The city shimmers under a restless canopy of midnight clouds, the distant hum of neon signs mixing with the faint wail of sirens. Anna’s car tears through the streets, her white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering her to this reality. The headlights scramble over the slick pavement, reflecting glimmers of artificial light from rain-soaked walls. The engine growls as though mimicking Anna’s frustration, a barely caged beast under her control.

  Phara sits in the passenger seat, her legs drawn close, her delicate fingers tapping against her knee in quiet rhythm. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes flick between Anna’s taut jaw and the streaks of light weaving over the windshield. She doesn’t need to say anything to understand the seething tension radiating from Anna. It's been there all night, an almost tangible heat fogging the already claustrophobic cabin.

  “Idiots!” Anna growls, slamming her palm once against the horn as another car has the audacity to share the road. Her voice slices through the air, raw and splintered. “Those asshole vampires don’t give two shits that my sister Anastasia is missing. Do you know how much she sacrificed for that coven?” Her words crash out, punctuation of anger.

  Phara shifts in her seat, watching the tautness coiling in Anna's shoulders. "I didn’t think this would affect you so much," she says softly, more observation than judgment. Yet her voice feels like a door creaking open into dangerous territory.

  Theodore barely stirs from the back seat. Quiet as a shadow, he hovers over his glowing laptop like a crow pecking secrets from the void. When he finally breaks his silence, his voice is measured, a ripple in the tension rather than a storm. "They are siblings," he says calmly, without lifting his gaze. His hand, still on Anna’s shoulder, squeezes gently—a quiet gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos.

  Anna’s only acknowledgment is the tightening of her grip on the wheel, her nails biting into the leather wrapping. “As much as I hated Anastasia’s actions from my past,” she mutters, her words escaping in jagged fragments. “In her own way, she did what she thought was right.” There’s no crack in her voice, no sign of emotion beyond the razor’s edge of her fury, but the silence that follows feels heavier than the pounding of rain against the windshield.

  The car lurches abruptly as Anna veers sharply left. Tires screech against the soaked pavement before plunging them into the waiting maw of a dark alley.

  Anna treads carefully through the city’s narrow alleyway, her boots barely making a sound against the slick, rain-slicked cobblestones. The moonlight struggles to penetrate the suffocating shadows that cling to the buildings on either side. Behind her, Phara follows, her steps lighter but nervous. She keeps glancing over her shoulder, the unease on her face as palpable as the cool mist rising from the ground. Farther back, Theodore is lagging, his arms straining under the weight of their overstuffed bags. He huffs loudly, struggling to adjust the strap cutting into his shoulder.

  “We can’t let anyone know where we’re going to stay,” Anna says in a hushed, sharp tone, her voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

  Phara quickens her pace to match Anna’s stride. “Where is that, anyway?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the air is suffocating.

  Theodore grunts from behind. “I hope it’s close. These bags are heavy,” he mutters, every word dripping with exhaustion.

  Anna slows as they approach the end of the alley, where a faint, flickering light draws their attention. A battered door stands beneath the dim bulb, its peeling paint glistening with moisture. Two imposing guards loom on either side of the door, their faces hidden beneath the shadows of their dark hoods. One holds a lit cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as he exhales a thin plume of smoke into the night.

  “I’m here to speak with Rick,” Anna says firmly, her voice steady but filled with an undertone of urgency. “Tell him it’s Anna.”

  One guard raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak. Instead, he pulls a sleek phone from the pocket of his leather jacket and begins typing. The other guard, a hulking figure with a scar slashed across his jawline, watches the trio with an unreadable expression, though his eyes linger a moment too long on Phara. She shifts uncomfortably but says nothing.

  Moments pass in taut silence before the first guard’s phone screen lights up with a message. The guard glances at it, his lips curling into a smirk.

  “Rick says to bring you in. All of you,” he says gruffly, his voice low and gravelly, like the growl of a predator. He pockets the phone and steps aside to open the door.

  The moment the door creaks open, a wave of unsettling sounds spills into the night air—groans, wails, and broken laughter, each muffled yet distinct. Theodore hesitates on the threshold, his earlier complaints about the bags momentarily forgotten as his face pales. Anna strides through without hesitation, her expression unreadable. Phara, however, flinches at the cacophony.

