Preview
Dance until Dawn

by Berni Stevens

PROLOGUE

Portland Hospital, London W1.

31 January

The only sound I could hear in the dark, quiet room was the gentle beep of the life support monitor. Elinor lay immobile and pale as death in the hospital bed, yet her exquisite face still looked perfect, framed with vibrant contrast by her glorious copper-coloured hair. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest showed that any life remained. How much of that life could be attributed to the machines in the room, I have no idea. Medical technology has moved ahead with incredible speed.

I remained in the shadows by the window, mesmerised by the sight of her – so fragile, so very still. How many times have I waited and watched for her outside the stage door? Hoping for a glimpse of her at least. I find it difficult to believe in this tragic turn of events.

For almost twelve months, I had watched Elinor dance on stage, admiring her energy and grace. I am almost ashamed to admit that I have become utterly infatuated with this girl. For me, the seduction of women is easy; it is rare my advances are rejected. This is not arrogance, merely a statement of fact. But for some reason this little dancer is different – I felt almost nervous to approach her, like a young inexperienced boy in the throes of a first crush.

After months of watching her from the shadows, I attended Glastonbury Festival because I knew she would be there. I watched her from afar, whilst enjoying the eclectic selection of music. Music appears to give her such joy. Against my better judgement, I even sat with her for a few wonderful, stolen moments. How long ago that feels now.

A few short weeks later, I happened to overhear a conversation at a party between some of Elinor’s friends, and I became determined to attend the event at all costs. She fills my thoughts. I could not have stayed away.

How could I have foreseen the dreadful accident, which has caused her to lie in this hospital bed, attached to tubes – tubes that apparently hold her precious life in the balance?

The sound of voices outside in the corridor forced my thoughts to return to the present. The door opened, and a large wedge of yellow light filtered into the room. Two men – presumably doctors – discussed Elinor without any emotion, almost as though she were some kind of scientific experiment. I had to force myself to stay still when all I wanted to do was kill them for their callousness. The main topic of their consultation seemed to be when to terminate her existence, when to actually unhook her from the machines that kept her alive. I knew it was time to intervene. A world without Elinor would be intolerable.

The door closed behind them, and I became enveloped in darkness once more. The monitor’s lights blinked back at me as I walked towards her.

CHAPTER ONE

Awakening

I hate the dark. People always come and hurt me in the dark.

The old childhood fear flooded my body and, with fingers that trembled, I groped through the darkness for the bedside lamp. My hand met only empty air until it brushed against a clammy wall. Where had the lamp gone? The table? I blinked my eyes several times and waited as they gradually became more accustomed to the darkness. I could make out brick walls now, but no windows. Weird. The absence of windows meant no street lights could shine in through the curtains … OK Ellie, wake yourself up, this has to be another one of your random, stupid dreams.

I screwed my eyes shut again, counted to ten and then opened them wide. Nope. Still the same unfamiliar four walls. What the—?

I strained my ears as I listened for the normal sounds of Crouch End life on a—whatever day or night this was. Nothing. No cars. No sounds of people on their way home from clubs, with their laughter and conversation drifting up to my first floor window. Nothing at all.

What I could hear was a faint rhythmic sound; it sounded like the constant drip of water. A tap? Perhaps I hadn’t turned the bathroom tap off properly – or perhaps it’s the kitchen tap? Actually, almost every washer in the place must be past its sell-by date now. Not being the most handy person in the world is always a problem, and there’s no way I could pay a plumber his exorbitant hourly rate just to change a washer. Being between DIY-savvy boyfriends means there’s no one to call on for help either.

I looked around again. I could see the bleak room more or less in its entirety for the first time now. Still no window. Why? Also, how could I see almost perfectly in what appeared to be pitch darkness?

A cold stab of fear stirred in my stomach. I could see in the dark, this wasn’t my flat – or even my bed for that matter – and I had no recollection of my arrival here. Wherever the hell ‘here’ was.

I looked at the bed. It looked narrow and felt hard to the touch, even with the excuse for a mattress that covered it. There were no bedclothes, just a solitary pillow, which still bore the indent of my head. I didn’t feel convinced about being awake, so I pinched my arm – hard. It hurt – a lot. So … definitely awake then. I looked down at my grubby jeans and mud-covered trainers. Wait … I’d slept in my clothes?

The night just got worse. I looked up at the bare brick walls again. Oh God, I must be in prison. I must have been really drunk, caused a scene somewhere and got myself arrested. That seemed the only explanation. Totally out of character, but an explanation nevertheless. Except I’d never been arrested in my life – I’d never broken the law. Not even had a speeding ticket. I felt guilty if I picked an apple from someone’s tree, so a life of crime would not have been for me. What the hell?

Did prison cells have windows? I wasn’t sure they did, but I’d never been in a cell – until maybe now. There were no windows for sure.

My mouth felt dry and parched, and I looked around again for any kind of table that might hold a glass of water. Surely even prisoners were allowed a drink? I ran my tongue over dry, cracked lips, as my eyes darted around the dark room. I hoped to find something that would give me some kind of reassurance. I wanted to know that I hadn’t been imprisoned – or worse – kidnapped. I felt so thirsty, really very thirsty. This thirst, like I’d never had before, suddenly became all-consuming in its ferocity.

