Chapter 2

…and then I fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

I'm at the top of the stairs again, but something has changed within me. I'm more hesitant, more wary of going down this time. My skin is prickling a little, the way it does when I've been too long in the sun and am about to burn. Not that I've often suffered from that.

The grasses are less rich in colour this time, and the crossbeam seems more weatherbeaten, but I cannot turn away. My feet will not obey me, and something imperceptible is telling me that despite my instincts, I am needed. I look down, my aqua dress is crumpled and stained, and I can feel my hair is stringy and in need of shampooing.

As I go down step by step, my eyes dart this way and that, seeking out the source of my uneasiness – but there is nothing. Everything is almost the same. The arched beams still arch, the other flight of stairs remains in front of me and the window is still to the left. Yet there is a worn feel, as though I'm just one of many who have passed through and left their mark.

I look towards the window as I reach the last few steps, and I trip, banging my leg and landing in a heap on the marble floor. My shin stings, and I feel a trickle of blood down my leg. Carefully, I pull myself back up onto my feet, limping a little as I make my way to the window, and pull myself up onto the ledge to examine my leg.

It's just a scrape, so a dab with my handkerchief suffices.

I look over my shoulder to distract myself, but the valley is dark, lit only by a fading moon ringed with a reddish glow.

Will the footsteps begin again?

Will I see that beautiful man again? The one who whispered 'Lover'?

I turn my head towards the stairs, prepared to wait.

He is already here!

But there is no beauty.

He hangs in midair, as though shackled to an invisible wall, his limbs spread-eagled. His clothes are filthy and torn, he is barefoot, and his head slumps to one side, his hair sweeping down to hide his face. Great livid bleeding welts ring his wrists and ankles, and lines of burn marks crisscross the tattered remains of his linen shirt.

I barely have time to slide off the ledge when his head wearily lifts. His face is marked with exhaustion and pain, and blood drips from his ears and nose, although his closed eyes are only rimmed in red, as he stubbornly refuses to let a single tear fall.

His mouth opens wide in a powerful silent roar of despair and anguish, white teeth flashing. Not just white teeth.

Powerful curved fangs jut from his mouth.

He's a vampire, like Bill.

Yet not…like…Bill.

At all.

Without hesitation, I fling myself towards him as he again screams silently, only to be brought to a standstill by an invisible force. It holds me still and silent, even as my tears flow, even as I call to him in words of reassurance.

'Hold on. I'm here. I won't leave you.'

I mentally beat against my restraints, desperate to reach him, desperate to help him.

Furiously I mouth threats and pleas to his torturers, wherever they are

'Let him go, you bastards. Don't hurt him. He's done nothing wrong.

You have no right to do this to him. He's not yours.

I need him. He matters to me.

He's…

HE'S…

HE IS MINE!'

With those defiant words I fall to my knees as the restraints disappear, the sounds of his torture start beating against my ears, and unbearable pain floods over me.

I am torn, limb from limb.