Prologue

Running away was something Jasmine did best in the ghetto of 1752 England. Who knew that her savior would come in the form of the damned?

Prologue
England 1752

Jasmine remembered the night like it was yesterday; the night that changed her life forever, still so fresh and vivid in her mind. She remembered the fire burning in her lungs; the throbbing in her legs as she ran through the dark city streets. Back then, she was not but a homeless orphan. Running was what she did best; from social services, the police, or random people on the streets. With no family or friends, she was always on the run.

That night, it was three men who chased her around the city. They had tried restraining her back behind the tavern, but she got away. No matter how far she ran, Jasmine could still hear their footsteps behind her; and they were coming faster and closer. All three were unbelievably drunk, it shocked her to see them running as far and fast as they did. Not to mention, one of them was a pudgy fellow and was only able to follow her for about three blocks before he passed out on the sidewalk.

All three of them had been down on their luck; not entirely of their own faults. When they touched her, she got a glimpse of their lives. One had lost his job at a law firm after being caught taking bribes from his rich blue-collar clients. The pudgy one lost his wife and child due to a car accident over a year ago, driving him into a depression, causing him to eat more and live less. The other, well, he was just a drunken a*****e who had seen many other terrified, pain stricken faces of young girls and women before her.

Shortly after running passed the sixth block, Jasmine’s head had begun to spin and the air in her lungs became cold and dry. Frantically, she scanned her surrounding for a hiding place and found a small, ground-level basement window, which had been shattered, in the alleyway. With haste, she crawled into the window, scraping her bear arms against the shattered glass remains, unable to feel the pain with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The window was higher off the basement floor than she had first anticipated and ended up losing her grip and falling bottom first onto a cold cement floor.

Quickly, she scooted out of the moonlight coming through the window and stood flush against the brick wall. For a moment, she was able to take a deep breath, but just a moment before someone had covered her mouth with their hand. It was a man’s hand, big and calloused. He also tightened his other arm around her middle, squeezing her arms against her own body so she couldn’t struggle, and then walked back a good five steps before pulling her against his firm body. He was tall and strong and she knew she had no hope of getting away from him.

Jasmine’s attention was soon turned back to the window where she could hear the footsteps of the two men who were able to follow her. She heard cursing and one asking where she could have gotten off to. She saw the shadows of their legs before seeing their shoes near the window. The man who held her whispered for her to hold her breath, and she did, instinctively knowing that the two men outside might be able to hear her breathing. Behind her, Jasmine could feel that the man had stopped breathing as well.

At that moment, one man had gotten on his hands and knees, sticking his head through the window and peering in the opposite direction of where they stood. As his head started to rotate their way, her body tensed even more. Jasmine was sure they were caught. She thought that he would see her with this man behind her and ask to join in on the fun. And she wasn’t sure if the man holding her would allow it, but before the men in the window could catch site of her, his body shifted slightly, and he cursed and quickly withdrew himself from the window, complaining that he cut himself on a shard of glass. At that moment, she had to breath, quiet but slow and deep; and after a moment of disappointed conversation between the two men outside, they left.

The man behind her held her still for a few moments longer; longer still after she could no longer hear the two men outside walking and talking away from them. When he did finally let her go, Jasmine found that her legs had turned to rubber; he had been hold her up the whole time. She fell to the ground on her hands and knees, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for him to make his move; but nothing happened. Cautiously, silently praying that he had left. She turned back to look at him. He was still there, standing tall and rigid just a few feet from her. In the dark, Jasmine could easily see the shimmer of his dark eyes staring stoically back at her.

He looked up past her toward the window and walked over to it. He stuck his head out to look around, then looked back down at her. Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen his face before; his picture was all over wanted posters on this side of the city. His shoulder length jet black hair and chiseled featured made him popular amongst the women. Rumors said that he was a monster, a vampire, a shape-shifter, an alien, a genius serial killer able to avoid the authorities for decades. Apparently he had been seen in other parts of the country, of the world! But no one knew what he had ever done. Somehow, murders of countless people, drained of blood, had been pinned on him. After the years, people have come out as witnesses, saying they had seen him in the act, or that he had even come after them. Jasmine had heard stories about him being “magic”.

In reality, she never believed that anyone really knew anything about him and that all the stories, all the witnesses were not but hoax and lies. The only thing anyone really knew about him was his name: Darius Caine.

 

 

Author's Note

ignore grammar and spelling problems