I couldn’t even remember where I’d been for the last few days. It must have been one hell of a party, if it had been a party. I just hoped it had been worth it, although at that moment it appeared debatable.

A slight sound from a corner of the room made me jump violently, and in sudden panic I leapt from the bed. Somehow I found myself crouched in the opposite corner to the sound, with no recollection of ever getting there. A tall figure stood across the room, and I stared up into a pair of vaguely familiar green eyes. Although why they seemed familiar didn’t make any sense.

‘Good evening.’ His deep voice was almost gentle.

Speak nicely to the potential lunatic. ‘Who the hell are you?’ Or not. My own voice sounded hoarse as though it either hadn’t been used for a while, or I’d been screaming … a lot.

He didn’t answer.

This might not be good. If I had been put in some kind of a cell – and he was here too –really, this wasn’t good at all.

‘Don’t men and women have separate cells anymore?’ I pressed myself against the wall as I stood up very slowly on legs that trembled.

‘Is that where you think you are?’ The cultured tones held a tinge of sarcasm.

‘Feel free to enlighten me.’

‘You are here because I brought you here.’

Oh crap. The nauseous fear in my stomach churned. Trust me to get myself trapped in some weirdo’s fantasy world.

‘You don’t have any right to keep me here.’ I tried to sound braver than I felt. He moved farther into the room and the nearer he came to me, the more terrified I felt that he would attack. But he merely stared down at me from his superior height, with no expression at all on his handsome face.

Now, I’m used to people who stare down at me. I’m a little over five-foot-three in height, so believe me, I’m not easily intimidated by tall people. But there appeared something unsettling about this man, for want of a better word. His very presence drew me to look at him, and his hypnotic gaze held my own, until I found it difficult to look away.

That he had been generously endowed in the looks department wasn’t in dispute, but there are some historians who claim the Marquis de Sade had been good-looking too. Didn’t stop him from hurting his victims though, did it? Sadist seemed a word that could easily be associated with this man, although I couldn’t say why exactly. I watched him from my corner, taking in his appearance properly.

He stood with hands on slim hips, which caused the black leather jacket to gape open and reveal a close-fitting white T-shirt over a lithe, muscular torso. I dropped my eyes, which didn’t help, because they were now on a level with snug blue jeans.

When I looked back up at his face, his lips curved slightly, as if he knew exactly why I had averted my gaze.

‘I have every right to keep you here,’ he said at last. ‘You belong to me now.’

‘I don’t know where you’re from, or who the hell you think you are,’ my voice shook with fear and anger, ‘but around here women pretty much choose where they want to be – and with whom. I choose not to be here and certainly not to be with you. So open the door and let me out. Now.’

He gave a short bark of laughter at that and sauntered closer.

‘Stay the hell away from me.’

‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll execute one of the best moves in women’s self-defence known to man.’

‘And arguably one of the most painful.’ He didn’t look that bothered.

‘The police will be looking for me,’ I tried a different tactic.

‘Somehow I seriously doubt that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Correct me if I am wrong, but the police do not generally continue searching for a person who has been pronounced dead and buried.’

Warning bells jangled loudly in my head now. I’ve met some pretty weird people in my twenty-five years, many of them in the theatre, but he appeared to be the weirdest to date, and possibly the most dangerous.

I stared at him, trying to think of a reply. He stared back, his face expressionless. He could have been a waxwork for all the emotion he didn’t show. His pale skin stretched tautly over well-defined cheekbones and a straight, aristocratic nose. Glossy thick black hair, almost long enough to reach his broad shoulders, framed his face and dark eyebrows frowned above incredible green eyes that appeared to glow in the dark. His thick eyelashes would have made him look feminine were it not for the sheer masculinity of his features – eyelashes, incidentally, that most women would kill for.

But it was his eyes that drew me back to staring at him every time. They weren’t just green; they were like a cat’s eyes. Unblinking. Intrusive. Like a predator. I shivered. His full lips twitched into a slight smile as I stared at him. I decided to carry on pretending that I felt brave. Buried? Dead and buried.

‘Buried? Yeah, because I just look so damn buried, don’t I?’ I waggled my fingers in front of my face, suddenly noticing the lack of rings. My fingers hadn’t been ringless for at least ten years, apart from performances of course. ‘Did you steal my jewellery?’

He gave me a mocking look. ‘Do I appear to be a jewel thief to you?’

‘What you appear to be, is some kind of perverted creep who’s drugged me, shut me up in a dungeon and stolen all my rings.’

He raised a dark brow. ‘Interesting.’

Well he might have found it all fascinating but I was just plain terrified.

‘So?’ Trying to brazen this out seemed a good idea. After all, if I kept him talking, maybe he would go off the idea of hurting and/or raping me. That’s what people did in films after all. Keep the lunatic talking for as long as possible, to give the police time to find them. Hysterical thoughts flitted at a frantic pace through my muddled brain.