  The guard with the scar notices and chuckles darkly as he gestures for them to follow. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice tinged with something that sounds like mockery. “They all enjoy their time here. One way or another.”

  As they step inside, the atmosphere grows heavier, almost stifling. The hallway stretches long and narrow before them, a corridor lined with countless doors on either side. The walls are painted a deep crimson, the color made richer under the dim, flickering lights overhead. Each door seems alive, vibrating with the secrets concealed behind them. One door rattles faintly, a muffled cry escaping its thin seam. Another lets out a moan—a sound of eerie pleasure that makes Phara’s cheeks burn as she quickly looks away. Theodore keeps his focus on his feet, gripping the bags as if they’re shields against...whatever this place is.

  Anna doesn’t falter. She moves with purpose, but her jaw tightens as they pass the countless doors. The faint markings at each entrance seem to glow faintly, runes like warnings—or invitations. She doesn’t glance at them. Not anymore.

  Finally, the guard stops at the door at the very end of the corridor. It’s massive, reinforced with iron and emblazoned with a single symbol that gleams gold and red under the dim light. He opens it without a word, ushering them inside.

  Rick is there, seated behind a wide, polished desk, the space around him a chaotic mix of opulence and excess. He’s an older man, his silver hair slicked back sharply, giving him the appearance of someone far too calculating to ever be underestimated. A strange assortment of objects decorates his office: onyx statues, jars filled with unidentifiable substances, and a pistol resting carefully on the desk—a pistol that gleams as though unnaturally maintained. His piercing gray eyes snap up at Anna, and his mouth splits into a slow, thin smile.

  “Anna,” he drawls, his voice a mix of amusement and curiosity. “What do you want now?”

  Anna doesn’t waste time. “Do you still have that small apartment available?” she asks, her voice calm—too calm.

  Rick stands, his body moving with the lazy confidence of a man too accustomed to power. Crossing the room, he wraps his arms around Anna in a brief hug. To someone else, it might’ve seemed warm, but Anna doesn’t return the gesture.

  “Of course, of course,” Rick says, stepping back. His grin doesn’t fade, his sharp gaze flicking over the trio. “I’d heard you were holed up in that flashy hotel uptown. Broke my heart, hearing it,” he adds with mock sorrow.

  He strides back to his desk, pulling open a drawer. The key he withdraws from it glints in the dim office light. He tosses it to Anna, the motion casual. She catches it midair, her face unreadable.

  “If you or your little companions need anything,” Rick says, a glint of wicked humor shining behind his words, “just scream louder than my customers.”

  Theodore stiffens. Phara stares at Rick, her brow furrowing before she looks away, unsettled. Anna nods once, stuffing the key into her coat pocket, then gestures for her companions to follow her out. Rick’s laughter echoes off the walls, following them down the hallway like a ghost that refuses to be left behind.

  ***

  Phara and Theodore trail behind Anna as she leads them down a dimly lit hallway, the faint smell of damp wood and age pressing in on all sides. The light overhead flickers erratically, like it can barely cling to life in this part of the building. Their footsteps echo softly against the worn, wooden floor, a rhythm cut only by the weighty sound of their luggage wheels dragging behind them. At the end of the corridor looms the staircase—narrow and steep, its banisters barely hanging on by rusty bolts.

  “Are you sure about this?” Theodore mutters as he glances up the shadowy stairwell, his voice low, uncertain.

  Anna doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she grips the handle of her own battered suitcase and starts up the stairs without looking back. Phara catches Theodore’s glance, and with a sigh, she leans down to grab his bag, sharing the load as they ascend behind Anna. Her breathing comes heavy by the time they reach the top, where Anna finally stops in front of a scuffed, steel door.

  “How do you know about this place?” Phara asks, her words are sharp but curious.

  Anna doesn’t turn to face them. Without answering, she digs into the pocket of her worn leather jacket and pulls out a key. It catches thin beams of light, its metal reflecting just enough to show off deep scratches, like it’s been used a thousand times before. She slides the key into the lock and twists with a loud click. As the door pushes open, revealing the dim studio apartment beyond, Anna finally exhales, her breath heavy, like a weight she’s carried for far longer than the suitcase in her other hand.

