A week had passed at Castle Bran when the scab on my neck finally fell away. I was walking with Martha along the third-floor corridor when she suggested showing me the library.

Footsteps echoed from the opposite direction.


Dracula appeared like a shadow made flesh.

He halted, his gaze immediately finding my neck.

"Has the wound healed?"


"Yes, my lord."

He nodded curtly.


"Wait for me in the same room as before. One hour."

With that, he swept past me, his footsteps fading into silence.

An hour later, Martha led me through the now-familiar corridors. The door to what I'd begun thinking of as the "feeding room" stood half-open, candlelight spilling through the gap.

Dracula stood by the window, motionless as a statue even as our footsteps announced our arrival.

"Enter."

Martha retreated, the door closing with a soft click behind me.

"Come."

I approached the crimson chaise and lay back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He moved to my side with fluid grace, bent down, and took what he needed.

Minutes later, he withdrew.

"Enough."

I sat up shakily, pressing my hand to my neck. The bleeding had stopped, leaving only sticky warmth beneath my fingers.

"Go rest."

"Yes, my lord."

At the door, I glanced back.

He stood by the window, a solitary figure carved from marble, utterly still.

I turned away and slipped through the door.

The corridor seemed quieter on my return journey.

Candle flames cast dancing shadows on ancient stone. I watched them flicker as I walked, my footsteps deliberately light.

When I reached my room, a fresh fire crackled in the hearth. Martha must have just stoked it.

I sank onto the edge of the bed and touched my neck.

Fresh punctures overlaid the old marks, a drop of blood welling up beneath my fingertips.

Staring at the blood on my fingers, I suddenly remembered the orphanage ceiling—how it leaked when it rained, water dripping steadily into buckets below.

What were the children doing now?

They'd have finished their meager dinner by now. Was the youngest still crying for me, calling "Sister" and searching every corner?

I collapsed onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow.

The pillow was soft—too soft, compared to the thin ones at the orphanage.