Chapter 1
London, England - 1724
Despite the still air, the candle on the desk flickered precariously. Marcus froze, holding his breath, lest his last source of light went out. He had just exhaled in frustration, rifling through the pages of a rough draft with a growing sense of exasperation.
“It’s dreadful, Thomas, truly dreadful,” he confessed, slamming the manuscript shut. “I’m not sure I can subject myself to this any longer.”
His friend and superior, Thomas, glanced up from his own candlelit desk. “Not another Robinson Crusoe imitation?” he asked, almost rhetorically.
"'Fraid so. Perhaps it’s time we abandon fiction altogether and pivot towards more educational publications,” Marcus suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Just a thought, of course. What do I know?”
Thomas scanned the paper in his hands, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You know I’ll always value your counsel,” he reminded Marcus. He set the parchments aside and produced a pocket watch from his coat, holding it up to the flame. “Quitting time. Fancy a bite to eat?”
Marcus nodded, setting down his own stack of papers. “The Nag’s Head?”
“Where else?”
Leaning in, Marcus let out a low exhale, extinguishing the candle for good. His pale grey eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, a realm he had always preferred over sunlight.
Outside, the streets were also dimming, the sun setting behind St. Paul’s Cathedral. Thomas pulled out his keys, locking up the Black Swan for the night.
With a sense of urgency driven by their hunger, Marcus and Thomas hurried down Paternoster Row. The days had grown long with few breaks since Thomas had embarked on his ambitious venture of opening a publishing house. Fortunately for Thomas, money was not an issue, which Marcus hoped would mean a feast and a few pints tonight.
The streets were warm with a midsummer haze as the two gentlemen made their way to The Nag’s Head Tavern. The large garland sign waved to them as a wayward wind passed by. The tavern on the corner of Friday Street had become their favoured haunt for three reasons: its proximity to Marcus’s home, the hearty meals, and Mary.
Mary had been working at the tavern as a barmaid for half a year and had quickly caught Marcus’s eye. She was as witty as she was beautiful, her auburn curls always halfway pinned back, exposing her slender neck and ample bosom. Of course, this meant most patrons vied for her attention.
Luckily for Thomas and Marcus, they didn’t have to compete as hard.
“Two of your finest ales, Mary,” Thomas called out as they settled at their favourite table. “And our usuals, please.”
Mary’s smile was radiant, her curls bouncing in agreement.
Though Marcus had spent the day seated, there was something profoundly comforting about sinking into the well-worn tavern chair; the lively atmosphere brimming with laughter, conversation, and the clink of pints was a welcome contrast to the quiet near solitude of the last few hours, where the turn of a page seemed to echo endlessly.
“You gents need some sunlight,” Mary teased as she set their overflowing ales down with a flourish. “I swear you’re getting more transparent as the days go on.”
Thomas quickly took a sip, rescuing a precarious puddle of beer. “Mmm,” he replied, savouring the taste. “What do you think, Marcus? Shall we bring our novels outside next time for a change of scenery?”
Marcus shook his head with a knowing smile. “No, the distractions would be relentless. I’d spend more time scanning the street for a glimpse of Mary than reading a single word. Her beauty would steal all my thoughts, leaving little room for the written page.”
Mary’s cheeks flushed, nearly matching her hair, as she pressed her hands down on her apron, almost propelling herself away. “I’ll be back soon with your food.”
Thomas let out a low whistle. “That was very forward, Marcus. Even for you.”
Marcus shrugged, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Just being polite, is all. Though I can admit, I’m hungry for more than just food these days.” It had been quite a while since Marcus had courted anyone; long hours at work would do that to a man. He was fairly certain the spider in the corner of his bedroom spent more time there than he did.
“That makes two of us,” came a voice, accompanied by a stranger’s hand landing firmly on Marcus’ shoulder. The hand was large, a paw with a grip like iron, and it felt almost icy despite the summer heat. The stranger’s imposing frame, cloaked in black, loomed over the table. He looked no older than his mid-twenties, but his bearing suggested age and confidence — almost cockiness.
Marcus resisted the urge to shrug off the hand, opting for politeness once more. “You’re new here, aren’t you? What brings you to The Nag’s Head?”
The stranger’s voice was smooth and melodic, each word slipping off his tongue as effortlessly as if reading from a script. “Oh, just admiring the selection around these parts. Always nice to try… new things.” He finally released his grip on Marcus’ shoulder. “What can you tell me about her?”
“You mean Mary?” Thomas interjected, his tone casual. “She’s the niece of the owner, a truly lovely woman. She can recommend you the best ale based on your tastes.”
