• England, 1294
    She still heard the footsteps following her. Not loud, but they tickled her ears, yet every time she stopped to look over her shoulder, she found an empty street behind her, nothing but shadows. London fostered many places for anyone to disappear into the night, many alleys to shelter someone, and she felt the piercing glare of lustful eyes.
    Shuttering, she turned again and continued, drawing her coat tighter to her body, although as much for comfort as for blocking the cold. The occasional light of oil lanterns provided little of that comfort, as from them the fires casting looming shadows dancing in the streets and alleys, making them appear even more daunting, so again she continued walking, and slowly, the echoes of those footsteps became louder, closer; suddenly, spinning, she again found nothing.
    Then, a cold hand rested gently on her right shoulder; her body tensed, and, petrified, she could do nothing other than stare down the dark and empty street with its dancing shadows. Warm, stale breath caressed the back of her neck, “Crystal…Slocum,” whispered a slithering yet handsome voice.
    With every breath she felt her chest heave, with every heartbeat she heard the blood pounding in her ears, and then she felt another icy hand slowly peeling away the dress from her left shoulder, leaving the skin exposed to become victim to the chilling air. Then, the same hand began toying with the hair that spilled in brown-blonde twirls, and she could see the long, slightly curved nails more closely resembling black claws. “Wh-who are you, and…and what do you want?” she barely managed through teeth gritted with fear and a tight jaw that kept the teeth from clattering.
    The slithering voice replied, “I am called Aiden by those who know me, and they fear that very word, but you have no reason for fear, for I have no intent on killing you, because I only want…you, a taste of your flesh, your,” he paused, “blood.”
    Crystal gasped just before a fingernail carefully carved a small, precise cut under her eye, and she felt the very control of her body being literally drained away. What followed, she tried to forget, but afterwards, when he bit her—she knew she could never forget that…


    Chapter One
    First Blood
    Crystal awoke shrouded in the darkness of what appeared to be a windowless dungeon—yet she saw everything as clearly as if she were on an open plain with cloudless daylight. Everything felt…lighter, as if she had just lost several pounds but was stronger at the same time. Her throat was dry, and immediately she spotted the glass of water on the floor by where she lay, which she quickly gulped, although it did little to quench her suddenly uncontrollable thirst. Standing, she observed the room: gray stone walls were cramped around her, leading to an archway guarded only by a single sword that stood between her and the even deeper darkness beyond, but it was the only exit from the room.
    Reluctantly, Crystal jerked the sword from the ground, and she was surprised by how little effort was required, as nearly a foot of the blade was thrust into the otherwise solid stone.
    As she stepped forward, the only sound audible was her own ragged breath that condensed the instant it touched free air, forming a shallow blanket of ice over her mouth and chin. Cold beads of sweat rained down her face, stinging her green eyes and matting her brown hair.
    Soon, she again became overcome with the need to drink, but she ignored the impulse: it was merely anxiety, was it not?
    Crystal followed the hall, which was comprised of only left turns until she finally reached what appeared to be a large anteroom. A dancing fire crackled in the fireplace set on the opposite wall, providing the room’s sole source of light, save a couple sets of scented candles. In the center two lonely cushioned armchairs with a small table between them sat on a rug just large enough to contain the furnishings. Lounging in the right chair was a man cloaked in the surrounding darkness, although everything else was visible to her eyes. “Where am I?” she asked quietly, but the air carried her voice well enough for it to be heard.
    “Must you really ask to know the answer to that question?” the man replied with his own question, then, spreading his arms in a grand gesture meant to include the entire room, he answered, “This is my domain, my home, where I rest during the day as you once did at night, except I never sleep.”
    “Why?” she asked, somehow getting the feeling he wanted her to.
    Standing, he began to slowly stroll towards her with a dangerous, wolfish grace; “Because I don’t need sleep.” As he approached, his mysterious shadowy aura dissipated, revealing his features: bald, with an angular face, a hard line formed his mouth which sat under a bold nose. Crystal took careful notice of the scar that led from his chin to the left of his deep-set eyes, which as her vision pierced the shadows, she found clear sapphires staring in return.
