Hello. I know it's been an absurdly long time and I apologise profusely. But I'm back! Took me a good while to find my notebook with the story plan, but I was successful eventually. I'm not guaranteeing a timeframe for the next chapter, all I'll say is that it will come.

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Days passed with more talk of a strike. John was troubled but did not let his mother see his uneasiness. It was better that she think him just as calm as his fellows. He left her that evening under the guise of delivering food to the poor, but he did not truly know where he was going. The food was dropped at the doorstep of a poorer family, just as it always was. John was careful not to be seen in such an area. A Master bringing food to the poor was a strange enough thought but doing so every night was ludicrously generous for one of his station. He could smell the food, knew well the effort that his cook put into every meal, and yet the idea of tasting it sickened him.

He had suggested the idea of anonymous donation to his mother not too long after his transformation. At first, he had tried to stomach the food to keep up appearances, but it was nauseating. Rich gravy and warm bread had lost their appeal altogether and John knew that if he rejected every meal, the staff would soon realise that something was wrong. He now considered it a blessing that he rarely ate any meal other than dinner. What had long been one of his mother's annoyances was suddenly a great convenience. The servants never found it unusual for John to skip two of three daily meals and with his occasional effort to stomach a meal, they were none the wiser.

After dropping the parcel of food on the doorstep, he made a hasty exit. It still surprised him when he saw people in the streets late at night, but he quickly checked himself. It wasn't as though they understood the danger, nor had much choice if their job required them to be out at such an hour. He considered wandering the streets at night in search of the rogue, but quickly thought the better of it. It was risky enough to deliver the meals, let alone be seen stalking the streets at night. People would surely begin to wonder.

He returned to the mill quickly, anxious to close the yard up for the night. The last thing he needed was for a rogue to attack any of his servants as they ventured between their quarters and the main house. The voices of the other Masters taunted him in his mind as he hurried to the gate. They thought his concern for the servants was beneath him. John flexed the fingers of his cold, marble-like hands and growled lowly at the thought. The raw power he felt coursing through him at that moment was a stark reminder that he wasn't human. But it didn't bring him joy like it did the other Masters. He was not above humans, nay he was unworthy to exist in the same world.

A scuffle of movement behind him caused him to whirl around with inhuman speed. The figure in the shadows blanched away from him and threw up their hands. John inhaled the scent of the man and the fury within him intensified.

'M-master,' Stephens addressed him fearfully. 'I've come to beg your mercy'.

John stalked towards the smaller man, looming menacingly over him. 'Mercy?'

Stephens nodded vigorously. 'I were at the meeting tonight. I can tell you their plans. Please take me back'.

'Take you back?' John growled into the darkness, his throat burning with thirst. 'And have you destroy all I've worked for!' He was shaking with anger, his vampiric nature fighting for control.

'Master'—

John leapt forward and seized hold of Stephens, taking hold of his upper arm and wrenching his neck to the side. It was over in seconds. Stephens' body slumped to the ground in John's hands, the puncture marks in his neck leaking tiny dribbles of crimson. John staggered backwards into the opposite wall, his body humming with the thrill of fresh blood. His mind was hazy, but in that moment he heard the sounds of approaching footsteps and wrenched the body inside the doors.

'Who's there?' he boomed.

'Oh, it's only us,' came the cheerful voice of his friend and tutor. He peered around the door the see Mr Hale and Miss Hale on his arm. His eyes were drawn to Miss Hale's plump lips as they opened slightly in a barely audible gasp. Dread filled him as he followed her gaze to where a drop of blood stained his crisp, white shirt collar.

'Goodness John,' Mr Hale started forward. 'Are you alright?'

John nodded and reached up to straighten his collar. His vision was still not entirely clear 'Thank you for your concern, Mr Hale. I'm quite alright'.

'Then whose blood is that?' asked Margaret. To the human ear she may have sounded calm, but John could hear the slight quaver in her voice. He looked into her beautiful face and found himself unable to answer her question. The fear and disgust he saw reflected back at him was enough to snap him from his blood-drunk haze.

'John, is someone injured? Can we help in some way?' Mr Hale asked, good-natured as always.

