Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines

DARIUS KANE

Viola

Leaning back in my chair, I lower my hands to reveal my face to Mr. Daemon. From this close, he is truly horrifying. His skin is pallid, and his face gaunt. His eyes are such a pale shade they almost look completely white.

Something has changed since the last time I saw him—his long hair is no longer white; it's black, and he doesn't appear as sickly. Before, he resembled a decaying corpse. While he still bears some resemblance to a decaying corpse, it's somewhat less pronounced now.

I watch the Daemon closely as his gaze lingers on my swollen eye, and I notice the anger slowly fading from him. His head drops, and his wings droop to the ground, resembling the ears of a sad puppy caught in the act. It's guilt, unmistakably guilt.

"I'm sorry... It's all my fault," Mr. Daemon manages to utter in his deathly voice.

"How is it your fault?" I ask, but he remains silent.

Clearly, I need to rescue him from whatever rabbit hole he's fallen into because this won't suffice. Time is limited, and I don't want him to endure any more suffering than he already has.

I retrieve my book from my pocket and begin searching through the pages, seeking a specific section I've marked. "I thought you heard everything that happens in this house: I'm a witch, didn't you catch that part? You must not be as adept a Vampyre as this fellow."

I glance up from the book to find the Daemon's eyes locked onto mine. A small smirk creeps onto his lips, revealing a hint of his sharp, dangerous fangs. Without thinking, I rise from my seat and step forward for a closer look. Suddenly, his wings open, and he hisses at me.

I freeze in my tracks. Did he really hiss at me? I search his eyes for a solution to the awkward standoff we seem to be in—honestly, I'm torn between amusement and fear.

"Are you quite finished? I only wanted to see your fangs."

"Stay away from me!" His voice suddenly explodes with an intensity and energy he didn't have seconds ago. I feel his power hit my gut, forcing me to take a step back.

"I've been starved for years; if you get too close, I won't be able to control myself. The Daemon within will feed on you."

"How long have you been held like this?" The idea that a sentient being has been imprisoned like this for years is an awful one to consider.

"Three years," he says dejectedly. "Please, Viola, I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you," he says softly, keeping his gaze lowered.

The tenderness in his voice is surprising—for a hideous Daemon, he sure is heartfelt and honest.

"All right," I say, sitting back down in my chair.

The moment I step back, the Daemon's remaining energy vanishes. He collapses, held back only by the chains, his large, black, bat-like wings slumping lifelessly to the ground. He's been strung up like this for three years? Barbaric.

I pause to examine the Daemon while he avoids looking my way and shudder at the realization that this is the same being I wanted to ravage me in the library. The impact he had on me was profound, and despite feeling repulsed by his current condition, it was him in William's body, him at the helm, and him I desired to devour me.

"What is your name?" I finally inquire.

"Darius," he manages, lifting his heavy head to gaze at me. "Darius Kane."

I force myself to look away—he's too revolting to look at for too long. "And how old are you, Mr. Kane?"

"I am two hundred and forty-two years old."