Archive of Our Own

It’s not as though you came to Castle Dimitrescu expecting a happy end to your story.

 

Hell, you barely knew what country you were in. You were just grateful to stumble upon a half-abandoned village with unlocked houses full of thick blankets and non-perishable foods.

 

You didn’t know about the Dimitrescus. You didn’t know about blood wine and Black Gods and wolf men. You were just scared, on the run, and in need of a place to lie low for a while.

 

Trust that brilliant plan to go to shit in a matter of hours. You’re not sure how they sniffed you out, but they did. A wolf man tore a chunk out of your arm, then chased you right up to the doors of the castle.

 

You had no way of knowing what kind of hell awaited you inside. If you did, would that have changed things? Would you have fought half as hard to extend your life knowing what you know now? Sometimes you wonder.

 

Actually, you wonder it quite a lot. When you think back to that day, it’s almost embarrassing to remember how naive you’d been. How you’d thanked Lady Dimitrescu for accepting you into her home—for offering you a job, even!

 

Oh, you truly thought your luck had turned.

 

After all, you were no stranger to repetitive, taxing work. At least here, it would be indoors—and paid, no less.

 

After a brief meeting with Anica, the castle’s stewardess, you’d been assigned basic cleaning duties. Regarding the uniform, you were given the choice between classic maid’s garb and a more butler-esque ensemble. (You chose the latter.)

 

Plus, Iulia—the head chef—cooked the most mouth-watering meals. On day one, you were treated to her take on ciorbǎ de perișoare. You’re not proud of the way you moaned when you had your first spoonful, but it really couldn’t be helped.

 

And that’s about where the good stuff ended.

 

You knew that something was up with the Dimitrescus. Lady Dimitrescu was a veritable skyscraper of a woman, and her three daughters—all of whom seemed to don identical black dresses and lipstick to match on any given day—haunted the place like manic specters.

 

Mother Miranda, evidently, was more of the same—otherworldly and unsettling. Yet her station was one of godhood—divinity, pure and real. She’d saved the village, once upon a time. The maids stammered out prayers whenever her name was uttered.

 

And the wine… Sanguis Virginis. Well.

 

Its name was, unfortunately, quite literal.

 

Little wonder the turnover rate at Castle Dimitrescu was so abysmal.

 

After the second week, you’d managed to pull another maid aside and interrogate her on precisely what the fuck you’d just signed up for.

 

“How often do they kill the maids?” you’d asked.

 

The maid—Mihaela was her name—stiffened. “It… depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“The daughters’ moods. The lady’s mood. If one of us screws up. If Mother Miranda calls,” she listed off. Her gaze darted up and down the hallway as if one of them could pop out at any second. Unfortunately for both of you, that didn’t seem unlikely.

 

“That’s… insane.”

 

“It’s the job.”

 

“Is there any way to… avoid it?”

 

“Not really. It’s, well, kind of a game to them,” Mihaela said. “Usually when first blood is drawn, there’s a hunt.” She shuddered. “The maid is chased through the halls. And then…” she trailed off.

 

“And then?”

 

“The cellar,” she supplied. “They’re taken to the cellar, and never heard from again.”

 

“It’s their blood in the wine, isn’t it?”

 

Mihaela winced, but nodded.

 

“I’ve only heard screams from Miss Cassandra’s room so far,” you ventured.

 

“Miss Cassandra can be… unpredictable,” she said carefully. “She likes the hunt, relishes in it, but she likes plain old killing, too. Be careful around her.”

 

Fuck, you’d thought. “And the other two?”

 

“Miss Daniela lacks restraint, even more so than Miss Cassandra,” Mihaela said. “She’s brash and impulsive, but it means she’s more easily distracted.” She paused, then amended, “Well, unless there’s blood involved. In that case, she becomes quite insatiable.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Miss Bela, on the other hand, is a little more, well, disciplined, I suppose.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“She kills less maids.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“She’s often working,” Mihaela imparted. “She takes after her mother in that way. For the most part, she’s quite content to do her own business, and let us do ours.”

 

“She doesn’t partake in the hunts?”

 

“Oh, she does,” she assured you. “She’s just not often the one who starts them.”

 

You buried your face in your hands and let out a long-suffering sigh. “This job sucks.”

 

“Just wait until you hear about the benefits.”

 

You peeked at her through the cracks between your fingers. “What benefits?”

 

Mihaela snickered. “Exactly.”

 

“Oh, piss off.”

 

After that, it was only a matter of time before you bore witness to the carnage for the first time. You just didn’t expect it to go quite the way it did.

— —

It was just after breakfast, and you were cleaning the Dimitrescus’ quarters with another maid named Stela. It was, by all accounts, a peaceful morning. The Dimitrescus themselves were nowhere to be seen, nor were they particularly messy when it came to their personal spaces.

