True to his word, Victor had been gone for well over a month. And as sick as it made me feel, I longed for him. His absence left a hollow I couldn't name. In the meantime, his sister, Ida, had been tasked with watching over me—and she did more than accommodate my needs.
One night, while she lectured me on the duties of a lady of Belmore, a sharp knock echoed through the manor.
Ida glanced at her wristwatch, frowning.
"Who could be knocking at this hour?" she murmured.
A male servant rushed to the door, worry carved into his face.
"Can I help you, sir?"
A man stood just beyond the threshold, peering into the house until his eyes landed on us.
"I've lost my way. Will you help me?"
Ida moved quickly, stepping in front of me.
"How did you even get on these grounds? Every inch of this estate is patrolled."
The man lowered his head and slowly stepped back into the darkness.
"Lock the door. Now," Ida hissed to the servant.
Moments later, the sharp crash of shattering glass rang out upstairs, followed by a dull, sickening thud.
"Something's in my house."
For all the youth Victor had restored to her, in that moment, Ida looked ancient. Frightened. And if a vampire could be afraid… what else was out there? The thought was impossible—and completely unraveling.
"Ida, what's going on? Shouldn't we call Victor?"
She blinked, like she'd forgotten I was there.
"No. Not yet. We need to get you out of here. Victor will kill me if anything happens to you again."
She seized my hand and pulled me through the winding corridors as more glass shattered overhead. In the kitchen, she yanked aside a heavy tapestry on the far wall, revealing a stone door. Behind it, a stairwell descended into pitch-black darkness.
And down we went.
Ida clutched my hand tighter with every step, pausing now and then to listen. Then—we heard them. Voices.
"Where is the girl? Ayana Belmore? Ida Belmore? No?"
A swoosh. A thud.
Screams. Sobbing.
I didn't need to look to know that was someone dying.
We moved faster. The danger was no longer a theory—it was real, and it was hunting us.
At last, we reached a stone wall. Ida pressed against it, and it creaked open with a grating scrape that echoed through the tunnel.
The voices upstairs fell silent.
We didn't hesitate. Ida slammed the door behind us and pulled me deeper into the dark.
"Lose your shoes."
I kicked off my heels, and we ran until we reached another door. Ida took a breath and pushed it open.
Outside, rain sheeted down. The lawn was empty—no guards. No safety. Just storm.
Ida grabbed my arm. We ran, ducking behind statues and parked cars, flinching at every noise.
At the edge of the property, where manicured lawn met forest wildness, she shouted, "Keep running, Ayana! Don't stop until I say!"
My dress clung to my skin, heavy and soaked. My hair plastered across my face. Cold stung every inch of me.
Then—shouting.
Ida threw out an arm, halting me.
"Can you fly?!"
"What?! You mean like levitate? I can't do that!"
"Damn it."
She looked around, then up.
Without warning, she grabbed me, and suddenly we were airborne—landing in the thick branches of an ancient tree.
I clung to the trunk, trembling, staring down at where we'd just stood.
A man stepped into the clearing.
His face was shadowed, but I saw it— none white hair catching the stormlight.
"Ida, I know you're listening! Running will only make your punishment worse. You can't hide forever. Bring me the girl—bring me my wife—and I'll leave you and your precious manor intact."
He stepped closer.
And then he spoke to me directly.
"Ayana? Ayana Delaney. I know who you really are. You didn't choose this. I can undo what he's done to you. You remember your family, don't you? Your parents in Washington? You want to go home."
Ida met my eyes, searching.
I said nothing. Didn't move. He had broken into a home and done God knows what. He couldn't be trusted.
But neither, fully, could they.
Time passed. A long, tense silence. Then a horn blew. He turned and melted into the trees.
"The neighbor's house," Ida whispered. "We'll call Victor, borrow a car, and get as far from here as we can. He's serious. That means neither of us is safe."
I nodded.
We leapt from the tree. I hit the ground hard, knees buckling. Ida helped me up, and again, we ran—this time in the opposite direction.
Miles later, lights appeared in the distance.
A house.
Children played inside. Adults sipped wine. An elderly woman blew out birthday candles—83.
We crouched low, waited, then rushed up the porch steps. Ida pounded on the door.
A middle-aged woman with a newborn answered.
"Who the hell are you, and why are you in my mom's house?"
"Judith. I need to see Judith."
Ida pushed past her. In the living room, the elderly woman looked up.
"Ida? Is that you?"
"Judith, please. No questions. I need to call Victor."
Judith didn't hesitate. She handed over her phone.
"Mom, do you know them?" the daughter demanded.
Judith said nothing. Her gaze locked with Ida's like something unspoken passed between them.
Ida led me into the kitchen. Her voice cracked as she called Victor.
Then she handed the phone to me.
"Ayana? Can you hear me?"
"Victor—what's happening?"
"Do everything Ida tells you. I'm on my way."
"I'm scared—"
"N'aie pas peur, mon amour. Je ne laisserai rien t'arriver. Fais-moi confiance."
I tried to draw comfort from his calm, but I wouldn't feel safe until I saw him.
Then—another knock.
Ida went still.
A voice in the foyer:
"Hi, sir. I'm looking for two women. They ran us off the road a mile back. Just need their info for the police. Did they stop here?"
We peeked.
Him. White hair. Dark skin. Black eyes. A claw mark split his face from eye to mouth. In jeans and a collared shirt, he looked like someone's late-night neighbor. But his gaze dripped menace.
He saw us.
"Ida. Ayana. Come with me. Let's get this sorted."
Ida yanked me out of sight.
"Window."
Victor's voice crackled on the phone as the man said,
"May I come in? Maybe if I explain, they'll listen."
Then—rushing footsteps.
He exploded into the kitchen just as I reached the window.
A large hand clamped around my wrist.
"Oh no you don't."
Ida spun and kicked him hard in the jaw. He crashed into the kitchen island.
She shoved me through the window. I dropped the phone as we ran.
Out into the night again. Barefoot. Blood pounding.
Eventually, we reached a highway. We waved down cars.
Finally, a Tesla pulled over.
Two men inside, dressed like businessmen, offered a ride into the city.
"So what are you two doing out here in the rain? Homeless? Too much partying?" the driver joked, eyeing us.
Their questions grew sharper. Their gazes lingered.
"Are you sure this is the way to town?" I asked.
The driver smiled.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. Just a detour."
"You said you're visiting. How do you know a detour?"
They said nothing.
The car turned onto gravel. Stopped.
They got out and opened our doors.
"What are you doing? This isn't town." I grabbed Ida's hand.
The driver threw her down and pulled a knife. The passenger dragged me out, blade pressed to my cheek.
"Listen, and maybe we let you live."
Ida laughed.
I giggled too.
The driver kicked her. The laughter stopped.
She raised her head, eyes locking with mine.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starving."
I sank my teeth into the man holding me. He screamed, stabbing my side.
I pulled the blade from my ribs and tore into his throat.
He thrashed. Then stilled.
When I let go, his face was sunken. Dead. Frozen in horror.
Ida straddled the other one, wiping her mouth with his shirt.
"Will they turn?" I asked.
"Only Victor can turn. We can command. Not create."
She took the keys from his pocket.
We dragged the bodies into the woods.
And we kept moving—stronger than before, but still not strong enough for what was coming.