  “Rick had another location in Boston,” she says quietly, her voice flat yet carrying the weight of something darker. “I worked here for him. Let’s just say humans pay a lot of money to be tortured by vampires. Rick… provided those services.”

  The words hang in the stale air between them. Theodore’s brows knit as he steps into the small apartment behind her. A single bed with rumpled sheets sits shoved into a corner, pressed against walls stained with shades of gray. A tiny kitchenette rests opposite, the counters cluttered with the remnants of an old life—an empty mug, a bottle of half-used dish soap. But it’s the fire escape door that catches his eye, its window greasy yet letting in a faint glow from the city beyond. The place feels like a shell—functional, but hollow, built for someone always ready to leave in a hurry.

  Theodore sets the luggage down beside the door, the weight of it thudding softly against the floor. He turns toward Anna, his green eyes narrowed. “What did you do to them?” His tone is hesitant but filled with morbid curiosity, a question he seems unable to keep bottled up.

  “Theo!” Phara snaps, hitting him lightly on the arm with the flat of her hand. A spark of frustration flares in her dark brown eyes as she chastises him, “Don’t ask her that.”

  Anna steps past them both, moving to the chair that sits by the bed. It creaks as she lowers herself into it, her back sinking visibly against the frame. Her expression remains neutral, almost detached, yet there’s an edge to her silence that makes her next words all the more cutting.

  “It’s okay,” she says, finally breaking the tension. Her voice is low, almost devoid of emotion. "I mostly bit them."

  Theodore shifts uncomfortably under her calm and distant tone, but Phara only sighs. She takes a step toward Anna as if to bridge the emotional chasm her friend always seems to create. Lowering herself onto the armrest of the chair, she brushes her hand along Anna’s shoulder with casual familiarity. The faint gesture seems to soften the room’s icy air, but just a little.

  “I forget sometimes how long you’ve been alive,” Phara says softly, her voice threading with something like pity, though she knows Anna would never ask for it.

  Anna doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she gazes toward the grimy fire escape window, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the fabric of her pants. The weight of her silence, heavy as the city air outside, reminds them of the truth that lingers unspoken—there is far more history behind Anna’s tired eyes than Phara or Theodore can ever know.

  The soft hum of Theodore’s laptop fills the silence. He sits cross-legged on the unsteady bed, the glow of the screen painting his face in flickering blue and white. His eyes are sharp but weary, darting from one headline to the next as his fingers tap ceaselessly against the keyboard. The black curtains framing the lone window sway slightly, as if an unseen force is brushing them like a breath from something just outside. Theodore steals a glance at his companions. Phara and Anna both regard him with expectant curiosity, their expressions an odd combination of concern and impatience.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He can’t help but smile at the sight of their contrasting forms—Phara, sharp and poised, like still water brimming with secrets, and Anna, flickering with restless energy, her curiosity radiating like the crackle of static electricity. But his brief moment of amusement vanishes when his search pulls up something grim. The screen displays grainy video footage of unseen streets cloaked in darkness, of figures bundled in worn-out clothes being hauled away, their struggles futile against shadowy hands. The cries are muffled in the poor audio, but the lifeless screech of van doors slamming shut seems more alive than anything else.

  Theodore leans forward, studying the vehicle in the footage, something tightening in his chest. His voice is low, steady, yet tinged with unease as he says, “This looks like the van I saw parked outside your sister’s vampire coven.”

  Phara, ever silent and calculating, pushes off the chair’s arm and moves to sit beside him on the bed. Her presence is cool, almost grounding. "Let me see," she murmurs, her voice as soft as a whisper brushing over cobwebs. Soon after, Anna bounds up with none of Phara’s restraint, her light footsteps pattering against the creaky wooden floor. She throws herself onto the other side of the bed, leaning over Theodore's shoulder with little care for personal space.

  Anna’s finger darts toward the screen like a flashing arrow. "That van—yes, there! Watch—click that!" she urges, the faint scent of honey lingering in the air as her hair brushes his arm.

  Before she can make contact with the screen, Phara’s hand grips her wrist with delicate precision and pulls it back. "Gentle," Phara chides, not with irritation, but with an authority that makes Anna huff like a child reprimanded by their teacher. Her sharp nails glint briefly under the laptop’s glow before she releases Anna and regards the screen anew. “I wonder,” she muses aloud, “if Anastasia’s laptop holds the missing pieces.”

