Prologue
Spring 1897
Dearest Caroline,
The part of Europe I am passing through now is getting wilder and wilder. After we left France and Germany, a totally new world opened before us. There is something barbarian about the eastern landscape and its impenetrable woods. All I can hear is howling of the wolves, like they knew I'm coming.
We should get to the Carpathians tomorrow night, and according to my map I shall head to Transylvania, the land "beyond the forest", known for its bloodthirsty rulers. All I know is that I should ask the locals about Lord Niklaus and look for an old castle towering over a village. I spoke to a stranger I met at the train station in Buda-Pesth. Even though he tried to deny it, it was obvious he knew about the man I am searching for. His frightened look was the proof that Lord Niklaus really exists, Caroline! I will find him and I will break the curse for you.
I dream about you every night.
Yours forever,
T.
The train crawls lazily uphill, its steam engine roaring and growling. The young, handsome man leans back in his seat, very uncomfortable he must say, and closes his eyes fighting a growing headache. Since he left Buda-Pesth there's been an uneasy feeling looming over him like a ghost.
He knows he doesn't have to do that. Never once did she tell him to go plunge into the unknown and risk his life to find a man that might, or might not, free Tyler from the control of the moon. She told him she didn't care about his affliction. She told him she wanted to be with him even if she had to chain him down in the cellar once a month. She even made a very unladylike comment about her being insufferable once a month too–for she finds shocking the others extremely amusing–and their conversation ended with laughter and kisses. Tyler smiles to himself as he remembers the moment of their parting. Caroline, that extraordinary and brave girl was the first and only one to accept him and love him just the way he was.
The glowing pink sky seems to be descending along with the sun, giving way to the night. The mountains, soaring and covered with a coniferous forest, seem even more sinister in the sunset. Wolves will start howling again soon, Tyler thinks biting his lip. Nobody knows that feeling better than him. The feeling of blood rushing through your veins as you roam around the woods and howl to the moon. When your sharp fangs tear flesh apart. When you taste raw meat with your tongue. When you wake up–naked, alone, and tired– in the middle of the woods, remembering the hunt. And when you learn that your six-year-old neighbour, a lovely chap, died a horrible death, torn apart by a pack of wolves.
You sink into despair and self-loathing, you cry and beg the Lord for mercy, yet it does not stop you from killing. Bloodlust is stronger than any inhibitions you may have.
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Caroline lets out an exasperated sigh as she closes a book. A loud clap of the covers causes a small cloud of dust that blows right into her face, making Caroline sneeze. She wrinkles her nose and places the book on the small night table next to her bed. The leather-bound volume entitled Lycanthropy has been her source of spine-chilling bedtime stories for the past two weeks.
The bed sinks and slightly undulates under her tiny body covered only with a thin white linen. Her blue eyes stare blankly at the lavishly ornamented chandelier. Werwulf, she thinks. Loup-garou. Hombre lobo. Legends say they can be found even in the wilderness of Latin America, or on distant and exotic islands in the Caribbean. And of all places possible, one of them can be found here – in London. In the very heart of the civilized world.
While most of people emigrated to America, Elizabeth and Bill Forbes, Caroline's parents, moved to England for they inherited a house and quite a sum from Bill Forbes' aunt. Their only daughter was ten at that time, and she couldn't accustom herself to the new way of life. She hated the rusty class structure of English society and missed the feeling of freedom the green valleys of Virginia gave her. London seemed dirty, its rain–depressing, and its fog–scary. After she learned about Tyler's problem, now even thin mist makes her shiver. Who knows what else lurks in the shadows? If there are werewolves, Caroline muses fixing her stare at the chandelier light, the other monsters surely exist too. Maybe Jack the Ripper, an infamous murderer that still might be roaming around the streets of London, is a monster too, literally.
Beast. She never called Tyler so, nor did she call him a monster. To Caroline Tyler has always been her friend and her beloved, a lost boy with too much on his plate. Running a family business in a foreign country while struggling with lycanthropy isn't the easiest job in the world. He had hard time adjusting to the English lifestyle and Caroline, having done that before, helped a fellow American lost in a world of tea and biscuits. Then she helped him adjust to the world of claws and fangs, and somewhere along the way his troubled heart started beating faster for her.
"I want to break the curse for you," he says one day while holding her hands tightly in his trembling ones.
"You know I don't care about the bloody curse," she huffs revealing how much London life grew on her. As a free spirit, she likes strolling around and listening to strangers on the street. She always picks up some words that would shock the others at a party–like buor or dewskitch–to her great delight and her parents' indignation.
"But I don't want our children to carry the gene," Tyler reasons. "If that man does exist– " Caroline throws her arms up and heavily stomps her foot.
"What if he's a con man? Or what if he's worse than that? A warlock? Or a devil incarnate?"