‘I am not a lunatic,’ he said and my eyes widened with shock.

‘Did I say that aloud?’ More confused and incoherent thoughts hurtled around, and I shook my head hoping to clear it. I felt as though my brain had been removed altogether, and the space left behind had been stuffed with wet cotton wool, or bubble wrap, or something.

‘Unfortunately for you, I am able to pick up on your thoughts whether I wish to or not,’ he replied with nonchalance.

‘Well, stay the hell out of my head, you invasive bastard.’

His lips twitched again, and he sauntered to the far end of the bed. I twisted to keep him in my view and watched him warily. He ignored me, lowered his lean frame easily onto the bed and patted his jacket pockets before producing a rather battered pack of cigarettes. He lit one and with a creak of leather, leaned back on his elbows.

‘Now I know this is a nightmare,’ I said almost in relief. ‘Smoking? Who the hell smokes in a public place these days?’

‘As far as I am aware, this is not a public place.’

‘Well, I hate the smell of smoke, and I hate the idea of dying from passive smoking because of some selfish bastard who smoked all over me.’

He turned to look at me then. ‘Where were you when I said you were already dead and buried?’

I froze at his words. I had heard them but I didn’t understand them. I felt more and more as though I were somehow trapped in a horror movie, and destined to be turned into some kind of body suit. Although if memory served, most of the women in that particular movie were large and, being a professional dancer, I didn’t think there would be too much of my body to make up a suit. Certainly not one that would fit him anyway. I mentally cursed whoever had made me watch that DVD.

I watched him sitting on the bed, smoking. He hadn’t threatened me exactly, but he exuded an aura of deadly strength, which dissuaded me from any attempt to make a run for it. Assuming I could find a door of course. I looked around in the vain hope that I’d spot an escape route.

‘You must be a very sick person.’ He ignored me. Again.

He stood up in one swift, graceful movement, dropped his half-finished cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel. I ran to the opposite side of the room, and pressed myself against the wall again, my eyes wide and really afraid now. He walked towards me, very slowly, holding his hands up at waist level, palms out. ‘Do not be afraid, little fledgling.’

A searing pain tore through my stomach at that moment, and I wrapped my arms around myself as nauseous cramps took hold. My body trembled with a violence I couldn’t control and I sank to the damp floor.

‘What’s happening to me?’

‘Your body needs to adjust to the change.’

Casually he reached out as though to touch my face.

I jerked back from his hand. ‘Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me. I want to go home. Let me go home. You have no right to keep me here.’

He slowly raised both hands again, as though in surrender, but let his arms fall back to his sides as he stepped back away from me. He regarded me with a calm expression. ‘As your maker, I am afraid I have every right.’ His tone froze me again. ‘The last thing this city needs is a young renegade vampire running around, so you have to be contained.’

I closed my eyes as further spasms attacked my body. Then his words sank into my confused brain.

‘Vampire?’

‘That is what I said, yes.’

‘You really are insane.’

‘You could be forgiven for thinking so.’

I found myself thinking of the body suit again – I really shouldn’t watch horror films, I’m just not brave enough.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ I asked against my better judgement.

‘Now that really is the question is it not?’ he countered. ‘Several interesting ideas immediately spring to mind, but none I feel like sharing at present.’

I watched his face. There wasn’t even a flicker of emotion as he answered me, and I felt a chill of fear run through my body again. If this was a dream, now would be a really good time to wake up.

‘What is this place?’

‘It belongs to me.’

‘So you own a chain of dungeons?’

Amusement flickered briefly across his face as he moved slowly to the opposite end of the room, turning back when he reached the wall. He leaned back against the wall, almost mirroring my own position and sighed as he ran an elegant hand through his hair. For some reason, I suddenly wanted to run my own fingers through that silken mass of hair, and I pushed my hands behind my back, in case the urge took precedence over my more rational feelings.

‘Do you know any good plumbers?’ I asked, feeling better with him further away from me.

He raised a dark brow in question.

‘To stop whatever is causing that sound of water.’

‘This is an old building,’ he replied. ‘Around two hundred and sixty years old, to be precise, and the cellars are damp. There was no such thing as damp proofing in the Georgian era, therefore, dampness in a house of this age is unavoidable. I apologise if it causes you distress.’

The stomach cramps chose that moment to return – with a vengeance, and I doubled over in agony. ‘What have you done to me?’

His voice came now from the darkest shadows. I strained my eyes to see where he’d gone. ‘Only feeding will make the pain cease.’

I heard myself moan as the pain intensified and became aware that he’d left the room. I don’t know how I knew, because he’d made no sound. But I just did.

I wondered what drugs he’d injected me with to get me here. I could already be dying. Actually, dying would be better, at least the pain would be gone. That had to be proof I wasn’t dead. Dead people didn’t feel pain, did they?

Pervert. How many women did he have in his other dungeons?

He was probably on his way even now to his own home, leaving me trapped somewhere underground where no one would ever find me.

I went back over to the bed and pulled myself up onto it. Another wave of pain assaulted me, and I closed my eyes as cold tears trickled down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to die in this damp, dark place.

I didn’t want to die away from my friends.

