master,” I replied.
She said nothing to this response, only offered a hand to help me step from the box that became my bed.
Again she led me to the dining room.
Again he sat at the head of the table.
Again I sat opposite him, our nonexistent meal laid out before us on the empty table. “I was dead; how did you bring me back?” I blurted this out before he had a chance to speak.
It was clear this man was not accustomed to someone challenging his authority, defying him, and he seemed taken aback by the thrust of my words, then slightly bemused. “Your killer stabbed you in the heart, this is true, but he stabbed you with a knife made of steel. Not even silver, mind you, steel. All he accomplished was to stun the heart until the blade was extracted, nothing more. Had he employed a wooden stake, you would not be sitting here this evening. But you were fortunate. His incompetence saved your life.”
For this man to say something so harsh about my beloved, I wanted to dive across the table and rip out his throat. The anger that motivated me to slay so many when I was first reborn surged through my body—I forced it back, I forced it away. I did not want to be that hateful person, not anymore.
The dark man’s eyes narrowed. Could he read my thoughts? I began to believe that he could. If he could, he must know I was so—
“You must eat,” he said. “The rabbit’s life may have sustained you, but only human blood will help you fully heal. You grow weaker by the hour.”
At this admonition, the young servant girl came back into the room and stood beside the table. She was joined by a youth of no more than twelve. He came in behind her and stood tentatively at her side, his eyes turned to the ground.
“Choose,” the dark man said.
“I choose to return home to my beloved; I want nothing more from you.”
“Choose, or I will drain them both.”
His eyes grew dark at this, a deep red the color of burning embers. The urge to take advantage of either the boy or the girl swelled within me. The blood coursing through their veins—I could see it, taste it. Still, I did not make a move.
The dark man slammed his fist down on the table and crossed the room in a blur. He lifted the boy by his neck and pushed his head aside. I heard his teeth tear into the flesh a moment before the scent of blood filled the room and yet I remained perfectly inert. When he finished his macabre meal, he threw the boy’s limp body at me. The corpse landed on the table and slid across it, coming to a stop mere inches from me. The boy’s glassy stare reassured me he was, indeed, dead.
The dark man crossed the chamber and picked me up by the neck, as he had the boy, and dragged me from the dining room down a series of hallways and staircases. I kicked at him as we went, but he was too strong for me. He carried me like I weighed nothing into the deepest heart of the castle. He carried me to a dungeon and tossed me inside. I scuttled to the far corner and cowered like a broken dog. I wanted to stand up to him, I wanted to show him I was not scared of him, but in that very moment I most certainly was afraid.
Without a word, the door closed and the lock was engaged, and I found myself in utter darkness. At least a week passed, possibly two, and then the door was finally opened again, and an older woman was pushed inside with me. She fell to the floor at the center of the room, and again the door was locked. When she recovered from this rough treatment, when her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she discovered me in my corner. “My blood is your blood,” she said in a whisper.
“I will not,” I told her. I was so weak; I needed it badly. I refused to hurt her, though; I would