  Anna, of course, doesn’t need more than a second before her bright grin ignites. “Let’s find out!” she declares as she twists and snakes her hand toward Theodore’s worn messenger bag, the very bag in which the laptop is tucked away like gold in a thief's satchel.

  But Theodore is faster, his fingers wrapping firmly around the bag’s strap as he yanks it away from her grasp. His movements are quick but deliberate, pulling the bag to rest against his side as he shakes his head. “Nope,” he says flatly, the edge in his tone rather protective. His eyes flick briefly to Anna. “I’ll check the laptop. Anna, you just try—really try—not to break the equipment.”

  Anna falls back onto the bed, clutching at her chest as though wounded. “Me? Break the equipment?” she exclaims with a dramatic gasp. Her voice rises in playful mockery. “I would never! Plus, I thought you both like it rough.”

  Theodore arches a brow, unconvinced, as he adjusts the bag beside him. Anna’s grin stretches wider. Meanwhile, Phara doesn’t laugh, doesn’t play into the banter. Her gaze remains fixated on the screen, the footage of the van looping over and over again. Her lips are pressed into a thin line now, and her fingers curl lightly into the folds of her skirt. She doesn’t speak, but there’s a quiet intensity to her presence, something heavy and cold filling the space around her like smoke before a fire flares.

  The air in the small room feels charged, electric. Outside, the night stretches on, vast and unreadable, as if time has paused to hang over their shoulders, waiting. Theodore keeps his focus on the laptop, his heart wrestling with a growing sense of dread. Whatever they’re inching toward, whatever this mystery is—they all know there’s something in the depths of it that won’t let them go unscathed.

  ***

  In the lab, Dr. Specker studied the data on his computer screen. The results before him were astonishing, lost in his thoughts, he was abruptly jerked back to reality by the sound of high heels echoing through the corridor outside his lab. The commanding voice of Melissa pierced through the air, directed towards the nurses and staff. Dr. Specker couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sound of her voice.

  As the lab door swung open, Melissa gracefully entered, looked around the room for a moment, before she swiftly approached Dr. Specker, her eyes fixated on the computer screen displaying the astonishing blood data. she remarked, “Everything looks good.”

  Dr. Specker mustered the courage to voice his desire. “I was wondering,” he began hesitantly, “what if we ventured beyond the realm of rejuvenation? What if we were to delve into healing?”

  Melissa 's gaze momentarily drifting away from the screen. “Why?” she inquired, her voice laced with curiosity.

  Dr. Specker took a deep breath. "Think about it," he mused, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “We could save millions of people from diseases.”

  Her eyes darted towards the desk where Dr. Specker's notes lay scattered, unable to resist, she picked them up, flipping through the pages hastily. She slammed the papers against Dr. Specker's chest. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp and commanding. “I hired you for one job, and one job only. Stick to that task, or I will not hesitate to find someone else who can. Do you understand?”

  Dr. Specker winced as the papers hit his chest. He took a deep breath to compose himself before replying, “Can you bring me the Vampire?”

  Melissa watched as Dr. Specker bent down to collect his scattered notes from the floor, her gaze unwavering. Slowly, a sly smile crept across her face. “Fine,” she said, her voice dripping with a mix of annoyance and resignation. “I will have the boys bring her.”

  Dr. Specker, now with his notes neatly arranged, locked eyes with the enigmatic Woman. “Thank you, that is the only thing I will request for the day,” he stated with a calm yet curious tone.

  As Melissa drew closer, her hand gripping onto his lab coat, she whispered, “Once you have composed yourself, I will have her brought to your exam room.”

  Dr. Specker nodded, acknowledging her words. “Thank you,” he replied, his mind racing with anticipation.

  Just as Melissa turned to leave, she paused, her gaze fixed upon the doctor. She uttered, “Be careful, she is extraordinarily beautiful for a vampire, which can make them more dangerous.”

  Melissa left without a word. Dr. Specker watched in silence as the door closed behind her, leaving the room empty once more. Frustration surged through him, causing him to strike his desk. He took a deep breath and reached for his coffee, gently drinks from it. As he settles back into his chair, the glow of the computer screen illuminates his face.