I didn’t want to die …

10 February

It has been a few weeks since I have written in this journal. Somehow I feel it is important to record Elinor’s rebirth and progress.

Unfortunately, I already fear her conversion is going to tread a somewhat rocky path.

I had watched the fledgling when she struggled her way out of the grave. She looked so small and fragile, and yet she fought like a warrior to free herself from the earth. I felt full of admiration for her tenacity. I have seen many rebirthed vampires in my long existence, but she was among the quickest to emerge from the grave that I have ever witnessed.

Initially, she asked for my help, but then terror set in, and she ran away like the wind. Alas for her, she could never be swifter than me, and I was already at the cemetery gates when she arrived.

She ran instinctively to her old home, and I followed. I saw her staring down at me from the upstairs window. Her feeling of terror reached me from where I stood, and I knew she had not yet grasped the fact that she was dead.

I crossed the road to the house and climbed the stairs to her apartment. Standing in the open doorway, I watched her for a few minutes before she sensed I was there. I knew I would have to be strong, assertive – perhaps even cruel – in order to get her to go with me that night. I did not relish that particular part of my role, but if I once softened, it would all be for nothing.

She argued and wept, whilst trying to keep a distance between us at all times. She even threw a chair at me – brave for one so young – especially as she was consumed with terror and disbelief. Yet still the relentless time advanced. For her own safety she had to be safely tucked below ground level long before dawn, or I would lose her, not just to the daylight hours, but because her mind would be lost to me. She needed to be asleep soon in order to cope with the first night of the change. If necessary, I would render her unconscious, but I wanted to avoid that, if at all possible.

Eventually, I resorted to jumping from the second-floor window with her in my arms, in an effort to demonstrate immortality. Unfortunately, that only caused her terror to intensify, but at least we were out of the apartment.

Luckily for me, the Thirst gripped her when we were outside and she collapsed. I managed to find a cab, using the excuse of inebriation to explain my comatose ‘girlfriend’. She did not awaken even when I carried her downstairs to the cellar. Thus passed the first night of her rebirth, and the first night she has seen me as the monster I truly am.

11 February

The sun had almost set when I went back to the cellar. I unlocked the heavy door and slipped inside the room, making sure to lock the door behind me. Security must be paramount, especially for these first uncertain nights.

After the fledgling’s disorientation with her rebirth last night, I find myself wondering what she will be like tonight. It is not unusual for a new vampire to forget the last few days of its human life. There is, after all, an unprecedented amount of information to take in. First and foremost, the fledgling needs to recognise the terrifying reality of its own death, followed by the undead realisation. It is a lot for a human brain to take in – or rather, a former human brain.

I know I will have to assert my dominance over her quickly, much as one would in order to train a young animal. I also know she will be terrified and the dismal surroundings of the cellar will not have helped, but I have no choice. She has to be contained for at least four nights, maybe more, and she must be watched over, perhaps even counselled. I have no way of knowing, as yet, how she will react to anything.

Above all else, I have to keep her safe.

Once again, I wondered whether I had made the right decision to turn her. The fact that I first saw her more than twelve months ago is somewhat irrelevant now. She was unaware of my existence for much of that time. But I had not been prepared for the horrific accident that very nearly terminated her existence.

Fate forced my hand, made the decision for me and now there is no way back. I can only hope she will not despise me for it. The world without her presence would have been a dreary place indeed.

I know I have to be patient, I need to win her trust before I can hope for anything more. Somehow I do not think it is going to be easy.

I watched as life began to return to her body, and I knew she dreamt in the way only a vampire can. Just before the awakening, when the daylight hours are chased away by night shadows, this is when we dream, and the dreams are rarely pleasant. Sometimes, in the case of fledglings, the dreams take the form of flashbacks from the previous human life. Add to the dreams, the first ravening thirst of the newly fledged, and the reasons for incarceration become apparent.

I could tell the child’s dream consumed her with terror, and I began to talk to her to bring her out of it. I talked softly, speaking her name, and asked her to return to me – her maker. Our bond should be strong even in these early stages. I knew she would hear me.

I should have known things would not run smoothly. It has been many decades since I have instructed a fledgling, and I have never before been emotionally attracted to one. In fact, I have not actually made a fledgling for over a century.

Time really is of the essence, and I have to get her to feed as a matter of some urgency.

I was somewhat surprised by her behaviour towards me. I had not exactly expected her to fall into my arms with words of undying love, but I was disappointed, to say the least, by her complete lack of any positive feelings. Again, I suppose I feel I already know her well … but she does not remember me.

At the moment, all she feels is the pain of the Thirst, and anxiety at finding herself imprisoned. I am the person she will trust least, yet, ironically, I am the one she needs the most. She does not know the real reason I made her into one of us, and I cannot tell her – at least, not yet. She will not understand fully until her brain begins to function normally. I can only hope that she responds to feeding.

CHAPTER TWO

Despair

It was completely dark when my eyes snapped open. I lay still for a moment waiting for pain, nausea or anything else to kick in. It didn’t. So far, so good.

