There is a chill in the air. It smells fresh, like morning dew. I am lying in a soft bed, the smell of crisp linen soothing my senses. My body feels weightless. The pain is replaced by a quiet sense of being. It’s a gentle calm state, one I think is more congruent with dead bodies.

But I am not dead. I can sense. Feel. Hear the muffled voices as they discuss my state. Most mornings, I feel a cold, wrinkled hand caressing my face. Most evenings, I feel strong yet gentle fingers checking my pulse. I do not know who there are or how they look like. My eyelids will stay shut as if not willing to look out. What if I am on my wolf’s form, weak and deceased, lying in some pet pen? They could be people discussing the condition of a dying bitch rather than a human girl.

A window thuds somewhere, a gust of chilly breeze making its way in to ripple my senses. I shiver, clutching at my covers. It’s a surreal feeling to use my hands to hold those covers. They tell me I am not in my wolf form.

My eyes scrunch and blink open. It takes me a while to adjust to the light. A grey fog fills them in, clouding my vision, but a few blinks clear it away.

I am in a large room with dark stone walls and a timber roof. A large fireplace crackles merrily a few feet away. The windows are open, and I see a vast snowy land stretching away to the horizon. In the distance is a mountain range with snowy peaks that glow gold in the sunlight.

I push to my elbows to sit up when my eyes land on a figure. In the doorway to the room, a middle-aged woman stands with an incredulous look. Her floral dress falls to her ankles and a white apron is tied over it. Her hair is tied in a neat bun, secured with a velvet scrunchie.

“Miss Diane! You are awake!” she says, face cracking into a wide grin.

“Yes, Mrs. Bates. I am finally awake.” I fall back into the bed, unknown tears crowding my eyes.

*****

Tamara –

We are back in the courtyard where we landed the first time I arrived in the Shadow Lands. The place is the same, vast yet with a grey, deathly pallor marring its beauty. Tonight it bustles with crowd. King Vasili has invited everyone for a gala banquet, where new slaves like me would be inducted into the holy ritual.

I walk behind Damien wearing a gown of dark green silk. Ophelia has fished it out from somewhere, especially on Damien’s orders. It would be beneath their status to bring me to the Royal ceremony wearing the jute smock. The gown is nothing like the ones belonging to Lady Lestrange, but it’s at least something that will not cast me as an odd one out.

I follow Damien as he walks through the courtyard to enter a vast hall. The high ceilings glitter with Elven silver. There is some magic here, as through the solid stones, the night sky is still visible. Stars twinkle like candles; silver clouds flit across giving the place an ethereal feel.

Damien stops, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. There is a look there, a poignance, a sadness. A longing. Behind him, his trail of slaves too stops. I watch them in silence as they keep their eyes reverently to their master. It’s an expression of total devotion and trust, one I must confess I will never be able to muster.

He sighs, turning to our group, looking at a girl in the front, no older than Tina.

“Grace, wait for me in the courtyard. Stay out of trouble. You know how to call me in case you need me.”

Grace nods, bowing her head, then signals the others. They too bow their heads and step back, soon disappearing into the oncoming crowd. Damien turns to me.

“And you, Tamara. Stay with me. I want to introduce you to some prospective owners.”

My face clouds with embarrassment. He sounds like an anxious father, eagerly looking for a suitable match to marry off his errant daughter. Holding my hand, he pulls me through the crowd, casting his eyes around.

“And who converted them?” I ask, keeping my voice low, so just Damien would hear. He stops next to a pillar, a place from where most of the hall is visible.

Well, only he can see them from his height. I can barely reach his shoulder and cannot fathom where I am exactly in this sea of people.

“There are troupes assigned with this specific task.” Damien answers my question. “Their job is solely to find more people and convert them into our kind.”

To convert means to bite. Just enough to make sure the vampire venom is injected into the vein instead of ripping it apart altogether. For eons, that has been the way to convert others into this species. I have heard stories. There are a lot of unnerving accounts of how vampires converted entire villages and towns into their own.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

It was only when the late Witch Queen cursed them that they stopped their crusades. She forbade them to enter a place without invitation, and that was how the rest of us live in peace.

I chew my lips, my eyes on a tray full of food as a server passes us. I stop him to quickly grab a plate, much to Damien’s amusement.

“I haven’t eaten anything.” I snap when I feel his eyes on me. “Your servants did not give me anything, despite your orders. Maybe you should have a word with Ophelia rather than judging me.”

“I am not judging you.” He sighs, signalling another server, who instantly arrives carrying plates of more delicacies. Damien picks one to empty it onto my plate.

“Eat whatever you want. It will enrich your blood and enhance your scent. I can already see people turning their heads.”

My hunger instantly dies. I pinch my lips, casting my eyes around. Sure enough, I see gazes, men and women looking in our direction.

“Lord Lestrange. What a pleasant surprise.” A familiar voice makes me look to my left. It’s the man from the cliff, the vampire who made me woof like a dog. His face lights with an oily smirk as his eyes traverse my body as if I am a dog's dinner.

