Chapter 1
I spent a full hundred years trying to become the rose which the vampire count cherished.
Yet on one rainy night, he brought home a human girl like a frail little white flower.
He told me, with a touch of apology, that this human girl was both pitiful and stubborn. She had given him the blood he desperately needed when he unexpectedly fell into bloodlust, and she had asked for nothing in return.
He had brought her back by force, only to give her a place to stay.
He told me not to take it to heart.
I chose to believe him.
Yet at my coming-of-age ball, in front of every vampire noble, he coldly announced that I was merely his adopted daughter.
Adopted daughter? I let out a cold laugh. "Cyrus, before you say another word, would you mind letting go of the woman in your arms first?"
*****
In the northern lands of Eureth, there are the Darkridge Mountains.
Thornhold Castle stood at the very crown of the cliff.
The spires of its towers pierced the gray sky without mercy.
I sat at the vanity in my bedroom, watching through the lattice window as flocks of bats wheeled frantically around the towers.
Footsteps came from behind me.
Someone stepped slowly into the room, and a voice rich as a cello softly called my name. "Isolde Windsor."
I caught the cool scent of night rain on him.
I turned around.
Cyrus Ashford stood in the middle of the room, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He has blonde hair, crimson eyes, a pale face as exquisite as a marble statue.
He had lived for over a thousand years, one of the oldest vampires in this world.
And he was the one who had stood by my side for the past hundred.
"You're back," I said.
Cyrus nodded and placed the roses in my hands.
The fresh blooms still carried the damp of the rain, their dark red petals gleaming like satin. The stems had been carefully trimmed, smooth to the touch, not a single thorn left.
He reached out and stroked my hair. "Do you like them?"
I smiled and said nothing.
Cyrus smiled too, drew me into his arms, brushed his chin against my neck, then spoke again.
"I brought a human back with me," he said.
The human Cyrus spoke of was a timid young girl.
She had blonde hair, blue eyes, a pointed chin.
She wore a cotton dress washed pale from repeated washing, and she stood barefoot, bruises ringing her ankles.
Once she stepped inside, she kept her head down and hid behind Cyrus like a startled doe.
Cyrus turned slightly to the side and motioned for her to stand beside him.
"Her name is Elena Hartwell," he said. "I found her in a back alley by a Lundyn bar which surrounded by a group of drunks. She'd fought them so hard she was covered in injuries."
Faint as it was, I caught a hidden tenderness in his voice.
I looked at the girl called Elena.
Her frame was so fragile it seemed the wind might scatter her, yet there was stubbornness in those innocent blue eyes.
My heart sank.
She looked too much like...
Like me.
Not the vampire I was now, but the orphan from a hundred years ago, curled into a corner and soaked in the filthy runoff after the rain, whose body covered in wounds.
Looking at her, the memories came back in flashes, surging over me like waves until I could hardly breathe.
"Her situation is a little unusual," Cyrus went on, oblivious to my mood, his voice softening. "I was away longer than I'd planned this time, and I fell into bloodlust without warning. She gave me her pure blood..."
He paused there and glanced at Elena. "She saved me, yet she asked for nothing in return. She didn't even want to come back with me. I brought her here by force."
I knew Cyrus's standing was special, and so was the blood he drank. It had to be the blood of the purest maidens. Whenever he traveled, the servants would prepare specially crafted blood for him.
In human terms, he might be called a picky eater.
He was a rather particular vampire about food, and about the people he kept around him.
He looked at me. "Isolde, she's a pitiful thing. Just give her a place to stay. Don't trouble yourself over her and treat her like a maid if you want."
His tone was gentle, but it left no room for refusal.
I said nothing.
From beneath her lowered head, Elena stole a glance at me.
Something flickered through those blue eyes, and by the time I looked again, only innocence remained.
Perhaps I had imagined it.
Three days later.
The study at Thornhold Castle.
Through the slightly open door, I could see the orange firelight flickering in the hearth.
I pushed the door open and saw Elena standing in front of the bookshelf, a leather-bound volume cradled in her hands.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Elena turned, saw it was me, and that timid look immediately took over her face. "Miss Isolde, I wanted to find something to read... Lord Cyrus said I could wander wherever I liked."
"You wouldn't understand the books here," I said evenly. "They're ancient vampire texts, not written in any human tongue. And Cyrus never allows anyone to handle these books without permission."
Elena's eyes immediately welled up. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to overstep."
I frowned. "I didn't say you'd overstepped..."
Before I could finish, Elena suddenly stumbled backward, lost her footing, and crumpled awkwardly to the floor.
As she fell, her elbow struck the sharp corner of the bookshelf, and blood immediately began to flow.
At that very moment, Cyrus appeared in the doorway of the study.
He saw Elena on the floor.
Her blonde hair was tangled, she was curled up on the ground, and blood was still streaming from her arm.