I sat up carefully and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. I looked around my prison, and as my eyes became used to the darkness, I could just make out a door in the far corner. Unfortunately, it looked pretty solid.

My mouth felt as if it had been scoured with sandpaper, and again I felt very thirsty. It felt like the kind of thirst caused by serious dehydration. A thirst that grows more unbearable with every passing minute.

Thirsty … So very thirsty. I licked my dry lips.

I suddenly wondered whether there were rats in here, and immediately swung my legs back up on the bed so I could sit cross-legged. I didn’t want rats running over my feet – the very thought made my stomach churn.

There were no creepy green eyes glowing in any of the corners, which meant I was alone – at least for the moment. But a new conviction gnawed inside me, one that said he’d be back soon, and I’d never see the outside world again.

I wondered if anyone had missed me? Were they looking for me? I had a big circle of friends, surely someone would have contacted the police when I didn’t show up for work? Oh … work …

More than anything I longed to be back in the familiarity of the garish hustle and bustle of the theatre. I even longed for the gruelling, strenuous rehearsals, and the usual biting comments from the choreographer, as he strived to get the best from us – his dancers. I missed music too, and I wanted to be with people. Most of all, I wanted to be outside.

The only sound in this eerie place was the faint drip, drip, drip of water. It must be the damp running down from the walls just as he had said. I shuddered. No wonder the sound of water had constantly been used as an implement of torture. It also explained how plumbers could charge so much … and why people in cheap apartments went crazy … the dodgy washers in all the taps made them drip constantly and the sound drove them all mad. I remembered how yesterday I’d nearly fooled myself into thinking I was still at home and the only problem I had to worry about was a faulty washer.

Being incarcerated made my brain lurch into manic overdrive, and my imagination is rife at the best of times. I couldn’t imagine why he’d brought me to this place, but whatever his plans were, they couldn’t be good. The one comfort I had was that if he wanted to kill me, surely I’d already be dead? But didn’t he say I was dead already? Sick, sick man. I wished he’d get on and do whatever he intended to do and just get it over with.

Time had no meaning at that moment. I had no idea whether it was day or night. I never wore a watch, that’s what mobile phones were for – as well as making calls, obviously. Calls … mobile … of course …

I jumped up from the bed to look around, but there was no sign of my bag as far as I could see. So no phone either, then. Damn.

If this was evening, shouldn’t I be at the theatre? I must have missed rehearsals. I’d lose my job. Surely someone had missed me?

The door opened and he strode in, his tall frame silhouetted in the light from the old-fashioned oil lamp that he carried. The yellow flame flickered in the damp air as he moved further into the room.

He stood the lamp carefully on the floor and then came towards me.

Terror gripped me, and convinced that he’d pull out a knife at any moment, I ran to the end of the bed and squatted down, in an effort to make myself as small as possible. I pressed back against the hard damp wall, feeling thankful that most of the narrow bed now stood between us.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ my voice sounded thin and hoarse.

‘My apologies, I forgot about the lack of light in here,’ he said. His voice sounded calm, almost matter of fact – he could have been talking about the weather.

I pushed shaky hands through my long tangled hair, and rocked back and forth. I didn’t want him any closer to me, I really didn’t.

He continued to move closer. How I wished I could push myself through the wall in order to get away. I bit my lip to prevent a frightened sob from escaping.

The now familiar pain suddenly clawed at me from inside my body, and I screamed in agony. I began to babble, sounding incoherent even to my own ears. ‘Do something! Help me! Let me go … please, give-me-my-life-back.’

‘I cannot give you that,’ he said. ‘I can give you almost anything else.’ He paused. ‘But not that.’

‘The pain …’

‘The pain you feel is the Thirst. It is caused by your need to feed. With each night you abstain, the pain will grow, and you will become weaker.’

‘So feed me.’ I gasped as another onslaught of pain caused me to double over again.

He brought a silver phial from his pocket and stood in front of me.

‘You should try to sup from this,’ he suggested, as he held it out to me.

Warily I took the phial from him, even though my hand shook with the effort. The smooth surface felt strangely warm, and I risked a glance at him. His face was devoid of any expression, as usual, except for his eyes, which glowed eerily with their hypnotic green light. I pulled the stopper out from the bottle and sniffed gingerly at the opening. It smelt odd, yet strangely familiar, a musky, almost metallic aroma.

‘What’s in here?’ I asked.

‘What you need to survive,’ he replied.

‘Is it poison?’

Yeah right, like he’d tell me if it was. Yes, of course it’s poison, so I can peel your skin off and get someone to stitch it back together once you’ve died a revolting and painful death.

‘It is not poison.’

I had no way to know whether he was speaking the truth or not. His impassive face belied the gleam in his expressive eyes. I raised the bottle to my lips, even as I fought against the voice inside my head, warning me, screaming at me not to drink from it. My legs trembled, and I sat down on the bed before I fell over.

‘It will lessen the pain.’

Anything that could lessen the gut-wrenching pain in my stomach had to be worth a try. Against my better judgement, I took a large swig from the bottle and realised, far too late, what it was as I swallowed.

Blood.

