A hearty hello to you all. As promised at the end of my previous North and South fanfiction, I am attempting to bring a little vampiric fun into the mix. Please bear with me as I dive back into the realm of N&S writing. It has been some time. Thank you for your interest :)

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Hannah Thornton's fingers moved with all the deftness of a concert pianist as she completed the ritual straightening of her son's cravat and collar. Her eyes darted over his appearance, searching for any trace of dishevelment that one might find fault with. The amused smile that met her eased the tightness in her chest and she nodded stiffly.

'It is no different than any other week, mother,' he sighed and turned away to pick up his coat. 'I'll be back before dawn, lock the doors as always'.

The click of the door closing behind him was the wordless signal to do as he had asked. Ordinarily such a job would have been for the servants to attend to, but Wednesdays were different in the Thornton household. Servants were always given the evening to themselves to do as they pleased. Whilst curiously lenient for the firm and but fair Mrs Thornton, as with most of her actions, this was done for a precise purpose. Hannah Thornton was widely considered as a stern woman with good sense and a strong will, but if any were to witness her movements on those quiet nights, they would have to wonder at her uneasiness.

The echoing clack of her shoes against the cold floor was the only sound as she carefully went about closing the window shutters. Once her tasks were complete, she strode purposefully back to the sitting room and sank down onto one of the luxuriously cushioned settees. Despite how her eyes ached and her tired body melted into the plump upholstery, very little sleep would be had that night.

Not a single Wednesday night had passed peacefully for Mrs Thornton for almost two years. She shivered at the recollection of that fateful night when promises had been fulfilled and she had felt a shard of ice pierce her heart.

It hadn't been different than any other winter's day that year. The mist clung lowly to the buildings as workmen hurried back to the safety of their homes. She had watched John locking the gate to the mill when suddenly that odious Hamper had appeared with a foxes smile and a note, which he passed to John before disappearing into the darkening street.

'What is it?' she had asked immediately when John returned inside, her racing heart telling her that she already knew.

'It is to be tonight,' John read from the note passively, but his voice quivered just enough to show her his fear. 'We shall toast to the first of many'.

Her mind raced, unable to stop and focus on any given thought. John sank down onto the arm of one of the settees, a practice that she would have once been quick to scold him for.

'What about the mill?'

His dark eyebrows furrowed. 'What of it? Nothing is to change. Tonight will secure its future'.

Mrs Thornton let out a frustrated sigh and moved closer to seize his hand. 'You don't have to do this, John. We don't need them. We can find another way'.

He covered her hand with his and gave her a smile, but the delicate pools of blue that were so much like his father's betrayed his calm façade. The turmoil therein kindled a righteous fire within her to protect her child from harm.

'They would not let us go on knowing. Don't fret, mother. It was only a matter of time before this night came. I am ready'.

As soon as he moved away to fetch his hat and gloves the air felt colder. Mrs Thornton tried to contain her trepidation for fear that a servant may overhear her thoughts and expose them. She was not so delusion as to expect this to occur, and yet the fear did seem more logical in that moment than ever before.

John turned back to her from the door and once more he was just a boy. The years since his father had made the agreement showed on his features and yet Mrs Thornton could see the very same look in his eyes. Fear and uncertainty that no amount of time could have quelled. Still, the time had hurried by with no concern for their lack of preparation.

'John…'

The tall man hurried back to her open arms in an instant. Hot tears soaked his hair as she took him into her arms, bringing his head to her shoulder. Her dry lips caught against the strands of his dark hair as she placed a soft kiss to his head. The room was quiet for some time, save for the persistent crackling of the fire and the questions echoing around her head. Would he still have a heartbeat? Her fingertips committed the gentle thrum beneath his skin to memory as she held him. Would his skin still hold any warmth at all? How could it when his body would be frozen in time?

'I won't change,' he vowed quietly.

She pulled back to look at him with tenderness, delicately taking his face in her hands. 'Even if you did, it wouldn't make me love you any less'.

Nothing could ever have prepared her for the agony in her heart when they brought John back to the house. With his arms slung about Hamper's and Henderson's shoulders, he looked within an inch from death.

Their hearty laughter was what had first roused her, and their thundering knocks were far louder than what was necessary. Mrs Thornton knew why when she caught sight of the dark glee in their eyes as they waited at the door. The night clearly emboldened them to act as they pleased, daring anyone who passed them to provoke their ire. The thought of some curious servant falling prey to them made her feel sick to her stomach. Then an icy fear gripped her. Would John be the same?

'Might we come in, Mrs Thornton?' Hamper asked lightly, all politeness despite the solemn nature of the occasion.

'I think it best that you don't,' Mrs Thornton replied with a calmness that she did not truly feel.

Hamper watched her with a somewhat predatory smile for barely a moment before clapping John on the back and shoving him forward into the house. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the doorframe nearby. Mrs Thornton rushed to his side, the metallic scent of blood assaulting her nostrils. Looking up into his shadowy face she was met with both horror and relief. He was dreadfully pale and sickly looking, but there was no darkness in his eyes.

'Best keep him shut away for a day or two, Mrs Thornton,' Hamper advised jovially. Mrs Thornton's eyes moved to Hamper's rolled sleeve where a dark bite mark stood out against his milky skin. There was very little blood surrounding the wound as though his blood lacked the adequate pressure to escape. Turning back to her son, she then noticed similar marks on both sides of his neck where his cravat had been loosened and, on his wrists, as well.

Henderson reached forward silently and closed the door, leaving Mrs Thornton to tend to her son. She waited until she could no longer hear their retreating laughter before speaking once more.

'John, what can I do?' she asked, eyes darting between his face and the blackened wounds on his neck.

For a moment he was silent before giving her a weak smile. 'Lend me your arm, mother. All will be well if I can first best these stairs'.

Mrs Thornton stayed with him through the night and into the following morning when some of the servants began to move about the house. She kept up appearances, telling any who inquired that John was merely feeling unwell. Of course, this statement would not satisfy for long as John had not taken to a sickbed in some years. Any concern that Mrs Thornton may have felt for that fact paled in light of the traumatic night that she had passed. John had become progressively weaker, and his skin had burned with such an intensity that his bed clothes and sheets felt as though they had been under a hot iron. Then everything had stopped. The heat dissipated like steam and the dark wounds on his skin shrunk away before her very eyes. John had shuddered and mumbled incoherently before growing still and when she felt around his wrist there was no pulse to be found. For a moment it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. The sounds of the machinery grinding to life in the mill were as mocking church bells sounding his death.

Then a moment later he stirred, and relief flooded her. His eyes moved sluggishly about the room before resting on her face. Her smile was strained as she reached towards him. His hand felt as though it had been doused in icy water and the heat from her own hand did nothing to dispel the cold. She noticed that his eyes were also on their hands, his brows knit together.

'I cannot feel your warmth,' his voice was hoarse, and he coughed to clear his throat.

Mrs Thornton bowed her head. 'I thought you were gone'.

His brow remained furrowed as he slowly investigated the smooth skin that had not so long ago been marred by vicious fangs. Mrs Thornton waited patiently for him to adjust. Not that she expected him to immediately. She may have tried to pretend that this day would never come, that it was all just a farce. After all, she had never received proof that Vampires were real. But sitting with her son that morning, the weight of the truth rested heavily on her chest. He had changed and their lives would never be the same again.

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This story will focus heavily on John, but there will most certainly be some Margaret focused chapters and perhaps some other characters if necessary. Thank you once again for reading.