The stranger seemed to emit a low, almost guttural hiss, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder. “Wonderful.”
A shiver ran down Marcus’s spine as the stranger curtly nodded and made his way to the bar. “Why’d you indulge him, Tom? He’s fucking dodgy, that one.”
Thomas took another sip from his pint, his expression thoughtful. “I tried to emphasise that she’s related to the owner. Let’s just consider him a Dandy Pratt for now and hope he doesn’t overstep with Mary.”
Speaking of which, Mary’s hips swayed gracefully as she approached with two platters, laden with fish, potatoes, and a variety of fruits. Marcus’s mouth watered, torn between the allure of the food and the captivating sight of her.
“You must be ravenous,” Mary remarked, placing the platters down. “Enjoy.”
Thomas quickly flicked his handkerchief at Marcus, grinning. “You’re impossible, Marcus.”
Marcus sheepishly dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the handkerchief before seizing his fork. They set the stranger aside, focusing on their meal, their first true taste of food in well over twelve hours.
The fish was soon reduced to bones when a laugh of disgust interrupted them. “If you are not intending to purchase anything, please do leave.” Mary had thrown her rag down on the bartop in frustration, but to Marcus, it felt like a silent signal of distress.
The foreboding stranger stood on the opposite side of the bartop, his strong forearms stretched across it, as if daring to touch her. One eyebrow arched in amusement at her rejection, his dark eyes flickering with an unsettling light. His voice, still melodious, now carried a chilling edge. “Name your price, then, if that’s what it will take.”
This time, it was Marcus’s turn to place a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, though his grip seemed minuscule in comparison. While Marcus was tall and nimble, this imposing figure appeared otherworldly in both stature and strength.
“Listen, you unlicked cub, go your ways and leave Mary alone.” Marcus infused his voice with a deep menace, hoping to compensate for his lack of physical dominance.
The stranger smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, the arrival of her gallant knight. Fare thee well, maiden, until our next meeting.” He bowed slightly, causing Marcus’s hand to drop back to his side.
In a heartbeat, the stranger whipped around, pressing his index finger into Marcus’s cheek. His fingernail, pointed and sharp, scratched at Marcus’s flesh, eliciting several gasps from the tavern’s patrons. “And I hope to never see you again.”
Marcus stood his ground, swatting the stranger’s hand away like a bothersome fly. “The feeling is mutual.” As the menacing figure exited the tavern, Marcus caught Thomas’s eye, signalling that the confrontation was over. Thomas finally relaxed his grip on the quill tucked into his pants, ready to wield it as a weapon — proving, perhaps, that the pen is mightier than the sword after all.
Mary let out a sigh of relief. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. And thank you, Marcus.”
He nodded, though kept himself half-turned toward the door in case the stranger had something else to say. “Think nothing of it. What did that scum say to you, anyhow?”
“He started off innocently enough, asking if there was a menu,” she began, her voice steady despite the fury in her hands as she rubbed at a stubborn spot on the bartop. “Then he asked if he could get a sample before committing to a drink, and when I asked which one he was after, he said... me. That I was the most delicious thing in this tavern.”
Marcus grunted in disgust. “Oh, he better not dare show his face here again, talking to a fine lady like yourself in such a manner—”
“You’ve always been so kind to me, Marcus,” Mary interrupted, her cheeks flushed again. “One day, it’d be nice to spend time with you... outside of The Nag’s Head.”
This time, it was Marcus’s turn to blush. Her presence and words hit him harder than the stranger’s ominous demeanour. “I, uh...”
“He’d be delighted,” Thomas interjected smoothly, sliding next to his friend. “Another ale, please, Mary. And your cheek is bleeding, Marcus. Or are you just blushing?” He handed over the handkerchief once more.
Marcus had half a mind to shove the handkerchief into Thomas’s mouth. Instead, he dabbed at his cheek, revealing that it was indeed bleeding. “That scoundrel needs to trim his nails.”
Mary, though visibly shocked to see him injured, maintained her composure. She slid two pints over. “Here, have an ale on me — my knight.”
Marcus felt his heart race but tried to keep his composure. “My utmost thanks, milady,” he smiled, turning away with Thomas to head back to their table. He quickly whispered to his friend, “Did I do okay? Did I do okay?”
Thomas winked. “You’ll be married with five babies by the end of the decade.”
The tavern slowly emptied out, patrons dispersing to their respective homes to ready themselves for another day of toil. Thomas stifled a yawn, setting his empty glass down on the table. “I think I better call it a night, mate,” he admitted. “And you?”
Though Marcus felt his eyes sting with tiredness, his determination held firm. “Going to wait 'til Mary’s done. I’d like to walk her home.”
