Prologue
Elsie
Blood was life, but spilling it was just for fun. Waves and waves of it would fill the room, the scent thick and heavy enough that I could taste it when I entered before a single drop ever touched my tongue. Even the heat radiated, lingering for a time after it was spilled, warming my skin wherever it splashed, leaving sticky, lingering patches against the ivory of my skin. Cackling laughter echoed off the stone walls, mixing and flowing with shrieking screams and pleading voices. It didn’t matter what they promised or how they begged, they wouldn’t leave the chipped rock walls of the castle alive—the only remainder of their existence the drips of crimson that escaped our reach and stained the cracks of the stones.
I stepped from the tower, licking the blood from my fingertips with a shake of my head. I didn’t see the necessity of scaring the living daylights out of my victims before their sacrifice, nor did I understand the point of the mess. It wasn’t as though blood was easy to remove from my clothing after I fed. There were far more civilized ways to have a meal or to gain the advantages of blood against my skin. I did not appreciate the grit that tended to embed itself there as well, no matter how much the servants scrubbed the dirt away. Part of that could be due to lack of motivation, since most were unsure if they would end up as the next visitors to the tower, their own blood spilling over the icy stones, adhering to the rock as it cooled.
Traditions were traditions, however. From the time of my great-great-grandmother, the vampires had fed this way. Most of us enjoyed it, the fear and despair fueling something in us just as the blood we consumed nourished us. Others believed that fear was what contributed to the healing effects of the blood, as that emotion was so rare for our kind. Family lore stated that as we lost the ability to feel fear, it hardened our skin, cracking and peeling it, turning us into something more monstrous than human, preventing us from mingling with our prey and acting as the predators we were. I had experienced the painful cracking, peeling skin myself, which was one of the main reasons I still partook in “family dinners.” I knew they were termed as such with mockery, a mere nod to the humans we may have once been, a method of luring our victims in with a sense of pride. Only the washing of the affected skin with blood would soothe the weeping sores and cure the loss of use that would occur in the limb if blood was not imbibed.
It wasn’t that I liked being a vampire, it was merely my existence. I had too high of a level of self-preservation to let myself rot away, though I had considered it on occasion. The passing of time tended to lower the thrill of killing and expand my knowledge about other subjects, amongst which was my prey. Much experimentation had followed, and I learned, rather painfully, that only human blood would suffice to keep me strong and whole. While I didn’t see humans as chattel, the way many of my kind did, I also wasn’t made of strong enough moral fiber to allow myself to die in their stead.
My suggestion of not bleeding our meals entirely, of only taking minor amounts that could be replenished from our stock, was met with nothing more than mockery and disdain. This was our life, and the traditions would not be changed—not for me, not for anyone. My mother called it my “rebellious phase,” though I figured something that had evolved over a decade was far from a phase. My father merely sneered when the issue was brought up, commenting that the disintegration of my skin must have traveled to my brain, and he suggested a more frequent feeding schedule to combat the issue.
The blood on my flesh had cooled enough for me to know it had done its job, so I increased my speed toward my chambers, intent on washing the offending stain away. “What is with you vampires?” Scorn was clear in the cool, clipped voice that spoke from the shadows, and I raised a brow, pulling my lip back to expose my fangs. We were inside the walls, no one was able to enter whom we did not allow. It wasn’t as if they would be able to do anything to me if they had. Humans, even armed with weapons, were far weaker than we were. It wasn’t exactly fair when my teeth and nails acted as weapons, and my body healed with every wound I placed upon them.
While fear might not be a sensation I was accustomed to, surprise was. Identical men stepped from the darkness, their movements a mirror of each other. They towered over me. Though I was considered tall for a female, they must have been close to six and a half feet in height and rippling in layer after layer of hard muscle. Their hair was a dark brown, the rich color of freshly turned soil. The light was too muted in the hallway to give me an impression of their eye color, though it wasn’t dim enough to mask the disdainful curl of their lips or the only visible difference between the two—one sported a ring in his lower lip.
The sight caused my own lip to curl in response. “Witches.” No vampire would be foolish enough to decorate themselves with a ring through their lip, and they were far too outspoken to be fully human. Blood witches were the only humans who escaped our hunger, many living in companionable peace within our walls. Although they didn’t consume blood, they needed it for their spellcraft and enjoyed our practices, joining in with eager abandon as they collected the offerings they required. “As if you have room to talk about my practices.”
Although I hadn’t seen the two of them in the castle before, it was far from a surprise. I preferred my solitude and my studies, inevitably ignoring the ebb and flow of the humans who acted as both servant and food supply and the blood witches who came to utilize our resources in exchange for their manipulation of the technology in the castle. “We tend not to roll in our food,” the one with the lip ring grumbled.
“At least we use the food source,” I retorted, crossing my arms and ignoring the blood that crackled there with the movement, “rather than simply wasting it on spells for your false perception of power.”
Both sets of eyes flared, the pair moving in harmony as they held up their hands, red lightning sparking in their palms. “We are far from faking our power.”
I drew my shoulders back, unintimidated by their display. “I am Elsie Crauford. This is my home, and these are my people. I am next in line for the vampire throne, and you will give me the respect which I am due.”
“I’m Draven.” The man with the lip ring executed a mocking bow, and I hissed my irritation. “This is Crowe.” He indicated his twin with a lazy wave of his hand. I merely arched a brow, turning away from them to continue my course. Witches weren’t worth my time. “I assume we’ve missed the bleeding?” he called after me, and I snorted. As if that was a challenge to deduce. Besides, our family fed at traditional mealtimes, and all visitors were made aware of when those times were—even if it was just to ensure that they did not end up on the menu themselves and were safely ensconced in their chosen rooms. Witches were fools, there was no question about it.
Chapter One
Elsie
The door to my chamber clicked shut behind me and I sighed, wrinkling my nose at the stale smell that now emanated from me. Dried blood aged far too quickly, especially when pressed against our skin as if we leached every source of life from it and into ourselves. I headed to my shower, letting the spray warm as I stripped the clothes from my body and dropped them to the floor heedlessly. Blood had even soaked through the thin cotton of my tank top and shorts, and barely a hint of my ivory skin could be seen through the crust that had formed on me.