  As Melissa walked down hallway, her footsteps echoing softly against the cold linoleum floor, she noticed two men engaged in conversation with a group of nurses, she approached them.

  “I need you both to accompany me to the basement,” she commanded, her voice carrying a hint of authority.

  The men exchanged cautious glances, their brows furrowing with worry. One of them spoke up hesitantly, “Last time she was up here, she almost escaped. Are you sure it's wise?”

  Melissa without a word, she opened a nearby closet and retrieved a bucket filled with gleaming silver chains. “Use these,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “Now, follow me.”

  One of the men reached out and lifted the bucket, the clinking of the chains resonating through the corridor. They made their way towards the elevator. As the elevator doors closed. When the elevator doors opened again, they stepped out into the basement. They walked down the corridor, their boots clacking against the cold, concrete floor. Finally, they came to a stop in front of a cell, where Norika, Anastasia, and Roy were imprisoned.

  Melissa pointed at Roy and gestured towards the cell. Her piercing gaze flickered between the two men accompanying her as she asked, “How come he is still alive?”

  One of the men set down the bucket filled with clinking silver chains. He replied, “I thought they would have drained him dry by now. But it seems they have other plans for him.”

  Anastasia, her voice filled with defiance, spoke up from within the cell. “We are not monsters like you, that’s why.”

  Melissa chuckled darkly, as she pulled her two men aside, murmuring in hushed tones. “Sedate the other one,” she commanded, pointing at Anastasia, “then silver and her escort her to Dr. Specker exam room. I will take care of the human.”

  As the cell door opened, Norika pushed Anastasia and Roy behind her. The sudden shot of the sedative penetrated her neck, causing her to crumple to the cold. Anastasia rushed to her side, hugging on to her. Anastasia cries out Norika in her arms, as the two men swiftly approached her, encasing her fragile form in a cocoon of silver bindings. The men hoisted her off the ground, their grip unyielding, carrying her towards an uncertain fate.

  Meanwhile, Melissa escorted Roy out of the cell. In a single swift motion, the woman raised her weapon, her finger squeezing the trigger with chilling precision. A deafening gunshot echoed through the barren room, and Roy's lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

  The sight before her shattered Anastasia's spirit, and a scream of anguish escaped her lips. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed to her knees beside Roy's lifeless form, “Why?” she cried out, her voice tremulous and filled with a raw anguish that resonated through the basement room.

  As Melissa's cold gaze fell upon Roy's lifeless body sprawled on the floor, her two men tightened the silver chains around Anastasia's body. With a gentle tap on Anastasia's cheek, the Woman's voice cut through the tense air, declaring, “You have an appointment with the doctor.”

  ***

  Anastasia's eyes darted back to Norika, who lay sedated in the nearby cell. The sight of Norika vulnerable state, coupled with the lifeless form of Roy in the hallway, made Anastasia's tears flow endlessly. As they forcibly dragged her towards the waiting elevators, Anastasia strained her neck to steal one last glance at Norika, as the elevator doors closed, sealing her off from Norika presence.

  Anastasia stood in the elevator, her eyes fixated on the numbers on the panel above. As the elevator descended, the numbers flickered, indicating each passing floor taking her further up. The soft hum of the machinery filled the enclosed space, but behind her. Melissa and Flanked by two imposing men, They held Anastasia in place, their grip firm and unwavering, their eyes never once shifting away from her.

  Melissa's voice broke the heavy silence, “Dr. Specker rarely wants to meet any of the vampires we capture,” she said, a malicious smile playing at the corners of her lips.

  As the elevator continued its descent, Anastasia couldn't help but ask, “how long have you been capturing my kind?” The chains that bound her wrists and ankles, made of silver, slowly seared her skin, causing her to flinch in pain.

  One of the men, his grip on the chains tightening, snapped at her to keep quiet. But Melissa, “See, the thing about taking vampires is that their kind often don't realize they are missing until it's too late,” she said.

  The elevator jolted to an abrupt stop, causing the man who to jerk the chain stinging her skin more. As the doors slid open, a rush of cool, antiseptic air enveloped her, Anastasia escorted out onto the gleaming linoleum floor, she found herself in a medical area that was a world apart from the dark, dank cell that had confined her in the basement.

