Chapter 1

Anticipation.

I move with the crowd of new students, as they pour through the doors into the reception area, looking for the lecture room. The building is large and bland - I have no patience to describe it - except it contains several lecture halls that seat up to three hundred students at a time. I know the university well.

I’ve been on this campus before, though not in this building which is relatively new despite the shabby and worn carpet. It is the new buildings that rip the essence from this place and reconfirm everything I have felt about the modern world. It has no heart. No soul. These buildings are just huge and unimaginative boxes.

Anticipation. The movement of the crowd slows. We are filtered through a security post, that’s definitely new, and a team of three security guards, two male, and one female, look us over.

A tall, thin man pushes past me and rushes on ahead. He is scruffy like all students, but slightly more unwashed.

‘Hey, Dan! Wait up.’

I shudder as his pierced tongue muffles his words. As he nears the checkpoint one male security guard eyes him with disdain but doesn’t ask for his pass, and I am disappointed when the female security guard smiles and waves me through the barrier turnstile. My papers are in order, as always, but I love to show them, and the adrenaline buzz would have been fun. Dejected, I follow the dirty male student as he shoves open a door that says ‘Lecture Hall 3a’.

A rush of incoherent chatter assaults my ears as the door to the hall swings open and closed with a high pitched whine as each new student enters. I wait, hoping for a dramatic late entrance, as a stream of sneaker-clad girls pass by. The corridors empty in a hurried hustle. I look up. There is no one around so I linger a little longer enjoying her scent, like an animal in heat, until I can’t bear it anymore. I touch a finger along the grain in the wood door; I smell her inside, but torture myself longer, continuing to look at the flimsy piece of paper, my timetable, gripped firmly in my hand. Carolyn was inside. Carolyn ... my new flame. Such a beautiful name - such a beautiful girl.

Anticipation. Crinkling the timetable I step forward; begin to push the door, but a girl rushes around the corner and collides with me, dropping the books she is carrying and knocking the paper from my hand. I am angry with myself for languishing; I should have noticed her sooner.

‘Jeee-sus,’ she says.

Instinctively we both kneel and begin to retrieve our property. My hand brushes against hers. Fire shoots through my veins in an uncontrolled burst of lust. I jerk back, burnt. Her eyes are fractured emeralds as she stares into mine for a paralysing instant.

She is shocked into stillness by my touch alone because I know I look ‘normal’; I have done my research and I am wearing the same type of clothes as the others, jeans, tee-shirt and trainers.

The artificial light catches in her hair, which is a soft golden blonde, and reflects off the fine white streaks that give it depth. Her aura is like untamed energy, snapping and cracking around her head, vibrant and strong - unique. I have never seen anything like this before. I back away and she takes this as some form of male consideration as she continues to collect her books, but it is more that I am confused by her.

‘Thanks.’ Her voice is lyrical but there is an edge of sarcasm to it.

Mmmm. I want to hear more.

‘You’re welcome.’

She looks back at me startled and confused by the musical inflection in my voice. I’ve had this effect on a few empathic souls in the past and they have always intrigued me, but - I have never felt like this before. We slide in the room together. I wait for her aura to lap me. This somewhat sad attempt at groping her psyche fails, as she quickly walks away and takes a seat near the front of the lecture hall. I know nothing about her still, except she’s - different. And very stimulating.

The lust courses through my veins, strongly aroused from its forced rest. My heartbeat thumps in my ears until I need to take a deep, cooling breath. I force myself to look away from the upright back that seems too poised for any kind of ‘student’ I’ve seen before - and I’ve seen many. Who is she? There’s so much of her that’s ...but no. I force her image away from the back of my eyes, shake my head. The gushing in my ears slips away as the call of hot young blood subsides in response to my meditation. I breathe deeper. The feeling of unreality recedes. I mustn’t lose sight of my objective. I look around and down the tiers in the large sloping room. At the bottom is a podium, wired with a microphone. The lecturer, this must be Professor Francis, twiddles with his greying beard waiting impatiently while the students chatter noisily as they sit.

Near the front I see the two male students from the corridor, Dan and his pierced khaki-clad friend, who takes off his filthy-looking jacket, then stuffs it under the seat in front.

I divert myself further by looking around. I see Carolyn three rows from the back and quickly slide into a seat in the tier directly behind and above her but I am still distracted. Perhaps it was a mistake, being surrounded by so many vital young people? My eyes are drawn again to the blonde. She is voluptuous, striking, but so not my type. I look down at the back of Carolyn’s neck and watch the hairs bristle beneath her long pony tail. She rubs a hand over her throat and round her neck, invitingly, before pulling on a pale pink jacket.

‘It’s cold in here,’ Carolyn says.

I smile. I always have that effect on women.

‘That’s the air conditioning. They keep it on full blast. Even in winter. I guess they think us students are all sweaty bodies and hormones,’ says the girl beside her. I assess her as she speaks; dark, skinny and plain with thin lips and watery eyes. She’s very well-spoken. Clearly privileged but trying to rebel. Only rebellion could possibly excuse her charity shop clothes and dreadful fashion sense.

Carolyn laughs.

‘Everyone over thirty thinks that! You should have heard my dad. He gave me this long lecture on lusty males on campus.’

‘Mine too.’

‘So did mine,’ I say, leaning forward as the girls look up at me with interest and giggle. ‘I’m Jay.’

‘Carolyn. Caz for short, and this is Alice.’

‘Hi. So tell me, are the rumours true?’

‘What rumours?’ Alice asks.

‘Our lecturer, Professor Francis ... They say he’s obsessed with nineteenth century gothic literature because he’s really a descendant of Dracula.’

Carolyn’s giggle pleases me. Alice waves her stubby eyelashes provocatively. I don’t discourage her; competition will be good for my future lover.

‘That’s a new one.’ Alice laughs. ‘I thought it was Doctor Frankenstein.’

‘Everyone knows he was only a fictional character invented by Mary Shelley.’

‘Don’t tell us you believe in vampires?’ Carolyn flirts.

‘The big question is - do you?’ I smile.

I am gratified to note the slight flush that colours her fair cheeks. I can almost smell the blood as it rushes through her body. Mmmm. Just as I thought - she’s still a virgin. I sit back in my seat as the lecture begins and for a second I meet the eyes of the blonde from the corridor glancing back at me, her expression unreadable, and I wonder how long she has been watching. Her knowing eyes are hauntingly familiar. She turns her lovely head and focuses her attention on the speaker, flicking back her expansive hair with a smooth, long nailed hand. Her movement is seductive, inviting, but not to me. She is definitely not my type. Even though I find my eyes are drawn to her as much as the other male heads that frequently turn her way. I am as fascinated as every other male in the room it seems. Her sexuality is a flare in the middle of a sea of pheromones.

To deflect myself I lean forward and whisper to Carolyn and Alice who snigger at my jokes.

‘You’ll notice that the course covers a range of literature from early Shakespearean Dramatic texts to the contemporary works of twentieth and twenty-first century gothic fiction writers such as Anne Rice, Stephen King, Dean R Koontz ...’

‘See ... I told you. He’s a closet Goth.’

Alice laughs out loud as Professor Francis frowns over the turning heads of the other students. The attention of the Professor and students is too much for the girls who collapse in giggles, tears streaming from their eyes in this embarrassing frenzy. Francis ignores them, clearly used to the madness of freshers. The blonde grins, looking back at us; shaking her head as though she understands these adolescent hysterics. I return her smile until my jaw aches. When she turns away it is like I’ve been released from the glare of some powerful laser. Even so, she really isn’t my type.