The warm, viscous liquid made me gag almost the moment it went down my throat. Retching, I toppled off the bed onto my knees, and vomited violently. A dark red stain covered the flagstones, reminding me of what I’d attempted to drink. What he had made me drink.

I stood and hurled the phial at my tormentor as I screamed obscenities at him. Words I didn’t even realise I knew. My fear of him had been replaced by horror and disgust at what he’d made me do.

He caught the phial easily in one hand, his face composed and devoid of expression. ‘For such an innocent-looking beauty you have a man’s colourful use of the English language.’

‘Sexist bastard,’ I added for good measure.

My insides still felt queasy, and I screwed my eyes shut. My mouth filled with bile and I could still taste the strong metallic taste of blood. In fact, I didn’t think I would ever be rid of that foul taste.

‘Why?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you making me drink blood?’

‘Blood is the staple diet of the vampire,’ came the calm reply.

‘You’re obsessed with vampires. You perverted creep.’

‘Why do you suppose I am keeping you here?’

I raised tear-filled eyes to his.

‘Because you like torturing women.’

‘No.’

‘You just want to torture me.’

‘No.’

‘Rape me.’

‘I do not condone rape.’

‘Kill me.’

‘You are already dead.’

I felt the cold realisation of utter despair. This man would never release me. Whatever his plans were, getting me a cab home wasn’t among them. I had never felt so alone in my life. I might live alone, but I was rarely there on my own. I was rarely there period. Rehearsals, matinee shows, and evening performances all took up most of my waking hours.

Shit.

Rehearsals.

‘I have to go to work,’ I said. ‘I’m late for rehearsal.’

‘I think your colleagues would be rather alarmed to see you.’

‘What?’ I looked at him again and he returned my look calmly.

‘You have not been at work for five weeks, maybe more.’

‘Five weeks? Why?’ Horror filled me afresh at this new information.

‘It is rather unusual for dead people to continue with their former careers in my experience.’

‘There you go again with the dead people crap,’ I muttered. ‘Can I have a mirror?’

‘I fear a mirror will not be of any use to you.’

‘Why?’ I wish someone would give me my brain back …

‘Vampires cast neither reflections nor shadows.’

‘Yeah right,’ I said bitterly. ‘If I believed in vampires, which for your information, I don’t.’

‘How terribly unfortunate for us both.’ An amused tone had crept into his deep voice.

So it seemed I’d lost my job, as well as being imprisoned by a blood-drinking, vampire-obsessed psychopath, plus I could never put makeup on again because I didn’t have a reflection, apparently. Nothing left for me then. He had obviously been removing my identity … or something … for ages. Wasn’t there a film about that too? I held my head in my hands, trying to keep track of the frantic thoughts as they whirled around.

‘Who or what are you?’

‘You may call me Will.’

‘I can think of things I’d rather call you,’ I replied. ‘So what are you? You say you aren’t a lunatic, so what are you? Serial killer? Rapist? Or just a pervert?’

He walked towards me again, and I scuttled up the bed away from him.

‘I am your sire. Your maker, if you like,’ he began. ‘Like you, I too am a vampire, although I have been a vampire for over three hundred years.’

‘You need to get out more,’ I shook my head again. ‘Take my advice and ditch the horror DVDs, they’re melting your psycho brain.’

‘I understand that this is rather a lot to take in,’ he said. ‘But I would appreciate it if you would stop referring to me as either psychotic or perverted.’

‘Well I’d appreciate not being kidnapped and shut in this filthy hole.’

‘Touché.’

Will moved away from me, then turned suddenly to pin me with his emerald gaze.

‘It is imperative that you feed soon,’ he said, his voice still calm but with a thread of something else in it now. It sounded like fear … but no … surely it couldn’t be.

‘And if I won’t?’ I looked down at the red stain on the floor again.

‘You will not survive.’

‘Is that a threat?’ I asked.

‘Fact.’

‘I will not drink blood.’

‘I am very much afraid you will have to.’

I did look up at him then. He still held the phial in his left hand.

‘I have no idea who or what the hell you are, but I am not drinking blood, you—you disgusting pervert!’ My voice rose to a near hysterical scream at the end of the sentence. I could feel tears fill my eyes again, which threatened to fall, and I struggled to prevent them.

He sighed and bent to retrieve the stopper from the phial. After he had replaced it, he slipped the phial into his coat pocket and got out a pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips, struck a match, and lit it, regarding me over the glow from the flame. I watched him from my safe distance.

‘Very well,’ he began, ‘allow me to tell you a few home truths.’

I went to speak, but he raised his hand with an authoritative gesture, and I fell silent.

‘Against my better judgement I have allowed you to give vent freely to your anger and frustration. You have, I believe, used most of the obscene language in the English-speaking world. Now you will listen to me, if you value your survival.’

I felt another thrill of fear slice through me at his cold words, but said nothing.

‘In order to survive in our world, you have to feed. The food of the vampire is blood. If you do not feed, your flesh will wither and fall from your bones, yet you will not die. Your beauty will be lost, and your mind—you will be lost, and that I cannot allow.’

