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PROLOGUE
Xavier
Iwasnotalwaysa vampire. Once, I was just an ordinary mortal living in a world where superstition and the fear of the unknown ruled humankind. It was the early eighteenth century, a time when tales of witches and other supernatural creatures circulated like a contagion, spreading through the hearts and minds of the populace.
As a boy, I heard stories of the old gods and goddesses who once ruled the land, and the spirits who dwelled in every tree, rock, and stream. According to those born before me, the beings were not to be feared but respected and revered, for they held the power to grant blessings or curses upon mortals. When Christianity spread across the land, those beliefs were pushed aside in favor of a more rigid and dogmatic worldview.
The old gods were demonized, their followers persecuted and branded as heretics. And so, the stories of witches and other supernatural creatures took hold, feeding on the fears and anxieties of the masses.
I did not care about the superstitions of others. As the only son of the reigning monarchs of the opulent Kingdom of Valtavia, my life was one of effortless extravagance and unbridled indulgence. Valtavia was a land of breathtaking beauty, where lush forests teemed with life and crystal-clear rivers flowed through verdant valleys. The air was perfumed with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers that carpeted the sprawling meadows in a riot of colors. The idyllic villages that dotted our dominion were nestled in cozy nooks, surrounded by gentle hills. The people were content, and their loyalty to my parents was unshakable. Under their rule, Valtavia flourished, and the coffers overflowed with riches.
My parents, King Richard and Queen Isabella, ruled the kingdom with a firm hand, but they doted on me with almost obsessive love and attention. They saw me as the future ruler of the kingdom, and they wanted nothing but the best for me. My childhood was filled with luxury and privilege. I was surrounded by opulence, and everything I wanted was granted to me without question. My tutors indulged my every whim, and I never knew the meaning of discipline or restraint.
As I grew older, I reveled in the adoration of my many admirers, savoring the thrill of their fleeting attention. Secret trysts in the palace gardens and stolen virtues under the moonlight were my only commitments. I was an enthusiastic lover and even more skilled at evading any attempts at being tied down. My heart was free, and I intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
On the eve of my twenty-eighth birthday, I ventured into the forest, eager to assess my skills as a hunter and bring back a trophy for my celebratory feast. The scent of damp earth and pine needles filled my nose, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the wind. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting a silver glow over the trees. As I crept through the underbrush, my senses heightened by the rush of the hunt, I caught sight of a figure ahead of me. At first, I thought it might be a deer, but as I drew closer, I saw that it was a woman of unearthly beauty. Her skin was as pale as the moon, her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and her full lips were painted a deep shade of crimson. Her curvaceous form was accentuated by a tight bodice that strained to contain her ample breasts.
She regarded me with eyes that seemed to blaze, and for a moment, I was speechless and wondered if I had stumbled upon some kind of fairy or spirit of the forest. I drew nearer, and she spoke, her voice weaving through the air like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day, carrying with it an otherworldly quality that left me spellbound.
“Greetings, hunter,” she said. “What brings you to this place?”
“I seek a prize for my birthday feast,” I replied, gesturing towards my crossbow. “A deer, if fortune favors me.”
The woman smiled, and her teeth gleamed like pearls.
“Ah, a hunter after my own heart,” she purred. Lifting her arm, she slid her palm from my shoulder to my abdomen, where her fingers lingered, caressing the fabric of my shirt. “Follow me, and I will lead you to the ultimate prize. A prize worthy of a man of your skill and ambition.”
Intrigued by her challenge, I followed her deeper into the forest. As we walked, she promised me pleasures beyond my wildest dreams, each whispered word more tempting and indecent than the last.
Despite a harrowing suspicion that something was amiss, I was captivated by her charms. Her words were like honey, sweet and seductive, and I found myself hanging on every syllable. I did not realize it then, but she was slowly but surely ensnaring me.
Finally, we arrived at a clearing, and I gave in to my primal urges. I took my place between her thighs and sank into her tight, wet heat, and she revealed her true nature as a vampire, burying her fangs in my neck and drawing my blood. I realized too late that my carnal needs had led me to my own demise.
