The double bride: The Deadly Prisoner of the vampire count

The Night Rain in London pierced the cracks in the pavement like silver needles, and the fog billowed under the street lamps. Eileen was huddled in the corner of the cage, her wet linen skirt clinging to her skin, shivering with cold. Outside the cage, guards in silver masks paced back and forth, the sound of their boots in puddles like a countdown. “The last item-pure blood!” The auctioneer's shrill voice cut through the stale basement air. Eileen's cage was pushed up to the platform and Eileen had to raise her hand to block the glare of the Gaslight. The audience came one after another pumping sound, dozens of pairs of bright eyes flickering in the shadows. Those are not human eyesー the pupils glow scarlet, gold or green, like beasts peeping in the dark. “The bidding starts at five thousand pounds!” Eileen bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. After the orphanage fire three months ago, Eileen knew this day would come. Before they died, the others at the orphanage pushed her into the cellar and said, “Eileen, your blood will draw demons.” “Six Thousand!” A woman in a scarlet dress in the front row held up a fan, two long-healed bite marks on her pale neck. “Seven thousand!” The twins in the corner spoke at the same time, their shadows entwined eerily on the wall. Prices are climbing at an alarming rate. Eileen counted the rust on the bars and dug his nails into his palms. It is said that the blood of a revenant can alleviate a vampire's bloodthirsty curse. Such people usually don't live more than three months -- they're either drained or drained in a blood ritual. “Twenty thousand.” The sound cut across the silk like an ice blade. The auction house was suddenly silent. There was no sound of breathing. The crowd parted, and a tall figure emerged from the shadows. He wore a black dress with a silver watch chain that gleamed on his chest. Every step was like stepping on some ancient rhythm. “Mr. Von Nordrock bid twenty thousand!” The auctioneer's voice suddenly tightened. “Do you have anything higher?” No one answered. Eileen heard someone knock over a glass in the back row, and the sound of liquid dripping was clear in the silence. Eileen finally saw the face of the man who had bid and stopped before the cage -- a face that looked as if it had been carved out of marble, pale and almost transparent, but with red lips. The most terrible thing was his eyes, which were not so golden as human beings can have, but more like molten gold flowing. He stooped suddenly, his black-gloved fingers slipping through the bars and lifting Eileen's chin. The coolness of the leather made Eileen Shiver. “Ice-blue eyes,” he said in a voice only Eileen could hear. “Just like hers.” Irene jerked her face away, his gloves leaving a cold touch on Eileen's skin. A few suppressed exclamations came from the audience, and someone whispered, “He actually picked up the blood slaves himself.”. “Zero! Twenty thousand twice!” The auctioneer rapped his gavel. “Sold!” Only when the chains of the cage rattled did Eileen realize that his teeth were chattering. He turned and headed for the exit, where two men in matching black uniforms stepped forward to take over Eileen's cage. As they pushed Eileen down the long corridor, she heard the auctioneer behind her announce, “Thank you for coming to tonight's Midnight Salon. There will be a new batch next month-” The last words were separated by heavy oak doors. Eileen they entered a circular hall lit with blue flames, the walls covered with portraits of people whose eyes were moving eerily. Eileen's cage was placed in the middle, and the entourage retreated in silence. He stood at the window with his back to Eileen, and the moonlight stretched his shadow too long for human proportions. He played with a silver vial in which the liquid made a sticky sound. “Do you know why no one dares bid against me?” He said suddenly, something in his voice that made the hairs on the back of Eileen's neck rise. Eileen clasped his knees and made no reply. The director of the orphanage said, Don't talk to the devil, it will make them more excited. He turned, the moonlight on one side of his face, the other half in shadow. “Because the last guy who tried to take blood from me,” he slowly unscrewed the cap, “Is now in this bottle.” The sweet, bloody smell suddenly filled the room. Eileen's stomach convulsed, and it tasted both familiar and strange -- like his own blood, but mixed with something else. Von Nordrock tipped the bottle over, and a drop of dark red liquid fell on the marble floor in front of Eileen's cage, instantly etching a small pit and sending up wisps of white smoke. “Your blood is more precious than this, Eileen White,” he said, naming Eileen exactly as he had used his name at the orphanage. He suddenly reached for the bars, and Eileen was horrified to see the iron begin to deform in the palm of his hand, like wax in the heat“This cage,” he said, leaning against the bars, his breath as cold as the winter wind, “Just to make those fools at the auction house feel safe.” When his face was within inches of Eileen's, Eileen saw his golden pupils suddenly contract into a thin line, the way cats do when they're staring at their prey. Eileen's heart had almost stopped, and a copy of“The vampire Atlas” he had read in the orphanage flashed through his mind -- pupil constriction is a physiological response to excitement. “My Lord,” said a gray-haired Butler silently at the door, “The carriage is ready.” Von Nordrock straightened up, momentarily recovering his aristocratic indifference. “Take her to get changed. The rags don't suit the Nordrocks' dungeon.” When the housekeeper opened the cage door, Eileen instinctively recoiled, but an invisible force seized her wrist and pulled her out. Von Nordrock's fingers didn't touch Eileen, but Eileen felt the cold chain around his limbs. This is one of the Strigoi's abilities -- shadow manipulation, which the book says only the oldest bloodlines possess. “Don't struggle.” He walked to the door, his black cloak billowing behind him like a living thing. “From this night on, your blood, your life, belongs to me.” As the housekeeper led Eileen through the maze of corridors, she heard screams in the distance, followed by a splash of liquid. “A werewolf has wandered into the auction and the owner is dealing with it,” the Butler explained with a straight face, using the word“Dealing with” as if he were pruning a rose branch. In the locker room mirror, Eileen saw a pale ghost. The maids dressed her in a white silk nightgown, cut low at the neckline to reveal her collarbone and shoulders -- the best place to draw blood. Their movements were so quick and light that no one dared look Eileen in the eye. “This is...” Eileen felt the small sewn-on pocket inside the hem of her skirt, which held a hard object. The older maid suddenly squeezed Eileen's wrist and shook her head. When the others had withdrawn, she whispered in Eileen's ear, “Rosary beads, silver chain, hidden from the Butler.” Before Eileen could thank him, the door opened. Von Nordlock stood in the back light. He had changed into a more formal black dress, with a ruby lapel pin on the breast, the color of the auction floor she had just left. “Time to go.” He held out his hand. “My Blood.” The car is pure black and the window glass is opaque from the outside. The interior is suffocatingly luxurious-velvet seats and a small bookshelf of leather-bound books. Von Nordrock sat across from Eileen, long fingers crossed on his lap. As the car moved, the lights flickered and his shadow twisted into a frightening shape in the window. “You're quiet,” he said suddenly. “Not like the last one.” Eileen gripped the rosary hidden in the hem of her skirt. “The last what?” “The last one.” His mouth curved in an unlikely smile. “She screamed for three days until her vocal cords tore.” He leaned forward. “How long do you think you'll last?” The car jolted violently, and Eileen plunged forward, his shoulders clasped. For a moment, Eileen smelled cedar and rust and something older, like a catacomb. His fingers were like ice shackles, tingling Eileen's skin through the thin cloth.