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“Tell me, little Saskia, did you really think you would win?”
The mockery in Marya’s voice makes Saskia’s blood run cold. The vampire’s fingers threading through her hair, tracing over her skin, freezes the heat of her anger, sharpens it into fear.
Yes, Saskia thinks to herself. I was foolish enough to truly believe we could win.
Marya’s blood red lips are curved into a vicious smile. There is a hunger in her eyes that up close has Saskia terrified of more than the same fate her father and brother met at this monster’s hands.
“I wonder. Will you have it in your to destroy yourself once you become that which you hunt? Or will your new friend do it for you?”
A sadistic glee colors her words, Marya’s tongue tracing over her exposed fangs as she tilts Saskia’s head to the side. Does she smell the horror clutching the last Van Helsing’s racing heart? Can she already taste it in the air?
A quick death. A brutal one. Bloody and violent. Or perhaps slow and torturous. But something final. That was what Saskia had expected if this went south. If the worst were to happen. That was what Marya did to her father, to her brother. Why would she be any different?
The hunger in Marya’s eyes tells her - it makes all the difference.