 

It wasn’t until you reached Cassandra’s room that things got interesting. And really, really gross.

 

Stela gestured for you to perform the same check required for the other sisters’ bedrooms: knock twice, then wait.

 

No response.

 

“Miss Cassandra?” you called out.

 

Again, no response.

 

You opened the door.

 

The sight that greeted you was straight out of a slasher film.

 

Arcs of fresh blood spattered the walls. Human entrails were strewn across the hardwood, steeped in a puddle of gore. The tangy, metallic scent of it was overpowering.

 

And there, in the center of the room, the mutilated body of a maid was splayed inelegantly across a blood-soaked carpet. A large, bite-shaped hunk was torn from her shoulder. She was missing both hands, the stumps oozing as you watched. And her stomach… Bile rose in your throat. Her stomach was a gaping wound, yawning wide to expose organ and bone like she was wrenched open, pelvis from ribcage.

 

You collapsed to your knees and started dry heaving. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

 

How… Why?

 

There was so much blood. It was everywhere. You didn’t realize the human body held so much of the stuff. And the maid… gods, fuck, the maid.

 

She was unrecognizable. Was it anyone you knew? Iulia? Mihaela?

 

How long before it was you?

 

Stela was saying something to you, but you barely heard her.

 

It wasn’t until you felt her touch brush up against your shoulder that you returned to yourself.

 

“Don’t,” you wheezed, flinching away.

 

Stela knelt down next to you. “Are you alright?”

 

“No.” You spared her a frantic, disbelieving look. Your chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “Are you?”

 

“I—” she stopped herself. “Miss Cassandra!” She jumped to her feet.

 

With some effort, you managed to lift your head. There, before you, a completely naked Cassandra Dimitrescu had emerged from the ensuite bathroom. She leaned casually against the doorframe with damp hair, hazy yellow eyes, and a lazy, self-satisfied smirk. Her ghostly pale skin glistened with crystalline droplets of water.

 

“Now what do we have here?” she purred.

 

“I’m so sorry, M-Miss Cassandra— I, we knocked,” Stela was stammering, “I-I didn’t mean to—”

 

Cassandra stopped her with a hiss. “Go away.”

 

The woman needed no further urging. In a flash, she was gone, scurrying out into the halls.

 

Cassandra wasted no time.

 

The moment you were alone, she pounced, yanking you up by the collar and slamming you into the nearest wall. You had no time to react as your jaw was wrenched to the side, the length of her body pressed against yours.

 

You let out a most undignified squeak. “M-Miss Cassandra—”

 

“You’re a new face.” She nosed into the skin of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Smell so good and your heart is beating so fast, fuck,” she groaned, pressing up against you that much harder.

 

“Wait— Please, Miss Cassandra—” Sharpened teeth grazed your pulse point. “What are you doing?”

 

“I can smell your fear,” she intoned, snickering like she didn’t hear. “It’s delicious.”

 

Your gaze fell to the maid’s lifeless corpse. You were about to be her. You couldn’t be her. Something within you snapped. You thrashed, trying to throw her off.

 

Her hands closed around your wrists and slammed them next to your head. She was strong, inhumanly so. You were too, admittedly, but you hadn’t a lick of practice in harnessing it.

 

“I need a taste.” She sounded crazed, positively drunk off the scent of you. “So thirsty.”

 

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no—

 

Agony exploded in your neck as her fangs pierced your skin, splitting flesh like warm butter.

 

“Shit !”

 

She was not gentle. Her grip squeezed bruises into your wrists, teeth tearing muscle where she widened the bite.

 

The pain was indescribable. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t breathe. Your neck was on fire.

 

She groaned into your flesh, the sound reverberating all throughout your body. And then she started to suck—

 

You whimpered, feeling all the fight leave you. You were prey, small game in the jaws of the lion. You sagged into her as she latched on and drank deeply, swallowing once, twice—

 

And promptly stopped. You could only let out a weak, pained noise as her teeth rended themselves from your flesh and the weight of her left you.

 

You collapsed heavily into the wall, lungs burning, struggling to catch your breath. It was a miracle you didn’t crumple where you stood. Your neck was wet and oozing blood, searing like a fresh brand.

 

“Why do you taste like that?”

 

With some effort, you lifted your head and met her gaze. The lower half of her face was covered in fresh blood—your blood. And the way she was looking at you… like this was your fault, like she didn’t just maul you like a rabid dog.

 

“Excuse me?” you managed, doing your very best to sound outraged. Which you were.

 

Cassandra crossed her arms. “You taste weird,” she said.

 

You felt a bit delirious at the turn the interaction had taken. Or perhaps it was the blood loss. “Is it… bad?”

 

Cassandra licked her bloodied lips, brow furrowing as she pondered the taste—and the question. “I dunno,” she said after a moment. Her eyes seemed to glow as she appraised you. “What’s your deal?”