"I'd make a deal with the devil if I have to."
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Tyler learns from his mistakes. Two of the inn owners throw him out after he asks about Lord Niklaus – and they don't even speak English. The name itself scares them to death. At the third inn he doesn't mention any names, he just smiles and slips money into the owner's hand instead.
So the mysterious stranger does exist. If he was just a myth, country folk wouldn't be so frightened at the sound of his name. With their trembling hands they make the sign of the cross, and then they hiss, diavol!
Tyler's journey comes closer and closer to an end, which both thrills him and scares him. The prospect of happy, curse-free life with Caroline thrills him, but he knows everything has its price–and freedom has the highest one.
As he eats his humble dinner at the inn, he hears a hoarse voice with a heavy accent, "Do not go there." A beautiful gypsy sits down across the table and shakes her head, her thick curls bouncing as she does so. She's very young, sixteen or seventeen perhaps, and looks very exotic in the white dress against her olive skin. An exquisite beauty, if you don't count a long, nasty scar that goes down her throat and chest, then between her full breasts, and disappears somewhere under her clothes. Tyler blinks perplexedly and clear his throat.
"Excuse me, um, lady, but I am to be married and–"
"He vill take away everything you love." She clenches her fists on the table. Her dark eyes seem almost black now. Tyler swallows hard and opens his mouth, not knowing what to say.
"He vill never let you find peace."
"W–who...?"
"Diavol." Her eyes, hypnotizing and intense, now bore into his, keeping him transfix in his place. For a moment Tyler feels unable to move, frozen like a statue, with his mouth gaping at the woman in front of him. The spell is broken when the inn's owner sees the girl and starts shouting angrily in his native language. When she jumps to her feet Tyler wakes up from the daze. But before he can ask her more questions, she grabs the front of her dress and bolts for the door chased by the angry owner.
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"Caroline, I have to tell you something." Elena paces around Caroline's room blushing and huffing. The blonde watches her from her place on the big bay window ledge. It's her favourite spot, cosy thanks to many pillows surrounding her, and relaxing thanks to its view over the street. Like many romantic heroines, Caroline loves observing the streets, its routine, strangers rushing to and fro, people meeting briefly just to part their ways a second later, and romances that would never be born because of the aforementioned brevity. It's like watching an anthill, fascinating and overwhelming at once.
"Something's wrong, 'Lena?" Caroline frowns at her fretful companion. Elena Donovan de domo Gilbert is her dear friend, a woman of extraordinary Balkan beauty (inherited from her great-grand father) rarely seen in England, happily married to Matthew Donovan, a local doctor and a good man. Elena has never come to Caroline looking like that, restless and nervous.
"Please, don't judge me." The brunette begs, covering her face with her hands. So this is the reason of her restlessness, Caroline muses, is she... ashamed of something?
"I promise. Just sit down, you look distressed."
"I made a terrible mistake, Caroline, a terrible mistake!" Elena sobs falling on Caroline's bed. Caroline pouts, wondering what the mistake could be. Elena was always the meek one, the good one, the saviour of the cursed and the damned while Caroline was the headstrong one, bossing around, speaking her mind and getting into arguments with everyone. If anyone is supposed to make mistakes, it's Caroline, with her temper and impulsiveness. Yet here she is, Elena Donovan on edge.
"I've met a man, Caroline. He's nothing like I've seen before. He's nothing like Matt. He's so..." Elena's breathing gets heavy again, her chest heaving, her cheeks burning like she was running a fever. "I couldn't resist him! Like he wasn't human or... Caroline, I think I'm going mad!"
"Elena, you did not–" Caroline gasps, shocked. Her friend bites her lower lip and a painful grimace appears on her face.
"I did. And I'm afraid that I– I may do it again."
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Beloved Caroline,
I am writing this words sitting at a tavern in some village the name I cannot even pronounce. Tomorrow I am going to the castle in which Lord Niklaus is supposed to live. I can see it from the window. Thanks to my supernatural abilities I will climb that hill in less than a day.
I know you dream of travelling around the world. Let me tell you something about the place I am currently in, just to satisfy your curiosity. You would love the landscape here, especially by day, in summer. By night it transforms into something intimidating. The mountains are nothing you have seen in England or even in America–they are more majestic, more steep.
The locals are strange people, very superstitious and distrustful. They burn the corpses of people that died a sudden, tragic death so the dead cannot haunt the living. They also believe some people can have two souls. The most known dead haunting the living are known as the strigoi. Fear of the dead is omnipresent. In moments like this I am grateful for being one of the monsters instead of their prey.
But please do not worry about me. I promise my next letter will bring happy news, and a smile to your beautiful face. I bought a necklace from a local jeweller for you. I can't wait to see you wearing it.
