A/N: Hi guys! This is the first story I have written in ageeeeees (I've not written in a very long time, so am feeling a little bit rusty). I hope you enjoy it AND I hope this gets me back into writing. This is just a short prologue, the normal chapters will be longer - rest assured!

Prologue

I have always loved living in London. It's a city that is always abuzz, no matter the time of day. At nine in the morning, bleary-eyed commuters scurry along, clutching their to-go coffee cups like a lifeline. By the afternoon, university students have emerged from their beds, trying to catch a lecture they are already five minutes late to. Even into the early hours of the morning, the streets are ablaze with people enjoying London's non-stop nightlife. It's hard to feel lonely or unsafe here, or so I'd thought.

ANOTHER BODY FOUND MAULED.

I place my newspaper down and take a sip of coffee. There have been three murders this week alone – all in the same general location, and all left in the same way. The newspapers are saying it's a serial killer; the police are telling us to remain vigilant, yet still calm. I bite my bottom lip in worry. It seems as though my safe haven, my sanctuary, is no more.

My phone buzzes furiously in my pocket, releasing me from my morbid thoughts. Smiling at the Caller ID, I pull it out and accept the call.

"Hey, Rose!" Mason exclaims. "What's up?"

"Mase, hi." I reply. "Same old, same old. I've just finished work and have had the most mind-numbingly boring day."

"That sucks, we should do something to turn it around. It is a Friday, after all."

"Seven. Leicester Square Station. Be there."

I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful for my new plans. Surely, a few cocktails and some quality time with my best friend will perk me up a little. Mason and I have been friends since before I can even remember. We have always been a bit of a package deal – wherever he goes, I go and vice versa. He is pretty much my only family, seeing as we both grew up in the same orphanage. Foster homes came and went, but Mason was – is – always a stable entity in my life.

The café's door swings open, making the bell chime. A very tall, very attractive man glides in and heads straight towards the counter to make his order. Like every other Londoner, he seems to be in a rush to get his coffee and go. I drag my gaze away and gather up my belongings. If I am going to make it for seven, I'd better get a move on. My chair makes a screeching sound as I push it back underneath the table.

The tall stranger, as though offended by the noise, turns to look at me. His brown eyes instantly widen and glare into mine. I quickly feel uneasy, his stare cold and unyielding. I shake it off and head towards the door, wanting to escape the whole awkward situation. However, his hand shoots out and grabs my forearm, preventing me from exiting the café. I look to the barista for help, but he is too busy with the stranger's coffee order to notice.

I gulp, instantly fearing the worst. This is it. He's the serial killer plastered all over the newspapers. Surely, though, this café is a bit too public?

"You're a Dhampir," he whispers so quietly that only we can hear. He seems shocked. "I didn't know there were more Moroi in this area, who's your charge?"

"Uh, what are you talking about?" I reply, snatching my arm from his grip. "Are you okay, man?"

He looks at me, bewildered, which is funny, because he is definitely the one who sounds like a crazy person – not me. I glance down at my watch. 6:30pm. I'll definitely be late unless I make my escape now. I hitch my bag up onto my shoulder.

"Listen, I'm going to be late. I've gotta run," I say, already pivoting on my heels. Still in shock, the strange man does not protest my leaving. Instead, he watches, slack-jawed, as I run out the café door and towards the promise of cocktails and Mason.