1. Chapter 1

Disoriented, I climbed out of bed. My legs felt shaky and weak, as though I had slept for a hundred years or more. The room was dark, but from the low light filtering in from the hallway, I noticed that nothing appeared familiar—everything was strange. From the window to the pictures on the wall. Even the furnishings and bedding resembled nothing I was used to.

A low scream coming from somewhere deeper in the castle—or wherever I was, distracted me. A woman's voice pleaded, "No, please, no!"

Familiar laughter drew me forward on unsteady feet. I was still so weak. Had I been sick?

"Stop playing around with her. We need her blood." I recognized my father's voice, sounding deep and callous as always, with a hint of a new accent I hadn't heard before.

"Yes, Lord," a voice I should have also recognized but didn't, answered.

The drive to discover what was happening gave me the strength to move forward and leave the bedroom. In the hallway, I caught sight of myself in a large-looking glass that must have cost a fortune. I recognized my red hair and green eyes, even the dress I wore. The dress! I gasped when I remembered Father ordering it for me for… for… No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall why. Something inside me curled and cowered and didn't want to release the information.

The woman screamed again. I reached another doorway and had enough sense to keep myself hidden as I leaned against the doorframe to steady myself, peeking around the corner. There she sat bound on a chair while a man whose face was disfigured by pockmarks—I should have known his name; it was right there at the back of my mind—stood before her with a knife in one hand and a golden chalice in the other.

My hand flew to my lips when I watched Pockmarks slice into the woman's wrist. He held the chalice underneath the cut, catching her dripping blood.

My throat burned at the sight of the red liquid, and I swallowed dryly. I was so thirsty, more thirsty than I had ever been in my life. But why was the sight of blood triggering it? I felt an urge to spring forward, push Pockmarks to the side, and latch on to the woman's wrist to… drink her blood. I shuddered. What was happening to me? I sent a quick prayer for forgiveness, but it felt hollow.

I should have stepped forward and helped the woman instead of desiring her blood.

"Hurry it up," my father snarled, turning his face, and I realized he was trying hard to keep his composure. His hands dug into the chair's headrest, cracking the wood, while Pockmarks licked his lips and moved uneasily on his haunches.

"Tomorrow, we'll leave for Hannover. Nothing will stop us this time," my father said, and I suspected it was more to distract himself.

The other man, it suddenly came to me, Sir Roger, my father's right hand henchman, grunted, and the woman's thrashing slowed. They were killing her. And I was just standing there, allowing it to happen. I took a tentative step forward but faltered. I still felt so weak.

"When you're done, give that to my daughter. She needs to be at her best when she meets the Dark Lord."

"We've waited a long time for this, my Lord," Sir Roger replied.

Was he talking about me?

"He will elevate me to such heights." My father's face turned up in elation. "I will be the most powerful man on Earth and open the gates to welcome Him."

"Long live the Dark Lord," Sir Roger chanted, banging the woman's lifeless wrist against the chair's armrest to get the last drops of blood out of it.

Shudders wracked my body as I remembered something else that happened, days ago? Weeks?

"You will mate the Dark Lord and give him children and make me the most powerful man on Earth," my father had told me just before darkness had surrounded me.

The Dark Lord.

Satan!

That's when I ran.

My mind must have blacked out because the next thing I remember is me running. Running dazed and disoriented through streets I didn't recognize. Past people dressed in an unknown fashion, while strange carriages without horses drove by at a dizzying speed.

My throat felt sore and dry. I had never been this parched before. Probably from running, I tried to tell myself, but I knew deep down that wasn't the truth, so I ignored it, just like I ignored that I couldn't feel myself breathing hard or any increase in my heartbeat. As a matter of fact, I didn't feel my heart at all.

All I knew was that I needed to get away as fast and as far as possible from my father and Sir Roger.

The beat of loud music from across the street caught my attention. A line of people stood pressed against a wall, dressed even more strangely than the ones I had passed. Women wore short skirts that exposed legs and skimpy tops showing off naked midriffs and even cleavage in ways I wasn't comfortable with. Men stood with them, also dressed in perplexing outfits, fabrics that were finer and more colorful than I was used to.

These details, however, barely registered as my sole focus remained on getting away from my father. The beat of the music coming from behind a door that looked like a pub entrance called to me. It was rhythmical, like the sound of a heartbeat. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum . As if hypnotized, I changed my direction and crossed the street, barely aware of loud screeching noises, as several metallic, horseless carriages came to a standstill merely inches from me. Only the blaring sound of a horn made me look up and straight into the angry face of a man inside the carriage. He was screaming at me; his hands were moving through the air, but I couldn't hear anything he yelled.

The beat changed, and with it, my attention riveted once again to the pub, calling to me, luring me forward. Like in a trance, I walked to the entrance, guarded by two burly men. I couldn't have said how or why, but instinctively, I knew I would be safe inside."That's a new one," the burly man by the entrance stared me up and down. "I think you missed the Renaissance fair on Eighth Street, sweetheart."

His eyes took in my long skirt and the wide tulip sleeves of my dress. They lingered a little bit longer at the square neckline where my breasts poked out, pressed up by a too-tight corset. I listened to him talk in English and understood his words, but they sounded foreign, nasal, and drawling. He was speaking fast and used words I didn't know. Renaissance?

"DeVille might find her entertaining. Let her pass," the second burly man with a bald head asserted in the same strange accent, nodding at me.

The music was even louder as I stepped by the two men into the pub. It was so loud it hurt my ears. How did they do that? And why did it seem to come from everywhere at once? It was strange, too, played by instruments I wasn't familiar with, and the lyrics were… I blushed, or thought I did, as they contained words that would never leave my lips. Vulgar words, words I knew the… who? Who used?

My head spun as I desperately tried to remember… something, anything. Then it came to me: guards. My father's guards used some of the words when they thought they were alone.

I slowed my step as I descended a narrow, winding stairway. Something else pulled against the edge of my memory, causing a wave of dizziness that made me nearly lose my step. I grabbed the railing for support and closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the spinning in my head.

Laughter and someone jostling me made me open my eyes again in time to see a couple making their way up.

Disoriented, I moved down the last steps before I reached the ground level, where I had to close my eyes again against the lights coming from all directions. The light didn't come from the sun, torches, or candles, yet it bathed everything in vivid hues that reminded me of the colors I'd seen in church when sunlight filtered through stained glass windows.

Church? I didn't know where that memory came from, but another wave of dizziness overcame me, and I stumbled forward just as another person bumped into me so hard that I tripped and fell right onto a stranger's lap.

"What do we have here?"

I hardly heard him over the beat of the music.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I stammered, trying to regain my footing.

"Sir, she called you sir." Another man, sitting inside the same rounded booth, guffawed.

"Let her be. She looks frightened," a girl sitting with them yelled. I would have estimated her to be in her early twenties, like me, but heavy face coloring made her appear older.

"I think I'll keep her." Hands held on to my butt and squeezed. I yelped, pushing at him with more strength than I thought I possessed. The move propelled me upward, back on my feet. Outraged, my hand flew automatically forward, slapping him straight across his face. How dare he?

"Now listen here, sweetheart." The man rose. And rose.

I swallowed, or tried to, but there was nothing to swallow down, only dryness, reminding me of my painfully increasing thirst. I rubbed my throat to find some relief, staring up at the giant towering over me. With an angry snarl, he grabbed me by my shoulder and shook me. "You stupid bitch, you slapped me. I'll teach you—"

His large hand flew through the air, coming down straight for my face. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the blow.