  Nurses and medical staff scurried about with purpose, their white uniforms accentuating the sterile environment. The walls were adorned with rows of cold, metallic equipment, glimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. Each tool seemed meticulously arranged, waiting patiently for its next use.

  Anastasia was forcefully led further down hallway. The grip on her arm tightened, causing a tingling sensation to spread through her veins. The urgency in the footsteps behind her echoed through the cold corridor, intertwining with the distant hum of machinery that seemed to permeate the very walls. With each step she mustered all her strength to break free from their grasp. But despite her desperate struggle, the two men effortlessly pushed her into a small medical exam room, with a single chair positioned at its center.

  The room was sterile, its white walls reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. Anastasia glanced around, taking in the various medical equipment that surrounded her. The cold metal instruments glinted under the bright lights, adding to her growing unease.

  As she attempted to regain her balance, Melissa issued a command to the two men. “Strap her in the chair,” she ordered.

  Anastasia attempted once again fight against her captors intensified, but her efforts were in vain. The men overpowered her, their strength overpowering her will to resist. She watched as Melissa pressed a button on a control panel, triggering the activation of metallic restraints. Silver clamps emerged from the chair, swiftly securing Anastasia in place, holding her captive against her will.

  As Melissa and the men exited the room, the heavy wooden door creaked shut, sealing Anastasia within its confines. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears. Trapped in the cold, sterile room, bound to the unforgiving chair. Her breaths came in short, her eyes darted around the room, searching for any means of escape. But all they found were the cold, metal instruments and the sterile medical equipment scattered across the countertops.

  Just as despair threatened to overwhelm her, the door swung open, revealing the Dr. Specker. He entered the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His eyes met Anastasia's, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

  Dr. Specker finally broke the silence, his voice laced with an unsettling calmness. “You are a wonderful being.”

  “please,” she pleaded. “Let me go.”

  Dr. Specker took a step closer. “You may appear as a teenager, but your blood tells a different story,” he said.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  Dr. Specker rolled his chair closer to her, his eyes never leaving her face. “Don't worry,” he said, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I only wish to ask you a few questions.”

  Anastasia's eyes narrowed, and with a reluctant nod, she acquiesced. “Fine,” she said.

  Dr. Specker reached into his pocket and retrieved a small flashlight. Anastasia watched as he directed the beam of light towards her mouth, inspecting her teeth and gums. Dr. Specker turned off the flashlight and looked down at his file. “What is your name?” he asked

  Anastasia hesitated for a moment before answering, “Anastasia.”

  Dr. Specker raised an eyebrow as he looked up from is note taking. “Are you Russian?” he inquired.

  Anastasia but roll her eyes. “No,” she scoffed. “I am Hungarian. You idiot!”

  Dr. Specker remained unfazed, his eyes locked on her. “Calm down,” he said.

  Anastasia’s fangs elongating slightly in response. “What you and your team are doing will be exposed,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I hope you are arrested before I rip off your head.”

  Dr. Specker's expression remained stoic, his eyes studying Anastasia intently. “He asked, “who turned you into a vampire?”

  Anastasia averted her gaze, refusing to meet his probing eyes. But Dr. Specker was not one to be deterred easily. With a gentle but firm touch, he turned her face back towards him. “Answer the question,” he insisted.

  Anastasia squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her reluctance apparent. “My mother,” she whispered.

  Dr. Specker paused, his pen hovering over his notepad. “Why?” he inquired.

  Anastasia took a deep breath. “It was much easier for me to get her victims than her,” she confessed.

  Dr. Specker's brow furrowed as he processed this information. He turned his focus to his notes, flipping through them with a sense of urgency. “So, your mother was Elizabeth Báthory,” he murmured, more to himself than to Anastasia. “And the vampire downstairs is your ex-wife named Norika. You seem to have a hard time escaping that name,” he remarked.

  “You are not the first to figure that out,” she admitted, her disbelief evident. "Wait a minute, how do you know all this?" she questioned. cell,” he confessed, his gaze meeting Anastasia's. “Norika blood is different from other vampires. What is she?”

  “Ask her yourself,” she responded, her voice laced with a hint of vulnerability.

  Dr. Specker nodded, “fine,” he acquiesced. “It was lovely walking with you,” he added. With that, Dr. Specker rose from his seat, leaving Anastasia still strapped to the chair. As he exited the room.