November 1956, within the opulent, yet suffocating walls of Hollyvale Manor, Lux Erzsebet waited. Hours bled into one another, marked only by the shifting light outside the stained-glass windows, as she clutched the rough wood of a stake. Beside her, Philip, the ancient vampire who had claimed her three centuries ago, slept peacefully, his chest rising and falling with a mockery of life.

Her bloodless veins thrummed with a terrifying adrenaline, a buzzing anticipation for the act she was about to commit. She had been a dog in a world of wolves, but even a starving dog would feed. Her will for freedom, a cage bursting at its seams, propelled her forward.

One final breath hitched in her throat, a sound she hadn't realized she was capable of. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, she plunged the stake into Philip's dead heart. There was no scream, only a chilling silence as the monster who had held her captive for so long met his end.

December 1957. A year later, Lux found herself huddled in a derelict barn in the Forest of Dean, shivering violently. The brutal winter gnawed at her, a cold far more unforgiving than any pyre. Starvation had set in, her strength failing. Death, she knew, was finally catching up.

Then, a crunch of snow outside. Someone was approaching. Her dead heart seized. She braced herself for the Coven's retribution, for a torturous end. But when the barn door swung open, revealing a man with wild blue eyes and an unsettling pride, she knew he was not from the Coven. Yet, his presence was no less menacing.

“Make it quick,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse. The man simply tilted his head, studying her pathetic state. Instead of a weapon, he tossed a dead rabbit at her feet. “It’s fresh,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Tricky little things, rabbits. They like to run. Good thing we’re made for a chase.”