Prologue
This is the very ecstasy of love
Whose violent property fordoes itself,
And leads the will to desperate undertakings.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same…If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
Thirst.
The thirst was overwhelming. Everything was aching and raw. His eyes were heavy and he felt weak, weaker than he had ever remembered. His head was pounding. How long had he been out for? His memory was hazy. He remembered pain. Blood.
His throat scratched at the thought of life's sweet elixir. He should feed as soon as he was able to, gain his strength.
What had happened? Where was he?
A sharp sting assaulted his arm. He tensed, then relaxed. Warm liquid filled his veins…blood. His fangs elongated with pleasure. Memories flooded his mind.
Harker. Lucy. Whitby and Renfield. Van Helsing. Transylvania. Mina.
Mina.
His eyes snapped open and he growled in want, in need. She was his reason for being, her devoted servant. He would find her. They would be together.
Taking in his surroundings, it felt strangely familiar.
A sound in the darkness. He was not alone.