Prologue
Outside the small cottage, the wind blew strong. If the roof wasn't sturdy enough, it could have been torn off. Everywhere was cold.
On this date every decade, the storm followed the same pattern. The middle age woman seated on the armchair stared into the dark night. She knew exactly what caused this—it was the demon of the night: the Vampire King of the North.
From her armchair, as she knitted a woolen sweater, the woman monitored her children. They were not twins, but they looked almost the same age, with one just a few years older than the other. Their names were Poppy and Arya.
They had just turned ten, and Isolde tried not to worry about how fast her girls were growing.
The girls walked toward her, and she adjusted the pendant necklaces around their necks. They were meant to ward off the demons of the night. Winter had come again, and Isolde didn't know how long it would last this time—at least not until the Vampire King found his bride.
"What did I teach you two?" she asked, leaning closer.
"If a man comes to the window at night whispering our names, don't answer," Arya said.
She turned to her other daughter. "Never take your pendant off. And if his shadow moves while he stands still—run."
"Good girls. Come here," she said with a smile, hugging them.
"Will you tell us about the demons of the night?" Arya asked.
"The Vampire King, Rhain," Poppy added.
"You mustn't say his name at this hour," their mother warned.
"I don't believe he exists," Arya said, folding her arms.
"The Vampire King does exist," Isolde replied firmly.
"Well, are you going to tell us about him then?"
Isolde sighed. "The demons of the night are creatures who dwell in the North. They are known for feeding on human blood. They don't age, and they cannot walk under the sun."
That was the reason their presence always brought a storm.
"What do they look like?" Arya asked.
"Frightening," Isolde said. "Their skin is frost-kissed. Their eyes are the color of blood. Their fangs look like silver, and in their true form, they resemble bat-like creatures with huge black wings."
Poppy took a small step backward. She was already frightened by the story, but her older sister looked eager to hear more.
"They are creatures who have brought nothing but chaos into our world. Born of darkness, they seek only destruction."
Poppy's eyes widened.
Isolde stared into the fire.
"Why do they come to our land?" Arya asked.
"You mean him—the Vampire King?" Isolde replied. "He comes every decade to choose a bride. The chosen one will be taken to his world, hung on a cross, stripped bare of her clothes, and a blood magic ritual will be performed to drain every drop of her blood."
Poppy began to tremble.
"Mama, why would he do that?"
"Because he is cursed. And he believes that to redeem himself, he must find a specific human bride who can heal him of the curse."
"How will we know if we ever meet him?" Arya asked.
"You'll know," Isolde said. "He wears a mask that hides his face. But you must never see it. You'll never see it unless the curse is broken—because if you do, you'll die."
But Poppy had seen his face. She had seen him in her dreams, and he was terrifying. He was tall, wearing a steel mask and dressed in all black. He wore black gloves on his hands.
In the dream, when she saw him, he had taken off his mask and gloves, and she had screamed in fear at his appearance. His skin was pale and stretched taut over bone. His flesh looked lifeless, waxy, and rotting.
The curse had eaten so deeply into his body. His features were twisted and asymmetrical. Scars and ridges covered his face.
When she looked down at his hands, they were decayed and rotten.