'No,' he answered quietly. 'You'd best get home. The streets aren't safe at night'.

Mr Hale looked as though he would protest, but Margaret tugged on his arm, leading him onward. Once they were well and truly out of earshot, John turned back to the body crumpled behind the door and slid down the wall. He buried his face in his hands, not wanting to accept the gravity of what he had just done. He thought of the man's family- of children awaiting their father's return. He thought of his father and he felt a burning pain in his chest. Standing to his feet, he gripped the stone wall for balance. The drunkenness he had acquired from the fresh blood had mostly passed, but the urge to drain the body entirely was almost overwhelming.

Somehow he pulled himself away from the temptation and carefully secured the gate, electing to leave the yard in a less conspicuous manner.

'Well, I suppose we ought to thank you,' Henderson punctuated his words with a heartly clap on John's back.

John remained stoic and silent as he stared down at his barely touched cup.

'Come on, there's no use in wasting it,' Slickson scoffed, gesturing to the cup'.

'We've all made mistakes, John,' Hamper added. 'A little indiscretion won't matter much in the long run'.

John glared at him. 'He had a family'.

Hamper nodded. 'That he did. But so do all of them, I'm sure. Not everybody survives being drained like that, John. You can only imagine'—

'In other words, don't start getting all squeamish because you're more aware of where your food's coming from now,' Henderson chortled.

'I am well aware,' John growled.

'Come now lads,' Hamper leant back in his chair and turned to the rest of the Masters. 'We all remember how confronting it was the first time we took a life. Cut the man some slack'.

If any of the other men responded John did not hear it. He stared at the dark liquid in the cup and made himself a vow. Once his mother had lived a long, happy life he would find a way to end this torment. He had heard the others speak of sunlight being deadly, but that was not a problem in a place perpetually blanketed by clouds. He did not know of any other way for one of their kind to die, but he was determined to find out.

'Bessy?' Margaret asked a little distractedly.

The young woman turned from the stove to see her friend's brow creased in concern. Bessy quickly set the teapot down and sat beside her.

'Is something bothering you?'

'I'm sure it's nothing,' Margaret smiled, but she did not seem at ease. 'Have you ever seen Mr Thornton attack someone?'

Bessy frowned. 'Aside from Stephens getting what he deserved, I haven't seen anything like that. Of course, he's harsh at times, but that's all Masters. You have to understand that while I don't agree with violence, Stephens was warned. He was aware how dangerous it was and he still did it'.

'But he has mouths to feed,' Margaret pressed. 'Was such a harsh punishment truly necessary?'

Bessy scoffed. 'Those mouths don't seem to have meant much to him; it seems. Mrs Clarke down the way says no one has seen him for a couple of days. Probably took off'.

'Does that happen often?' Margaret asked with a horrified expression. 'How could he leave his children?'

'Not everyone is good,' Bessy shrugged. 'Of course, being a beggar on the street would also make him an easy target'.

'What do you mean?' Margaret's eyes were wide.

Bessy looked at her and then smiled. 'I don't want to scare you, Miss'.

'Tell me,' Margaret asked with a tentative smile. 'Surely whatever you have to say won't be so very terrifying'.

Bessy sighed. 'There's talk about the people that have been disappearing. Father comes home from the pub and tells me things. Some people reckon there's a killer out there'.

'A murderer in Milton?' Margaret gaped at her.

Bessy nodded. 'Then there are the other rumours that are a bit more fanciful'.

'Such as?'

Bessy grinned. 'Grotesque animal-like creatures that hunt at night. Some people say they hear shrieking at night'.

Margaret seemed to visibly relax. 'I've never heard any such thing. And surely such a creature would have been seen by someone'.

'You would think so,' Bessy took a sip of her tea and coughed, nearly spilling the rest of the cup as she placed it down. After the coughing had subsided, she gave Margaret a serious look. 'What if the creature could become a man?'

Margaret stared blankly at her.

Bessy started to laugh raucously and eventually Margaret cracked a small smile. Laughter soon brought about another fit of coughing. Margaret moved to sit beside Bessy and placed her arm about her shoulders. Bessy coughed harder as Margaret rubbed gentle circles on her back, her mind racing with the thought that such a creature might truly exist.

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