I made no comment. The man was mad, clearly deranged, and I was his prisoner. If I said anything he didn’t like, he might turn into a raging maniac. He looked strong. I felt sure he could pull me apart with his bare hands.

‘Yet you still do not believe me.’

I looked at him. He looked so calm and reasonable, standing there smoking his cigarette. The feeble light from the sputtering lamp chased some of the shadows from his handsome face and illuminated those incredible eyes. I shook my head slowly. He leaned away from the wall to extinguish his cigarette.

‘I have no idea why your first attempt at feeding made you sick, I have never before witnessed such a phenomenon. I can only surmise it is because you have retained more humanity than most during the change. But then, I always knew you were unique.’

I thought he might have been making a joke, but if he was, his face showed no sign of humour.

‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I retorted.

He raised his eyebrows at that and walked slowly back towards me.

‘Your name is Elinor Jane Wakefield but most people call you Ellie. You are twenty-five years old and a dancer by profession. You live alone, or at least you used to live alone, in a first floor apartment in a Victorian house in Crouch End, North London. You are an only child, your parents are dead, and you were brought up by foster parents, whom you left at the tender age of eighteen to attend dance college. You enjoy going to popular music concerts and festivals and you dance like an angel.’

I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. How the hell did he know all that? Will continued, his face still impassive.

‘I also know that you have never been truly in love, which is something I intend to rectify.’

The sheer arrogance of the man astounded me almost more than his in-depth knowledge of my life.

‘Now I know you’re insane,’ I spat.

‘A trifle optimistic I grant you. But insane? No.’

‘What are you going to do to me?’

I felt a rush of cool air, and found myself pinned to the wall so suddenly, and with such force, that my head smacked into it. I saw stars for a split second. His strong hands held my arms above my head and, once again, I hadn’t seen him move.

I stifled a panicky scream of terror. He regarded me almost lazily as he traced one elegant finger softly down my cheek, and brought it to rest against my lips, his other hand easily keeping both of mine captive. My face tingled where he had touched it – ice and fire at the same time. He prised my mouth open with his finger and ran it lightly over my canine teeth. His breath was cool on my face as he spoke in quiet even tones. ‘Have you not felt the change in your teeth child? Have you not ran your tongue over those oh-so-delicate points?’

I swallowed the hysteria rising in my throat. I would not let him see how afraid I was.

I would not. I chose not to answer his question, either. I merely stared defiantly into his eyes.

He leaned in even nearer, and spoke softly, his lips very close to mine. Almost touching, but not quite.

His words sounded strangely loud. ‘If my main objective was merely to have sex with you, would I not have taken my pleasure many times already?’

Still I didn’t answer. His close proximity was having a strange effect on me. His lips were close enough to kiss and … I … wanted to. My eyes widened at the thought and he swiftly drew back, just far enough away so he could see my eyes. His look was mocking now.

‘What do you think you could ever do to stop me taking whatever I want?’ He released me abruptly, and I let out a shaky breath as he moved away across the room.

The silence between us became almost tangible but he didn’t seem inclined to break it. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brought out the silver phial, and turned it slowly in his hands, almost reverently.

‘I won’t drink blood again, and you can’t make me,’ I said quickly.

I couldn’t bear the thought of attempting to swallow the repellent stuff again.

Will shot me a serious look. ‘I should not have to make you. You should yearn to drink blood, in fact, your very essence should be filled with desire for the taste.’

‘Well it isn’t.’ I yelled at him in agony and sheer frustration, clutching my stomach as the pain seared through it again. ‘You just want me dead.’

Will came closer again and stared down at me. ‘If I wanted you truly dead, little fledgling, trust me on this, you would be very dead. Although you are indeed dead to the human world, you still exist, as do I. But in order to remain in existence you have to feed.’

‘I won’t drink blood!’ I almost screamed the words in despair. ‘I just can’t.’

Will continued to stare down at me, his arms folded. ‘If you are really adamant that you will not feed tonight, then I should warn you that you will feel even worse tomorrow,’ he said.

‘So what?’ I asked.

‘So you must at least try to take some blood. I am afraid it is the only way.’

I gripped the edge of the bed, and stared at my trainers. They looked so normal. How could anything look that normal when nothing would ever be the same again? Will was still and quiet, as he observed me intently. I could feel his eyes on me even though I wasn’t looking at him. I pressed my hands to my stomach as the pain started up again.

‘If you would permit me to simply hold you, the pain will lessen,’ said Will.

I looked up at him in surprise. ‘I’d rather have the pain,’ I ground out through gritted teeth.

He didn’t try to force the issue, and I felt glad he didn’t. If he was in any way put out by my refusal, it certainly didn’t show. He merely shrugged and walked to the other side of the room. Lighting another cigarette, he watched me with his eyes slightly narrowed, as though his thoughts were too scary to share.

‘How long do you intend to defy me?’ he asked after a few minutes.

I looked at my trainers again. ‘Who died and made you King?’

‘Ah, the sulky child act.’

I did look up at him then, and a flood of hot
anger suddenly suffused my whole body. ‘I have every right to be sulky and angry!’ I shouted. ‘I didn’t choose to be here. You brought me here for some revolting
purpose that I don’t even want to think about. I want to go home.’

