.

I want toscream, to rage against him. I want to claw at his face, to make him feel even a fraction of thepainhe's caused me that I'm unable to vent. But thatunnaturalcalmis still wrapped around me like a straitjacket, dulling my emotions and holding me in place. All I can do is lie there,tearssliding silently down mycheeks.

"What did you do to me?"Iwhisper. But even as the words leave my mouth, I remember. Thepark. Therain. The flash offangsand the searingpainin my neck."You... you bit me."The memory makes meshudder.

Nathanielsmiles, and this time, I can see the points of hisfangs,sharpand white, against his lower lip. They look impossibly long, like thefangsof a snake, rather than anythinghuman."I did more than that, my dear,"he says, his voice filled with dark pride."I made you like me. Immortal. Powerful. Free from the constraints of yourhumanlife."

The words wash over me, each one a blow that rocks me to my core. Immortal. Powerful. The implications are too huge to comprehend, too terrifying to consider. What does he mean, he made me like him? What am I now?

I whimper, sounding pathetic."What do you want with me?"

"I want to keep you,"he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His eyes roam over my face, drinking in every detail."You'll stay here with me, in my home. You'll cook for me, clean for me, provide other services as needed. In return, I will give you the world, my flower."The way he says it leaves little doubt as to what kind of‘services'he means, but right now he doesn't move closer, doesn'ttouchme inappropriately, only that feather light, icytouchon my skin.

Before I can respond, he grabs my wrist, bringing it to his mouth. Hisgripis like iron, inhumanlystrong. I try topullaway, but it's like trying to move a mountain. Hisfangspierce my skin, and I cry out at thesharppain. But it quickly fades, replaced by astrange, tinglingwarmththatspreadsup my arm and through my body.

I can hear the sounds of him drinking, feel the gentlepullas he draws my blood into his mouth. It should be disgusting, terrifying. But there's something sensual about it. The desirespreadsthrough me, making me feel light-headed as my pussy goes damp.

Thescenthits me—rich, coppery, and overwhelmingly enticing. It's my own blood, but it smells delicious. My mouth waters, and I feel asharppainin my gums. I slide my tongue over the tip of myteethand hiss as I slice into it.

Nathanielreleases my wrist, licking the last drops of blood from the puncture wounds. They close almost instantly,leavingonly a faint mark behind."The smell of your blood has triggered yourhunger,"he murmurs."You'll need to feed soon. But not yet."

He rises from the bed in one fluid motion. I watch, unable to look away, as he pulls on an impeccable black jacket that makes his pale skinglowin thecandlelight. Every movement is graceful, precise. He doesn't fumble with buttons orstrugglewith his tie. It's like watching a dance, choreographed to perfection.

Once he's finished, he turns to me."Get up,Violet,"he commands."I want to see how thatdresslooks on you."Theunnaturalcalmlifts, and I find I can move again. But instead of running or fighting, I find myself obeying his command. My body is no longer my own, responding to his will rather thanmine. I swing my legs over the side of the bed andstand, surprised by how steady I feel.

My bodyfeelsdifferent—stronger, more graceful.Despitethe disorientation I feel, I don't stumble or sway as I rise. It's like I've been upgraded, my muscles and bones replaced with something stronger, more durable. But I'm still shaking as Istand, thedress, falling around me in an expensive waterfall of gorgeousness. It's pure white, likesnow, silk and lace, and very feminine. Not my usual style at all. The neckline plungeslow, designed to show off cleavage rather than for any practical purpose. Hisgazeroams overs me, hooded with a deepening desire that creeps me out and makes my insides quake. I feelexposed, vulnerable, like a piece of meat on display.

Icatchsight of myself in a nearby mirror. It's a full-length antique, and its frame is as ornate as the wardrobe. The glass is slightly clouded with age, giving my reflection a dreamlike quality.

I look the same, yet different. My skin is paler, almost luminescent in thecandlelight. The white of thedressmakes me appear even more washed out. My eyes are brighter, with anunnaturalgleam that makes them look like polished gems. Myviolethair is fuller and glossier, falling in perfect waves around my face. I look beautiful and terrible, and Ihateit.

But what Ihatemore is the way I'm drawn toNathaniel. Even as I loathe him for what he's done, for what he is doing to me now, I feel an undeniablepulltowardshim. It's as if there's an invisible thread connecting us, tugging me closer no matter how much I want torun. I can feel his presence behind me, like a weight pressing against my back.

I turn to face him, mycheeksburningwith shame and anger.Nathaniellooks me over approvingly, his eyes lingering on the curves the tight bodice accentuates before it drops gracefully to mybarefeet. Hisgazeis almost physical. I can feel it caressing my skin. It makes me want to cover myself, to hide away from his hungry eyes.

"Perfect,"he purrs, anddespiteeverything, I feel a thrill at his praise. Ihatemyself for it, but I can't deny the effect he has on me. My body and mind are at war, one craving his approval, while the other recoils in disgust."Come,Violet. It's time you learned your place in your new home."

He holds out his hand,clearlyexpecting me to take it. I stare at it for a moment, my mind racing. What has he turned me into? What will happen to me in thisstrangenew existence? And most terrifying of all— will I be able to resist the dark allure ofNathaniel, or will I lose myself completely to this monster who now owns me?

With a shaking hand, Ireachout and place my palm against his. His skin is cold, but there's an electric current that passes between us at the contact. He smiles, a predator's grin that sends shivers down my spine.

"Good girl,"he murmurs, and Ihatehow those words make me feel. Proud and ashamed all at once, wanting to please him even as I despise myself for it.

He leads metowardsthe door, hisgripon my hand firm but not painful. As we exit the bedroom, I get my first glimpse of the rest of his home. Westepinto a long corridor, lined with more flickering candles and ancient tapestries. The floor is polishedstone, cold beneath mybarefeet.

Everystepis astrugglebetween the part of me that wants torun, to fight, toscream—and the new, traitorous part that wants tofollowNathaniel, to bask in his attention and approval. I feel like I'm being torn in two, my humanity warring with whatever he's turned me into.

As we walk,Nathanielspeaks, his voice echoing in the cavernous hallway."You have much to learn, my dearViolet. About who you are now, about the world you've become a part of. It won't be easy, but I'll guide you everystepof the way."

I want to argue, to tell him I don't want his guidance. But the words stick in mythroat. Instead, I ask the question that's beenburningin my mind since I woke up."What am I now?"

Nathaniel stops, turning to face me. His eyes glow in the dim light, hypnotic and terrifying. "You're a vampire, Violet, and you are mine, in every way that matters."

The words hit me hard. Avampire. Itseemsimpossible, like something out of a horror movie. But I can feel the truth in my body—in thehungerthat gnaws at me, in the strength in my limbs, in the way my sensesseemsharper than ever before.

"Why?" I whisper, my voice breaking.

Nathaniel'ssmile is cruel and unforgiving. "I told you. You were owed to me."

As he leads me deeper into hismansion, I know that this is just the beginning. Whatever plansNathanielhas for me, whatever this new existence holds, I'm powerless to resist. All I can do isfollowhim into thedarkness, hoping that some part of who I was will survive, or that someone, anyone, will help me break free from this crushing curse before it's too late.