They say that the moment you become a blood servant, your soul no longer belongs to you.

I didn't believe it—until that fateful night one year ago.


Snow began to fall as the Dean escorted me to the entrance of Castle Bran.

"Anna, go in. Remember, you're doing this voluntarily."

I glanced back toward the orphanage. Thirty children, all much younger than me, needed food, medicine, and coal to survive the winter.


Count Dracula had offered the Dean terms that couldn't be refused in this bitter winter.

I would become his blood servant, and in return, he would fund the orphanage for ten years.


"I understand," I whispered.

The castle's massive door swung open on its own, the iron hinges scraping with an ominous groan.

I stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind me.

A long corridor stretched before me, lined with high stone walls and flickering candles.

At the corridor's end loomed a massive oak door.

I pushed it open.

A figure sat with its back to me in a high-backed chair, pale fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

"You've arrived." The voice came from above as I stared down at the ornate carpet, holding my breath.

"Yes, my lord," I replied, my voice barely audible.

"Turn around and look at me."

I obeyed, and he rose from his chair, gliding toward me with unnatural grace.

Candlelight caught his features, illuminating skin as white as bone and eyes that burned crimson.

He seized my chin, his fingertips radiating a coldness that pierced to my core.

"What is your name?"

"My lord, my name is Anna."

"Do you understand what it means to be a blood servant?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

He released me. "Good. I am Dracula. From this day forward, you are my blood servant. Remember, your blood exists to delay my hunger. Beyond that, I will not see your body suffer any harm."

I bit my lip.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then let us begin the ceremony."