‘This is your home now.’

‘Wonderful.’ I almost spat back. ‘Very cosy. Locked up in a disgusting, damp cell with no lights, no bathroom and not even a change of clothes.’

Will merely raised his eyebrows.

‘Why am I here?’

‘You are here in order to remain safe and undetected by the human world.’

‘But I am human,’ I began, but faltered when I saw his expression.

‘I am afraid you are no longer human. As I constantly have to explain, you are now a vampire, and a very young vampire at that. I am your maker, and it is my dubious pleasure to instruct and care for you.’

‘So I really am dead then?’ I was finding our conversations becoming ever more bizarre. ‘If that’s true … you must have murdered me already.’

‘I sired you. Brought you over. It is not the same as murder,’ he replied.

‘Bloody well is from where I’m sitting,’ I said.

‘Dead is just dead,’ he shrugged elegantly. ‘We are undead, we do not age, we cannot contract any disease, and we are extremely difficult to kill.’

‘Sunlight would do it.’ I couldn’t believe I was even having this conversation. I must have surely been deep within some weird nightmare.

‘Indeed it would,’ he agreed conversationally. ‘Why else would you be in my cellar where there are no windows?’

‘I hate the dark.’ I shook my head slowly as I realised he had actually told me I was in his cellar. His cellar? ‘I really hate the dark.’

‘That could be yet another potential problem for a creature of the night.’

I looked up swiftly. I thought he might have made another joke at my expense, but no expression showed on his face. His eyes held a wicked glint, however, and I held his gaze briefly before I looked down again.

‘So you have brought me to this existence on some kind of whim?’

‘I never have whims.’

‘You must just be a selfish bastard then. You came along and took me from my life and forced me into yours without so much as a by your leave. You gave me no choice … I wanted children one day … ’ my voice cracked in anguish at that thought.

A strange look passed across his face at my outburst, and he was silent for a while as though mulling over my angry words.

‘You are right,’ he said at last, surprising me. ‘I am a selfish bastard. I tend to take what I want when I want it, but regrets will not solve anything now.’

Another uneasy silence grew between us. Eventually I looked up at him. He just stared at me, his expression guarded.

I clutched at my stomach as the Thirst attacked me again.

‘Help me,’ I gasped.

Suddenly it was as if Will had changed his own personal channel, flicked a switch that said ‘normal Will’ and the previous conversation had never taken place.

‘It would be so much easier, for us both, if you would accept that which you cannot change, and allow me to help you move on,’ he replied, his voice still quiet.

‘Why should I make things easy for you?’ I said, and gasped at another surge of pain. ‘I don’t even know who the hell you are. You’re nothing to me.’

‘The fact that I am your maker means we have an unbreakable bond whether you like it or not.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Although it rather appears to be “not” at the moment.’

‘So, I’m stuck with you,’ I retorted. ‘I don’t have to like you.’

He burst out laughing at that, which startled me. I watched him warily. This mercurial Will was disconcerting, to say the least.

‘No, you do not have to like me, little fledgling,’ he said, with laughter still in his deep voice, ‘but you will, given time.’

‘In your dreams, sunshine,’ I muttered as the pain in my stomach grew stronger. ‘Leave me the hell alone.’ I curled up on the bed again like a wounded animal and closed my eyes. I didn’t hear Will walk away. All I heard was the slight creak of the door as it opened.

‘You have yet to meet the others too,’ he said from the door. ‘That should be most entertaining.’

I heard the key in the lock. It clicked with a sound of finality.

I opened my eyes, so I could watch the door in case he came back, then listened for a few minutes, but there was nothing to be heard except the occasional drip of water. He didn’t come back, so I curled up on the bed, with my arms around my stomach. At least when he was in the room, I had something else to concentrate on, even if it was only the arguments. Alone, I just felt weak and ill.

I wondered why he hadn’t insisted that I try to feed again. Perhaps he was bored of me already and wouldn’t come back any more. The pains in my stomach intensified, and I raked my nails down my arms in an effort to counteract the all-consuming pain of the Thirst – if that really was the cause.

‘Someone help me,’ I whispered into the darkness.

I closed my eyes and longed for a release of any kind. To escape from this interminable pain. Death would be preferable to this.

12 February

I confess to some considerable anxiety about the fledgling’s lack of desire to feed.

She must have sustenance soon or the pain from the Thirst will become all-consuming and it will erode her mind until her brain no longer functions. Once this happens I cannot help her, and she will have to be destroyed. I cannot even contemplate the horror of such an outcome.

But I will not give up on her. If I have to force-feed her, I will do so. I refuse to lose her now.

Perhaps this is the outcome of my turning an intelligent woman from the twenty-first century. Women today are so different from the women of my own era. Modern women are confident in their ability to live their lives as they wish. They often live alone without man or family and I have found this strange beyond belief. My little fledgling has lived alone for years, and quite happily, it seems. She forged a career from her own talent, and worked hard to maintain that career.

I will not lose her to the Thirst.

I will not.

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