With love,
T.
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Elena leaves Caroline's house after a good hour of crying, feeling relieved that she can share the burden with her friend now. Sometimes she still thinks it was all in her head. It seemed so surreal, so dream-like. Even Caroline couldn't believe her at first. Handsome stranger that swept her off her feet with a few smooth words right in the middle of an empty street? Stories like that don't happen, except for novelettes Elena is so passionate about. And there's that tiny little detail about her being married. She does love Matt. He's a good man and a good husband. Yes, she loves him, and she should stop hankering after some stranger that brought disgrace on her.
The romantic brunette sighs as she crosses the road. It's late, and Matt might start to worry soon. They live nearby, so there's no need to take a car, but in the evening the way home seems longer and scary. Thick fog is drifting high above the pavement, shrouding the streetlamps like a veil. Her footsteps–even her own shadow–make her feel uncomfortable.
There's a shadow lurking over the corner, observing the girl, his eyes hungrily following her tiny steps. Elena is too deep in thought to notice a hand reaching for her neck from behind. Its fingers are ready to clasp around her delicate neck and drag her into a dark alley.
All Elena hears is a swish, like something has just cut the air. She turns away instantly, but nobody's there. The street is deadly silent. It must have been her vivid imagination, she tells herself, but quicken the pace nevertheless.
Her attacker crouches in the small side street, clutching at the wooden stake stuck in his stomach. Blood is sipping out of the wound, but the man doesn't seem to be dying.
"Well, well, well." He pants with fatigue, but his voice sounds oddly content. "I haven't seen a hunter in London for decades."
"And I have been looking for you for years now." A figure steps into the light. A tall fair-haired man in his twenties with a dangerous glint in his eye. "Ripper."
"Ah, so my reputation precedes me." The man pulls the stake out and straightens up. Now, in a faint light of a streetlamp, the hunter can see his face. He looks young, surely not much older than the hunter himself, his coat fashionable, his hair smooth. A true gentleman, or so it seems. Only that his heart has rotten long time ago, and feelings were replaced by bloodlust. Smiling, he reveals his sharp fangs coated with blood that's also dripping down his chin. He must have fed just minutes ago. Some poor lady didn't have as much luck as the one that has just been saved. You can't save everyone, can you?
"It is very rude not to reveal your name, hunter." Ripper grins with a look of a maniac in his eyes.
"Very rude indeed. So let me introduce myself." The blonde nods, and in a blink of an eye he gets to the creature delivering a flying kick to his face. "My name is Galen Vaughn. But don't bother to remember it. You'll be dead in a moment anyway, leech."
His opponent falls to the ground, but not for long. With an inhuman speed he's back on his feet just a second later. He even seems pleased with the turn of events. The perverted smirk on his face doesn't fade.
"You have no idea how much I missed a good fight." The vampire licks his lips and lunges at the hunter. The both fall down and start rolling on the cobbles. The sound of punches delivered and heavy panting fills the alley. When they are on their feet again, Ripper throws Vaughn in the air, making him bash against the brick wall. The hunter quickly recovers and pulls out a tiny crossbow out of his pocket. The vampire prepares for the attack when he gets shot in the neck with a series of small arrows. For the first time his face twists in a grimace.
"Thirsty?" Galen Vaughn mocks him. "I thought you might fancy a shot of verv–" Suddenly something hard falls on his head, sending him unconscious to the ground. The vampire is about to get to the hunter in one jump and finish him off, but then he remembers about the curse. He tears the arrows out of his neck and dashes into the street.
A third man emerges from the shadows. He checks the hunter's pulse and sighs with relief. Just a severe concussion, the lad will live. It's not advisable to kill a hunter. Apart from the whole curse thing, they have been foes for years now, and everyone knows how difficult it is to find a decent arch-enemy these days.
"Sorry old sport," he says patting him on the shoulder, "but he's still my little brother." Tipping his hat, the man walks away.
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Not even a candle burns in the castle that's towering above the village. The pallid light of the waxing moon seeps lazily through the window. Two men are standing with their hands clasped behind their backs, hiding in the shadows, looking down at the dense, impenetrable woods beneath them.
"A wolf is coming here." One of them says sounding curious.
"So I've heard." The other responds flatly.
"If you let him come so close, you must have some plans regarding him, I suppose."
"Maybe I do. Or maybe I'm just bored and want to play a little." The second one smirks in the dark, and the first snorts.
"A means to an end, like always, brother?"
"Like always."
The wind outside grows stronger, and the dark clouds cover the sky, blocking the moonlight. The men sink into the pitch-black darkness.
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TBC
Okay, so I have no idea what it is. All I know is that if it turns into a story, it's going to be dark, bloody, and not everyone will make it to the end.