Victorija zoomed in the door of the dungeon and saw the nightmarish scene she used to see as a child, her mother strapped to the chair, designed so her father could drain her blood. She crouched down and clutched her head in panic, as she used to do as a child.

“No, no, you’re not a child any more.”

She faced her fear and went to her mother’s side. Her head was bowed, her neck limp like the rest of her body, and her brown hair cascaded in front of her face.

“Mother, Mother, it’s me. You don’t have to be afraid any more. He’s gone.”

Victorija lifted her mother’s head, and she fell to her knees. It wasn’t her mother in the chair. It was Daisy.

“Daisy, no, you’re not meant to be here.”

Daisy looked drugged and barely had any life left in her. “You said you wanted to be Torija. Why are you doing this?” Daisy coughed and spluttered.

“I do, I want to be her for you.”

Victorija heard heavy footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw Gilbert, dressed head to toe in black.

He smiled cruelly. “You could never be Torija. You’re a strong born vampire. You will always end up here. You are the same as me, child. Your hunger for blood and your stone heart will bring you here. Accept it.”

Anger, fear, and dread were building up in Victorija. She didn’t want Gilbert anywhere near Daisy.

He walked over and handed her a gold goblet. “Now will you pour, or shall I?”

The anger and rage exploded, and she launched herself at Gilbert while he laughed.

Victorija woke gasping. She looked down to her side and saw Daisy sleeping safely and soundly.

“I can’t do this to her. I will not be my father.”

* * *

Daisy’s eyes fluttered open. She felt a deep pull in her stomach and instinctively knew it was Torija. She reached to her neck and felt for her bite mark. It wasn’t painful, and she couldn’t feel the wound. “Torija?”

But Torija wasn’t there. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was three o’clock in the morning. No wonder she still felt exhausted. She got up and went to the mirror in the en suite bathroom. “Wow, it’s gone.” She heard the bedroom door shut and hurried out into the room. Torija was looking solemn and pale, not as healthy as she thought she’d be after feeding on her blood. Torija was carrying a bottle of whisky. “Where were you?”

“Getting this.”

“You have alcohol here?” Daisy said.

“I left a case in the kitchen. I used to come here sometimes to think.”

To think of Angele, no doubt.

Torija walked over to the armchair by the window and sat down.

“Are you not coming to bed?”

“No, I don’t want to sleep.”