Chapter 1
The desperate clutching of brakes was the last thing I heard before everything went black.
Well, this is it, I thought, oddly calm as the truck moved toward me with crazy speed. There was no way I would survive. Twenty-five years of life, and it ends because I was too absorbed in reading "Blood Moon Chronicles" on my phone to notice the red light. How pathetically fitting. I finished the book few days back and it was already a best seller.
The impact should have been excruciating. Instead, there was just... nothing.
Until suddenly, there was everything.
I gasped, my lungs burning as they filled with air. My eyes flew open to an ornate ceiling painted with cherubs and gold leaf definitely not the sterile white look of a hospital room.
"My lady! Oh, thank the heavens, you're awake!"
A woman in a crisp black dress and white apron rushed to my bedside. Her face was lined with worry, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun. She looked like she had been worried sick.
"I..." My voice came out wrong, higher, softer, with an accent I'd never had. I tried to sit up, but my head spun violently. "What happened? Where am I?"
"You've been unconscious for two days, Miss Elena. We feared..." The woman,who looked like maid dabbed at her eyes. "The physician said it was a fever, but you were speaking in such strange tongues. Talking about 'trucks' and 'cell phones' and other peculiar things."
Elena. I have heard that name before. Why did she call me Elena? I asked my fuzzy brain.
Then it suddenly made sense and my heart stopped for a minute.
No...No, No, this couldn't be happening. I scrambled upright despite the dizziness, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror across the room. I was pale skin, with raven-black hair and violet eyes that I'd only seen in one place before.
I looked like the character Elena Blackthorne. The minor noble's daughter from "Blood Moon Chronicles, a book I wrote by hand and was a best seller." The girl destined to die in chapter three.
"This isn't real," I whispered, touching my face with hands that were smaller, more delicate than they should be. "This is just a dream, or a coma hallucination, or..."I stuttered in disbelief.
"My lady, you're frightening me." The maid whose name is Martha, the name came from memories that weren't mine, she reached for my forehead. "Perhaps the fever has affected your mind?"she asked with concern.
"Yeah Right, it was a Fever" I scoffed. Because in gothic romance novels, mysterious fevers were perfectly normal explanations for personality changes. I almost laughed at the absurdity, but terror was crawling up my throat instead.
I knew this story like the back of my palm. I'd stayed up until three in the morning reading it just before my accident. Elena Blackthorne, the beautiful but naive daughter of a minor lord, attends the Harvest Moon Ball in two days.
There, she catches the attention of the mysterious and brooding Damien Ashford. He lures her to the garden, reveals his vampire nature, and drains her dry to awaken his dormant powers.
Her death is what starts his character development. She's not even a character, she's a side piece and a plot device.
And now I was her.
"Martha," I said carefully, testing the name that felt strange on my tongue. "What day is it?"
"October 29th, my lady. The invitation to Lord Ashford's ball arrived this morning." Martha's face brightened. "Your father is so pleased. He says it's a great honor for our family to be invited to such a prestigious event."
Two days. I had two days before I was supposed to die.
"The ball," I repeated, my voice cracked. "Why of course."I said
Martha misinterpreted my tone as excitement. "Oh, I knew you'd be thrilled! Your gown arrived yesterday, and it's the most beautiful shade of midnight blue. You'll be the envy of every lady there."
And the target of every vampire,I thought grimly. In the novel, Elena's beauty was what drew Damien's attention. Her innocence was what made her blood so appealing to his awakening vampire senses.
"Martha, I... I need some time alone,I need to rest and think." I said. I needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to survive a story where my death was literally written by me.
"Of course, my lady. Shall I have the cook prepare your favorite soup? You've eaten nothing for two days."
"Yes, thank you." I waited until she left before collapsing back onto the pillows.
This was insane, almost impossible. People didn't just transmigrate into novels, that only happened in stories. But the weight of Elena's memories pressing against my consciousness, the unfamiliar sensation of this body, the too-vivid reality of everything around me... it was real.
I was Elena Blackthorne. And in two days, I was supposed to die.
"Like what the actual fuck," I muttered, surprised by the vehemence in my voice. I might not have chosen this, but I was here now. And unlike the original Elena, I knew what was coming.
I knew Damien Ashford was a vampire.
I knew he targeted young noble girls.
I knew his father had plans that went far beyond a simple awakening ritual.
The question was: what could I do with that knowledge?
I sat up slowly, ignoring the lingering dizziness. The room was ok for people in their class, the Blackthornes were minor nobility, wealthy enough for luxury but not rich enough for true power. Elena's memories told me her father was desperate to climb the social ladder, which explained his excitement about the ball invitation.
God, he's literally sending his daughter to her death for social advancement. I thought to myself.
A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Come in." I said almost immediately.
A young man peered around the door, he was tall, with brown colored hair and kind green eyes. Elena's memories supplied his name: Thomas, the gardener's son and her childhood friend. In the novel, he'd been devastated by her death and eventually became a vampire hunter.
"Elena? Martha said you were awake." I could see his relief as he dropped his shoulders almost like a weight had been lifted off from him . "I've been so worried. You've never been sick like this before." he said reaching out for my hand.
"Thomas." The warmth that flooded through me at the sight of him was startling, this were Elena's emotions, not mine. But they felt real, genuine in a way that made my chest tighten. "I'm fine now. Just a bit confused."
He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "You look different. Not just pale from being sick, but... I can't explain it. Like you're seeing everything for the first time."
Because I am,I thought, but managed a weak smile instead. "Perhaps the fever changed my perspective on things."
"Maybe."he said but he didn't look convinced at all, he settled into the chair Martha had vacated. "Your father's been beside himself with excitement about this ball. He's been telling everyone in town that you'll catch the eye of some wealthy lord."
The irony was bitter as poison. "And what do you think about that?"
Thomas was quiet for a long moment. "I think you're too good for any of those noble peacocks. You have a kind heart, Elena. Don't let them change that."
If only he knew that someone already had changed it and I didn't mean to.
"Thomas," I said carefully, "what do you know about the Ashford family?"
He straightened, something sharp entering his expression. "Oh why do you ask my lady?"
"They're hosting the ball right? I'm just curious." I said fidgeting with my fingers.
"They're... strange." He chose his words carefully. "Lord Ashford arrived in the region about fifty years ago with his son. They keep to themselves mostly, but there have been rumors."
"What kind of rumors?" I pressed further with hopes of getting information that could save me.
"Girls going missing and they always happen during their social events." Thomas leaned forward. "Nothing proven yet, mind you. And they're too powerful for anyone to question directly. But my grandfather remembers when they first came, and he says the disappearances started then too."
This was definitely not in the novel. In "Blood Moon Chronicles," Damien's first kill was supposed to be Elena. But if girls had been disappearing for fifty years...that means...
"How many girls?" I whispered.
"Dozens, over the decades. Always young, always beautiful, always during or after attending Ashford social functions." Thomas's jaw tightened. "But they're careful. They space it out, and make it look like accidents or like the girls ran away,so no one can prove anything."
The room seemed to spin around me. In the novel, Damien was portrayed as a tortured soul who hated his vampire nature, who only killed Elena because he was compelled by his awakening. But this... this suggested something far more sinister.
"Elena?" Thomas reached for my hand, concern creasing his brows. "You've gone extremely pale."
"I'm fine," I lied, my mind racing. "Just... trying to process everything."
But I wasn't fine. In fact, I was terrified. Because if Thomas was right, then the story I thought I knew was wrong. And if I was wrong about Damien's nature, what else was I wrong about?
What other surprises were waiting for me at that ball?