But she saw Angele so clearly inside her head. No matter how hard she tried, Victorija couldn’t block out the memory of her only love. She picked up the freestanding mirror and threw it across the room so hard that it embedded in the wall.

Her hands shook—in fact, her whole body was shaking apart. She needed her tonic, and her last bottle was in her desk drawer. Victorija sped over to the desk and took it out. It didn’t feel full, and when she went to drink, she only got one mouthful out of it.

She was going through it a lot more quickly now that her sickness was progressing. Anka’s potion didn’t take her constant hunger away, but it made it slightly more bearable.

Victorija saw her pile of letters from Angele, tied up with a red bow. She untied it and picked one letter from the pile randomly. Victorija opened it and began to read. It was the letter that Angele had penned before she died.

I will leave your life today, my love, but I don’t want you to get lost in anger and resentment. I want you to remember me by being the best person you can be. I know you dread becoming like your father. It’s all in your hands, Torija. Remember—monsters are made, not born. You have everything in your hands to be the woman you want to be.

Don’t get lost in hate because of my death. You love me, I know, but you have an even greater destiny ahead of you. Remember the oath you made to me? Please don’t harm, or feed from, without permission, any of my family or descendants. I beg of you. Don’t give in to it.

Your love,

Angele

Victorija slammed the letter on the desk. “You ask too much of me, Angele.” Surely Angele couldn’t have imagined this situation. Angele wouldn’t have wanted her to slip into madness and eventual death?

It was ironic that the one person who probably could have helped her, the most powerful witch in the world, Victorija had just recently killed in great anger—her grandmother, Lucia Debrek.

She hadn’t felt regret about killing anyone in generations, but for Lucia she did. When she ripped Lucia’s heart out of her body, Victorija was hit with memories she had repressed, lots of wonderful memories about spending time with Lucia as a child, and the relief she’d felt being with her grandmother, and not fearing her father.

Her father had never been violent to her or her mother when Lucia was around. It had given them a small break from Gilbert’s sadistic tendencies.

Victorija looked up at the ceiling, tears forming in her eyes, and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Victorija Dred, sorry? What could one of the most powerful born vampires be sorry for?”