“That’s a fine lad,” Thomas complimented, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you bright and early tomorrow, yes?” Even with three ales in him, Thomas rarely forgot about work.
“Yes, yes, bright and early,” Marcus replied absentmindedly, watching as Mary poured one last drink. “Goodnight, Longman.”
“Goodnight to you too, Wren.”
Mary bid her farewells to Thomas as well before her gaze settled on Marcus. He offered her a soft smile, raising his half-empty glass in salute. Though the tavern still held five or six others, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation now that they were alone.
Yet, he remained mindful. Earlier that evening, a strange beast of a man had unsettled Mary. A walk home tonight, and perhaps a grander gesture tomorrow. Maybe Thomas had a knack for predicting the future; Marcus could picture himself marrying Mary and raising a brood of five as Thomas had foretold.
Mary lifted a large wooden bucket, interrupting his reverie. They were now the tavern’s sole occupants. “Just need to empty this in the alleyway, and I should be ready to go in ten minutes.”
Marcus smiled, finishing his ale with eagerness to spend a few extra moments with Mary. Both lived on Gutter Lane, just a stone’s throw apart; they had discovered their proximity shortly after she began working for her uncle. He had often contemplated lingering outside, hoping to encounter her on her way to the market or to church. For now, their conversations at The Nag’s Head sufficed, though he harboured hopes for more one day...
A shrill cry cut into his thoughts like a knife slicing through mutton.
Marcus shot up in alarm, adrenaline propelling him towards the door leading to the alleyway. He flung it open with a bang, only to find time itself freezing around him in a surreal tableau.
Mary was propped up against the mortar of the building, her knees buckled; eyes squeezed shut with her mouth wide open. The midnight moon shone on her face, amplifying the terror. The wooden bucket lay on its side, spoiled ale oozing out onto the cobblestone. But mingled with the ale was … blood. Her blood.
Hovering over her was the unwelcome stranger, a looming figure whose massive frame dwarfed Mary. His head was bowed low, his fangs buried deep in her neck, greedily lapping up her blood. Crimson trails stained the alley, evidence of his savage indulgence.
“You taste exquisite,” he murmured between gulps, his voice a sinister whisper.
Marcus fought to snap out of his shock, his mind racing for a plan to confront the monstrous intruder. How could he disarm him? How could he save Mary? How could he... move?
Regretting not having a weapon, he thrust forward regardless, his own pen aimed at the stranger’s back in a desperate bid to intervene. “Get - the fuck - off her, you bastard!” he bellowed, his voice raw with fury.
The carved quill tip pierced the man’s shoulder, but he merely chuckled, blood gurgling in his throat. Mary remained pinned against the wall, a statue of petrified horror.
“I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again,” the man’s voice dripped with menace. “I suppose you have a death wish.”
Marcus tried to muster a retort, but before he could speak, the stranger flung Mary to the ground with a thud and lunged for Marcus, his hand closing around Marcus’ throat with a vice-like grip. Lifted several feet off the ground, Marcus felt the pressure constricting his windpipe. Meanwhile, Mary lay nearly unconscious, her body sprawled on the cobblestones, thankfully alive, at least for the moment.
Relief washed over Marcus briefly, grateful that the monstrous assailant had diverted his attention away from Mary, even as he struggled to comprehend how he might escape this dire situation. The stranger’s sharp fingernail, the same one that had grazed him earlier, now pressed against Marcus’ neck with deadly intent.
“You’re a fool,” the stranger spat contemptuously. “Brave, but foolish. Why risk your life for this damsel in distress?”
Marcus gasped for breath, unable to form a coherent response as the stranger’s grip tightened around his throat.
The stranger chuckled darkly to himself, his tone unexpectedly soft as he continued, “No matter. There’s strength in you. You’ll make a fine apprentice.”
Marcus could only groan inwardly, a tumult of curses and protests echoing in his mind. You son of a cunt! Hell and devil confound you! I bid you the finest of fucks and beg you to let us go! followed by, I need not an apprentice position, I work for Thomas!
None of these words came out. The stranger’s grip tightened and Marcus found himself acutely aware of the stars in the night sky.
Wait, no, not stars. He was losing consciousness.
With a final, desperate gasp for air, Marcus felt the stranger’s hold loosen. He collapsed to the ground just a foot away from Mary, their eyes locking in a fleeting moment of shared terror. Her brown eyes, wide with fear and now fully awake, met his briefly before the void consumed him.
In that fleeting moment, Marcus’s heart surged with a primal urge to shield her, to hold her close and protect her from the lurking danger. But as darkness enveloped him, he could do nothing but succumb.
