I woke sticky and dazed, my limbs heavy with sleep—or shock. Victor lay beside me, one hand still clamped around mine. Blood soaked the sheets. My blood.
I peeled myself free and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling something wet trail down my back. The mirror greeted me with a stranger. My hair was longer, bone-white, tangled and matted with dried blood. My eyes looked older. Emptier.
I slipped into the oversized tub and let the hot water swallow me. A pink hue clouded around my body as the blood washed away. Only then did my muscles begin to relax.
When I returned, Victor was stripping the bed, still naked, moving with unnatural grace and ease. He lifted the mattress with one hand, propping it against the wall like it weighed nothing.
"Good morning," I said quietly.
He turned, his eyes bright. "You look amazing."
He kissed me deeply. Something in the kiss pulled at a thread inside me—obedience, not affection. Worship disguised as intimacy. My body knew it before my mind did: I stood before both creator and captor.
I curled into his armchair, watching as he restored the chaos like it was a routine chore. He talked about plans—places we'd visit, things we'd do—but I couldn't hear him. My eyes were fixed on the corner of the room.
Elizabeth stood there. Or something that looked like her. Pale, transparent, mouthing words I couldn't hear.
When I blinked, she was gone.
Victor left to shower. I dressed in a green sundress, my back never facing the room—just in case she came back.
Despite everything, I didn't feel different. My body was still mine. But my mind hummed with foreign languages I'd never learned. Latin unfurled naturally in my thoughts. Details sharpened—sounds, colors, even smells.
At breakfast, Miriam and Henry were waiting, standing behind a long table set with four crystal glasses of blood. One was placed directly in front of me.
Victor took a phone call and stepped away.
The others excused themselves.
I was alone—with it.
The metallic scent filled my lungs, thick and hot. I stared at the glass, nauseous and trembling. My hand jerked—accident or instinct, I wasn't sure—and the glass tipped, blood rushing across the table.
Then I was on the table, knees scraping wood, licking it up with my hands, my tongue. I couldn't stop. The taste—sweet, heavy, like syrup and honey—made me ravenous.
When I finished, I realized I was soaked. The front of my dress clung to me, red and wet.
Victor entered just as I climbed down.
We locked eyes.
Neither of us spoke.
He closed the dining room doors and began to unbutton his shirt. Calm. Deliberate.
He tilted his head. "Drink."
I climbed into his lap. Sank my teeth into his neck. He winced—but let me. His hands didn't guide me. They rested, open and still, on the table.
When I finished, he wiped my mouth with a silver handkerchief.
I felt warm. Sated. Power whispered beneath my skin. But the lie of it curled in my gut.
If I ever wanted to see Theo again—my family—I had to be careful.
A knock startled us. I rushed to answer it too quickly.
Miriam stood on the threshold. Her gaze swept over me, disapproving, before she entered.
"Mrs. Brandt is arriving this evening," she said to Victor. "She's requested the usual."
Victor sighed, buttoning his shirt. "Come," he said, reaching for my hand. "Let's find something to do."
Miriam didn't look at me as we left. She didn't have to. I could feel the anger in her bones.
Victor brought me to the guest house, unlocked the door, and gently pushed me inside.
Then he locked it behind me.
Dark. Quiet. Dust choked the corners.
Then—crying. Low and distant.
A candle flickered to life.
Lou stepped forward from the shadows.
"Miss Delaney?" she whispered. "You're alive? What happened to you?"
She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her eyes were hollow. Her body trembled.
She took a step closer.
That's when I understood why Victor locked me in here.
These people—these survivors—were mine.
Food.
Their fear smelled intoxicating.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I don't want to do this."
Lou's eyes widened.
Then I tore through the house.
I didn't remember the kills—only the hunger. The tearing, the screaming. The sound of bones cracking.
When it was over, I sat on the floor, soaked in blood, surrounded by silence.
I whispered to myself, again and again: "No. No. This isn't me."
But something warm and euphoric hummed in my chest, and I forgot why I was crying.
Victor arrived soon after. He knelt beside me, brushing sticky strands of hair from my face.
"Better?" he asked softly.
I nodded. "Much."
That evening, Mrs. Brandt arrived—tall, elegant, bone-thin. She kissed both our hands like we were royalty. Her entourage surrounded her like shadows.
Victor introduced me to others—ancient, young, all twisted by time and blood. I drifted among them like smoke, quiet and cold.
"Walk with me," Mrs. Brandt said. "Let's talk while Victor plays God."
She led me through the manor and stopped in front of a painting.
Victor and her—posed, regal, distant. One smiling. One hollow.
"Do you know his past?" she asked. "Ours? We were all his lovers once. When I died, he clung to me. For comfort. For pleasure."
She watched for a reaction.
I gave her nothing.
Satisfied, she walked away.
I ended up in the study, curled on a polar bear rug, a half-empty glass beside me. My dress shimmered in the firelight. I thought of Theo and hoped he'd made it home.
Victor found me, scooped me into his arms, and carried me upstairs.
But he froze halfway up.
Mrs. Brandt stood at the top of the stairs.
Naked.
"Don't be shy," she purred. "I told Ayana everything you didn't. About Myra. About our games."
"You'll never touch her," Victor growled. "Do you understand me?"
She smirked. "Afraid she'll like me more than you? Myra did."
Victor shoved past her and slammed the bedroom door.
I found him at the fireplace, fuming. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my cheek against his back. We stood like that for a long time.
Then he turned and carried me to bed. Kissed me gently. Held me like I was the only thing anchoring him.
And maybe I was.
Later, I lay awake, listening to the house breathe.
How many more secrets did this place hold?
How many more lives had he destroyed?
"Please, God," I whispered.
I closed my eyes.
And dreamed I was running.
Blood streamed down my neck. My legs barely moved.
"GET BACK HERE, MYRA!" someone screamed.
Footsteps thundered behind me.
I slammed a door shut—
And woke up gasping.
Victor rubbed my back, voice soft. "Nightmare."
I didn't answer.
I curled into a ball and waited for the sun.