Her bite was followed by a surge of pleasure, my orgasm so violent as I spilled my seed inside her that it left me weak and dizzy. Before I could even come down from my high, she drained me of my life’s blood before offering her own wrist for me to drink. I drank without thinking, and the taste of her blood was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was both sweet and bitter, like a forbidden fruit that I could not resist. With each drop of her blood, I sensed a transformation overtaking my body. My senses sharpened, my hunger grew more intense, and a feeling of power coursed through my veins.
When the metamorphosis was complete, she abandoned me in the forest to face the consequences of my new existence alone. I never saw her again, but her actions had irrevocably altered the course of my life. I was no longer human, but a vampire condemned to wander the earth for eternity, driven by an unquenchable thirst for the blood of the living.
My newfound immortality and voracious appetite made it impossible to return to my old life. My parents would never understand or accept me, and the people of Valtavia would hunt me down like a beast. Yet, I was not afraid. Her transformation had unleashed a world of darkness and mystery where nothing was forbidden, and anything was possible. She had shown me a new path, and I would walk it forever.
Knowing that my time in Valtavia had come to an end, I embarked on a journey to Paris, a city in turmoil. Chaos and danger loomed around every corner as the people fought to overthrow the aristocracy and claim their rights to political freedom and financial prosperity. Angry mobs marched, protested, and rioted in a desperate bid for change. Amidst the turmoil, I saw an opportunity to satisfy my hunger. The people of Paris were so preoccupied with the revolution that they failed to notice a predator stalking their every move. I lurked in the shadows, preying upon the weak and unsuspecting, relishing the taste of their blood.
My sexual desire was as rapacious as my thirst, so using my title, I gained entry into the upper echelons of society, where I seduced the women and helped myself to their treasures. I beguiled them and made them forget that they had ever met me, so the process could be repeated for years on end.
With time, the attraction of Paris waned, and I departed for London. In the nineteenth century, the city overflowed with people, and the less affluent districts were gritty and packed. The Industrial Revolution brought an influx of people that the infrastructure could not support, resulting in muddy, unpaved roads and the constant clamor of horse-drawn carriages and carts. Smoke choked the air, emanating from factories and chimneys, and the stench of human and animal waste lingered. Petty thieves and pickpockets lurked around every corner, and the suffering of factory workers and their families was palpable.
Yet, it was there, among the filth and squalor, that I could most easily satisfy my hunger. My vampiric abilities allowed me to move undetected among the crowds as I hunted my prey. My title, once again, served me well, granting me entrance to opulent balls and parties where I could easily select my next victim, delighting in the blood and the deep pockets of the wealthy elite. When I grew weary of high society life, I frequented the gambling halls and taverns, seeking out those who lived on the margins of society.
One such night, I entered a tavern as I was bored with the tittering of young debutantes. The tavern was nestled on a dimly lit street in the heart of London, its wooden exterior weathered by years of exposure to the elements. The creaky door groaned as I pushed it open, revealing an interior illuminated by flickering candles.
The tavern was bustling with activity; the sound of chatter and laughter intermingled with the occasional shout or brawl. The patrons were a mix of grizzled dockworkers, weary travelers, and well-to-do men looking for a night of revelry. A long wooden bar ran the length of one wall, behind which a burly barkeep with a bushy beard and a perpetual scowl wiped down glasses with a rag. Shelves lined the wall behind him, stacked high with bottles of all shapes and sizes. At the center of the room stood a large, round table, surrounded by mismatched chairs, and filled with a raucous group of men playing a game of cards. The table was littered with empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays, and the players were clearly enjoying themselves, shouting and joking as they played.
It was in this tavern that I met my first devoted friend, a man who would become my closest confidant and companion for many years to come. Marcus Blackmore greeted me as an old acquaintance as I sat alone at the bar, nursing my drink, and lost in thought.
“Good evening, friend. May I inquire as to the reason behind your presence in this most lovely establishment?” he asked.
“I was feeling peckish.” My eyes drifted to the necks of the patrons surrounding us. “This place seemed like a excellent location to find a warm meal.”
Marcus chuckled almost knowingly. “May I pique your interest in engaging in a game of cards?”