    It would have been almost handsome, in a deadly sort of way, if she had just met him without the earlier…encounter, which brought her to the next question: “Why did you…uh, do what you did to me?” Remembrance urged the sword she shakily held to raise so that it was level with his neck, and as much as she tried to prevent it and lessen the urge, she found that she lost the skirmish as the point hovered inches away from him.
    Aiden’s answer was as simple as it was confusing: “To spread the joy.”
    Crystal’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Joy? You must have a very twisted notion concerning the meaning of ‘joy,’ sir,” she said, but at the same time she was thinking, He’s a psycho altogether, but trying not to let it show.
    “Do not fret, my dear, for everything will make perfect sense soon enough,” he said, and then his voice subtly shifted from confident assurance to gentle concern, “but for now, how would you like something to eat, for you must be famished and certainly thirsty. Come,” he brushed the sword to the side, and it did not rest until the tip pointed at the floor by Crystal’s bare foot. “Come,” Aiden repeated, “let us raise a toast to ‘joy.’”
    Turning away, he began his graceful, floating stride, and Crystal followed without a word.

    The table had been prepared for nothing less than a feast: a bowl of fresh fruits and a basket of golden bread were placed on either side of a roasted hog, which sported an apple in its mouth, as in the traditional manner of its preparation that mostly nobles enjoyed. Beside these were several other dishes, including trout, water foul, lamb, and potatoes, with drinks of honeyed milk, herbal tea, and hot spiced wine—never before had she entertained the thought of having so much food before her at once.
    “Enjoy,” he called to Crystal’s gazing eyes as they absorbed the incredible sight, and she did nothing less.

    After the meal, Aiden—who touched nothing at the table except occasionally her shoulders—insisted on taking a walk, although curiously he mentioned that she should bring the sword, “In case of any danger,” he reasoned.
    Could any opportunity hit her as hard as this, or be any better? Soon, very soon, she could be free, free from the clutches of this maniac.
    Outside, a gentle breeze blew by, as if wishing to whisk her away right then, but she knew not where she was, and getting lost only to be found again by Aiden would not end very well, so she would have to stay with him until they came to a part of London she recognized. Yet she was thrown off in surprise as his arm buckled around hers, and she felt the powerful, tight muscles that trapped her next to him through the thin sleeve of his frilled shirt.
    They walked until finally she recognized where they were: the absolute worst place to be at night unless in large groups. “Why…why are we here?” she stuttered, swallowing as much of the sudden swelling panic as she could before it erupted, “It’s dangerous in this area at night.”
    “And that, my dear, is why you have your sword,” a sinister smile crept on his face, and as she stared, confused, horrified, into his eyes for any hint that it was merely a jest, he suddenly disappeared.
    “Wha—?”Crystal gasped, swirling around to discover what this illusion was, but he wasn’t there. No mirrors, no smoke, nothing, but…she had felt him, hadn’t she—was she becoming insane, was this a dream? No; she had the sword in her hand, her stomach was satisfied with the meal she had just eaten, although the ever-present thirst remained—that wasn’t an illusion. She wasn’t given time to ponder on what was happening.
    “What have we here, boys?” asked a throaty, smirking voice behind her, answered by chuckles from either side.
    Crystal’s head jerked around to find she was now surrounded by three men with ragged clothes, spotted and striped with the same red-brown that stained the knives in their hands: dried blood. They slowly approached, taunting, “I’d bet she doesn’t even know how to use that sword of hers,” one said from her right, earning another chuckle from the man on her left.
    In front of her was who she assumed was their leader; his bulky head was shaven clean of hair, and his arms were twice the size of either the others’. “Y’know what I think, boys: I think she was having a little fun when the man refused to pay up, so then she took his sword…and killed him!” he laughed at his own absurdity, and was joined by the other two, his holed and stained grin spewing nearly nauseating breath in Crystal’s face. “Is that what happened, whore?”
    The next second, his grin transformed into a surprised ring, his eyes above bulging in absolute shock.
