To touch a Dark One is death. To talk to an immortal is suicide. Yet, I've been marked by both. A Vampire. And the King of the immortals. My life is no longer my own. And now I know the truth, my life was never mine to begin with. It was theirs. It's always been theirs. I knew their history. Probably better than most of them. I'd been studying them for most of my life, pouring over books and research with constant dread that, one day, my number would be called, and my life would be played out for me in absolute horror. Humans were like little insects that they allowed to survive only because it was necessary for their own survival. We die. They die. Therefore, we live.