His arrogant gaze ran over those assembled in front of him. There was an eerie silence as he watched and waited. Victorija looked to one of their vampires she had compelled to make a move, and nodded to him.

Gilbert bellowed, “Who amongst you is foolish enough to take on a born vampire?”

He laughed and turned his back to walk back to his throne. Just as he looked to his daughter, the vampire from the crowd shot to him in a flash, but Gilbert, being faster and superior to a turned vampire in every way, caught him easily, and held him up off his feet by the throat.

“You think you can attack me?” As he held the male vampire in the air he addressed the others. “I lead this clan, no one else, and there is no one who can stand against me.”

He quickly plunged his hand into the vampire’s chest and pulled out his heart, before crushing it and letting it and the body drop to the floor. His breathing was heavy, the veins on the side of his head protruded, and his eyes glowed red. Gilbert lifted his hand to lick the dripping blood from it.

“If anyone else would like to offer me their blood, I would gladly drain it from their body.”

Victorija looked to Lillian and gave a brief nod. She started a low chant alone at first, but then voices from around the room started to join her.

Gilbert looked confused, and shook his head. “What is this?”

The chanting got louder and Gilbert started to stumble and sway. “Duca! Victorija!”

Lillian and her witches moved closer to the dais, all the time chanting louder and louder. Gilbert’s Duca jumped in front of them, but Victorija’s close ally Drasas launched at him and drove a stake through his heart.

Then Victorija knew it was safe to move forward. All those vampires not in on the plan looked confused and scared and Gilbert dropped to his knees and screamed. Victorija stood in front of her father and said in a low tone, “Anyone who interferes will be eliminated.”

Just as she said that, the vampires in the ensemble loyal to her stepped forward with wooden stakes in their hands. Now satisfied everyone was subdued, Victorija turned to her father and saw the scene that she had played over and over in her head the whole of her life—her father on his knees in unbearable pain.

“Victorija, help me, help me, please!”

That stopped her momentarily. She’d never dreamed that Gilbert Dred would be begging her even as death stared him in the face.

Victorija knew she didn’t have long. Her witches couldn’t hold him forever. It was near impossible to kill a born vampire but she had planned everything meticulously, and her one shot was now in front of her.

She walked to him and cupped his cheek, taking a few seconds to enjoy the pain on his face.

“Victorija, help me, help me,” he pleaded.