Vampyre | Book I of Bloodlines

VIOLA'S CAPABLE HANDS

Darius

My hand tightens around Viola, drawing her nearer. I crave her closeness, a yearning for our souls to entwine, our bodies merging into one. Her warm, soft form and the scent of jasmine and sea fill my senses, infusing me with renewed vitality. The circumstances that led her to rush into my embrace pain me to consider, yet now that she's here, all her suffering seems to have vanished into thin air.

"What happened that sent you running to me like this?" I inhale her intoxicating scent once more, utterly captivated and unable to resist.

"I hardly know. I just needed to be near you," Viola murmurs into my chest.

The proud beast within stirs, strengthened by her confession.

"I met another Vampyre today," she adds quietly, far too flippantly for my liking.

If my heart could beat, it would have stopped at that moment. I pull Viola back to look at her, inspecting both sides of her neck for marks, finding none. I check her wrists, finding them unblemished.

"He didn't feed off me. He said I reeked of rotten flesh," she says, trying to comfort me.

I peer into Viola's good eye, trying to grasp the meaning behind her words. "Rotten flesh?"

Viola nods. "Yes. He's the one who bit the printer's daughter, trying to turn her into a Vampyre."

Viola's gentle smile at the thought of this other Vampyre awakens a profound jealousy within me. Once I rid myself of William, I'll have to address this meddlesome Vampyre who dares to orbit around Viola.

Vampyres never assist each other out of kindness. My kind are the most selfish of creatures, always acting in their own self-interest—we view ourselves as superior to all other supernatural beings, feeding off each other's egos. I despise being in their company—their lack of humanity is infectious, and I've invested too much in maintaining my own.

The very few like-minded Vampyres I've met who still try to live among mortals are overly protective of any human we might bond with—their lives are so fleeting and delicate that we like to keep them close, especially if they cannot be turned. If this Vampyre was trying to turn the printer's daughter, then she would be his main focus, motivation, and weakness.

If this Vampyre chooses to aid Viola in any way, he will more than likely expect some form of payment—nothing in my world is free.

"Where does one find nitric acid?" Viola suddenly asks.

Her unexpected question causes me to laugh a little too loudly, and she pouts at me before examining the silver cuff tightly shackling my wrist.

"They require a key," I inform her.

"Do you know where it is?" Viola inspects the other wrist, finding it identical to the first.

I nod. "I do."

Viola looks up at me expectantly, hope flickering across her face.

"William melted them down. The only way out is to cut off my hands, but I wouldn't be able to heal myself in this state."

"Oh," Viola murmurs, turning my hand over in hers.

They don't look like my hands—the foreign, grey, dry, wrinkled skin that covers them disgusts even me.

The sound of a vehicle nearing the house snaps me back into reality. I shift my focus to the windows, listening closely to the sound—it's not a car I recognize. Has William returned early?

"What is it?" Viola asks quietly.

I cup her face, locking eyes with her. "You need to open the curtains and leave. There's a car approaching, and I can't discern who's inside. It might be William."