    Crystal withdrew the blade, crimson sparkling in the full moon’s light. The bald man wavered for an instant, and then fell to the ground in a heap, a slowly growing pool of blood beneath him. The two lesser thugs sprung into a defensive half-crouch, knives held horizontal in outstretched arms. Seconds past, no one moving.
    She knew that if she did strike first, she was surely dead, since the second she turned to one, the opposite would likely kill her, or grab her, and they knew it too. Between the two standing ruffians, once was scrawny and with a hesitant glimmer in his eyes, the other, slightly built and angry. The sword swung in a slanted slash at the latter, catching him unprepared as the blade split his face. Continuing in the same motion, her body spun, and an iron grip suddenly stilled her arm, throwing her off balance.
    “This one will serve another purpose,” came Aiden’s voice, and then the grip loosened, letting the blood flow continue as normal and allowing her to straighten. “Now, take the sword, since your teeth are yet undeveloped.”
    What? she thought.
    “I told you of the joy I will bring you—that being like me will bring you—but first you must drink.”
    “Drink?” Crystal questioned, “You mean blood?”
    “Why, yes, of course,” he sounded as if the question was obvious, “what else could I have meant?”
    The last surviving bandit was just as shocked as she, and for a fleeting moment, she felt she could almost trust him. The two made brief eye contact, and he raised a hand with three fingers, two, one, and with almost flawless coordination, they moved, him twisting the arm that held his shirt while Crystal kicked Aiden in the groin. His arm did not move, and he didn’t even wince.
    “Fine,” he spat, “if you want to do this that way…” Suddenly his hand jerked from her arm to the back of her head, grasping her hair, causing her to drop the sword. Her head was jerked back until she was forced to gasp for breath. Then, she heard the sickening crack, followed by the stomach-turning sound of flesh being torn along with the other man’s screams.
    The next second, Crystal found a copperish, metallic taste on her tongue as a drop fell, followed by a stream. Her first reaction was to spit it out, but within a couple of seconds, to her own horror, she found herself enjoying it. Her teeth ached, but that was ignorable as her thirst was quenched truly for the first time since she had awakened. She witnessed her sense of smell, hearing, and sight suddenly spike, and slowly she realized even though she in fact enjoyed this “joy,” it was exactly what she didn’t want.
    In a sudden burst of strength, Crystal jerked out of Aiden’s grip, swiped the sword from the ground, and, after making a quick slash in the other’s direction, bolted down the street. Her shoulder-length brown hair whipped behind her as the wind stung her eyes; never before had she ran this fast, never before had she felt so light, lighter than before…as if she could do anything. With this new revelation, Crystal decided to test this feeling of ability, despite the fact hat she was running from a murderous stalker. So, she jumped, and to her surprise and terror and joy, she found herself above the shorter roofs of London.
    Soon, after about a minute of leaping, she landed on one of the few roofs that consisted of tile rather than straw thatch, contemplating over what she would do next: she certainly couldn’t stay in London—or even England, for that matter.
    “Leave the country,” said the now all-too-familiar voice. “Leave England, go to some distant, foreign land and do as you will. Try to live a normal life, love and make love…but sooner or later—likely sooner rather than later—you will again thirst, and you will either prey upon those you have learned to love, or you will return to me immediately, and after the first you will eventually return to me.”
    Not turning around, she demanded, “What have you done to me?”
    “What have I done to you?” he repeated the question to himself. “I merely bit you and gave you the First Blood, but now, now I am letting you free. I am letting you free because I know that you will come back; it may be one hundred years, but you will return to me.”
    “One hundred years? What, am I some mythical creature now?”
    “We,” he said, stressing the pronoun, “are vampires, and you are leaving the nest for the first time, but like all animals, you will return to where you were ‘born.’ Now, I will leave you to your journey, but please, take your time—hundreds of years if need be, for I am a very patient man,” he smirked.
    With his last word, again he disappeared, leaving Crystal with haunting echoes of his voice resonating in the deep dungeons of her mind.