“Diego. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the borders?”

“Ah, I am on a holiday, Lord Lestrange. The king granted me a favour and allowed me to attend today. The troupes are bringing a new haul and I am allowed to take my pick. But I hear your salve is up for grabs as well. How about we strike a bargain?”

*****

Ten minutes later, Damien is pulling me to the other corner of the hall. Diego the vampire was struck down bloody and had to be carried by stunned vampires to a safer place. I must say I rather enjoyed the spectacle. It was unnerving to watch Damien unleash his fury on the clifftop yesterday, but tonight, it comes as a pleasant surprise.

No wonder he is called the most powerful vampire on earth. Noone came to rescue poor Diego as he was thrashed mercilessly. Even Vasili watched in surprise, his face rather cold at the apparent display of power.

One down, hundreds more to go. But no one approaches us anymore. We wait for what seems like hours before another man approaches us.

He is tall, dark, with a smile that will suit in Vogue cover. In fact, I remember seeing that face on a cover of a glossy magazine. What made me remember him is his toothy white smile.

It’s marvellously white, sparkling with a furore that nearly blinds me. Now that I think, it must be a toothpaste advert that I saw him in.

“Lord Lestrange. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was late arriving, but glad I am here.”

“No problem, Gillingham.” Damien replies, exhaling a relieved breath. “Better late than never. And here’s the girl I promised to introduce. Her name is Tamara Stevens, and she will make you a fine companion.”

*****

I spend an hour with Lord Gillingham, then am back to the corner where Damien stands with some others. He raises an eyebrow as I approach, dismissing the others with a flick of his head.

“How did it go?”

“You should ask Lord Gillingham.”

“And where is he?”

“He left for home complaining a headache.”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head, making me look away. “And why did he leave, pray tell me? He was interested enough when he saw you yesterday and let me know of his interest to buy you out. He is one of the Recents, Tamara, and of the rare ones who treat their slaves well.”

I chew my lip, shrugging my shoulders. I do not know what he means by ‘treating well’. With me, Gillingham was quite touchy-feely. We danced and there wasn't one place he did not press or try to feel. Some inexperienced girl in my place would have died of shame. All I did was to tell him politely to bugger off. He must have seen my wolf in my eyes, as he looked quite startled.

“You should really ask him.” I tell Damien, who watches me with disappointment. “As to me, I did not find him particularly good, as you described. Surely there must be other Recents that are better than him?”

He grunts and looks away. We wait. Hours pass and nothing happens. The night rises and drunk vampires start getting to business. Soon the place resembles a chaotic orgy when Vasili rises from his seat, making the hall fall silent.

“And now for the finale of the day.” He clicks his glass, stressing each word, drawing all the attention of the crowds.“I request my dearest friend and the oldest of our kind forward. Tonight, he takes his new slave, a werewolf, no less. And we are all honoured to partake in his happiness.”

Beside me, Damien stiffens.

“You should have chosen Gillingham..” His words disappear in an eruption of applause as the crowd parts, making a way for us to walk toward the centre of the hall. Damien lets out a ragged breath as he grabs my hand and pulls me forward.

My heart thuds as we reach the empty space where the entire hall watches us. My body is tense. There is fear. Apprehension. Excitement! I can’t believe I am excited to be Damien’s slave.

Is this really me? Is this the girl who went berserk at the thought of this vampire? It was me who threw tantrums, made my entire family worry with my mindless antics. I had fu*ked the entire pack and everyone I could get my hands on, just to stop thinking of this moment. And here I am, strangely eager to be enslaved by the same vampire who stands in front of me, his canines protruding.

“Relax and don’t move. I’ll try not to hurt.” His voice is strangely soothing as he bends his head to whisper into my ear. It could be a spell disguised in those words, but I do feel relaxed. This is better than taking anyone else. If not a mate, I’d rather be his slave.

“I trust you.” I close my eyes and offer him my neck. It’s no different from what I would have done to my werewolf mate. I am not afraid of the bite, nor am I afraid of the mate bond. All I was afraid of was the vampire, but something tells me my fear was unjustified.

He steps closer, a hand holding my head while the other wraps around my waist to keep me still. My body relaxes as a shiver runs down my spine and a pair of sharp canines touch my neck, near the mate's spot.

“Remember, this is the same ritual, only not mating. Slaves share a close bond with their masters and it’s for a lifetime.”

“Sure.” I smile against his silver hair. There is a scent there, a faint scent of cinnamon and some other herb. My wolf would have recognised it easily, but in its absence, I have to make do with my human senses.

For a lifetime it is, however long I live. I cannot go back to my family and this is the least I can do for them.

For Adam, Tina, Gabe and the twins. For my dying father and my mother's pride - my beloved Silver Shadows.

A pain erupts, piercing my skin, tearing my neck muscles, deep into the tissue. My body stiffens as a burn starts, so galling it leaves me paralysed.

***** *****