 

“What’s my deal?” you repeated, utterly gobsmacked. “What’s your deal? You just bit me!”

 

She blinked. Squinted at you. “Where did you say you were from again?”

 

Nope. You weren’t doing this. You took a deep breath. “Look, Miss Cassandra, I need to get back to work. It’s only my third week, and I really can’t afford to be—”

 

“Ugh, so boring,” she pouted, rolling her eyes. “Fiiine. Run along, little human.” She flashed you a wicked grin. “Until next time.”

 

‘Next time’? What a horrifying thought.

 

You hightailed it out of there as fast as your legs would take you.

— —

True to your freakazoid, lab-rat constitution, you healed in a matter of hours. It still hurt like a bitch, and made all the other maids whisper about you over lunch. You kept the bandage on to avoid any further speculation, but honestly, you needn’t have bothered.

 

Your trouble was just beginning.

 

The next morning, you were blessedly sent to the guest wing—as opposed to the Dimitrescus’—to tidy up. It felt like neutral territory—no sign of books, shipping statements, or the carnage from the day before. The identically decorated rooms were neat and untouched, leaving only the lightest of maintenance to be required.

 

Plus, if whispers around the castle were to be believed, at least one of the daughters—Daniela—was out of commission, at least for the moment. She’d ventured outside against her mother’s wishes and received a firm grounding for her disobedience.

 

You got through three rooms without incident. You were dusting a bookshelf in the fourth when you heard it: the buzzing of a thousand flies.

 

You whirled around only to be met with a swell of them flying every which way, swarming you in a sea of little black insects. You shrieked and dropped the duster, batting at them madly with your hands.

 

Head spinning, you backpedaled out of the swarm as fast as you could—or tried to, at least. The flies just followed, whizzing around your head, their droning hum growing louder by the second.

 

You stumbled and fell, though you barely felt it.

 

You could only watch in horror as the buzzing throng thickened and coalesced to form—

 

Oh, what the fuck? Daniela Dimitrescu loomed over you, looking like she got trampled by an angry mob. Her dress was torn in various places, her pale face discolored with streaks of dried blood, fresh bruising, and a nasty-looking cut that was only just begun to heal. There were twigs and dirt in her tangled red hair.

 

Despite it all, a wolfish grin split her black-painted lips, baring canines sharp as knives. Worse still, she looked delighted—positively feral—at the sight of you.

 

With some effort, you managed to pick your jaw up off the floor. “Miss Daniela—”

 

In a flash, she was on you: thighs straddling yours, arms caging you in. “Cassandra says you taste funny,” she said, blinking down at you with wide, curious yellow eyes.

 

“O-Oh. Did she?” you said—breathless, uncertain.

 

The answer seemed to excite her immensely. “C-Could smell you from the basement! She bit you so deep.” She let out a low, desperate whine. “I wanna try,” she breathed, leaning in—

 

“Wait!” you yelped.

 

To your utter surprise, she did, pulling back to cock her head inquisitively at you like a confused dog.

 

You tried to recall what Mihaela had said. Miss Daniela lacks restraint… brash and impulsive… more easily distracted.

 

Right. You could work with that, couldn’t you? “What happened to you?” you tried.

 

The look she gave you was blank, devoid of recognition.

 

“Your face, it’s all bloody and” —you wrinkled your nose— “dirty.”

 

“O-Oh!” You could practically see the lightbulb go off in her head. “Mother’s punishment. Sleeping in the dungeons for a week!” She showed you one of her hands, wiggling her fingers… two of them. What was left of the other three were bloody, torn stumps—like someone ripped them off. “Bela also took—fingers! ‘Cause I went outside. It’s cold.”

 

Bile rose in your throat, again. You felt like you were going to be sick. “You don’t like the cold?” you asked, feeling faint.

 

Daniela shook her head vehemently. “Cold is bad! Very bad!”

 

“Totally!” you agreed quickly. “The cold sucks.”

 

“You’re not cold. You’re warm. S-So warm.” She nuzzled into your neck, right over the bandage, making you squirm and shiver. “Good little human. Smell so nice—”

 

And just like that, you were back to square one. Honestly, you didn’t know why you bothered. You started struggling, bucking your hips, trying to throw her off. Gods, how was she so strong ?

 

“—just a little,” Daniela was saying, more to herself than to you, “just a taste—”

 

A familiar buzzing reached your ears as the points of her fangs grazed your skin. All you saw was a flash of brown hair and a flurry of movement as the weight of Daniela was suddenly thrown from you with startling efficacy.

 

Daniela went flying, crashing into the opposite wall with a dull thud.

 

“Can’t leave you alone for two minutes,” Cassandra was lamenting, not sparing you a glance as you scrambled to your feet. “You know what Mother said—”

 

She was cut off as Daniela launched herself into her, tackling her directly into you in turn.

 

You went careening into the desk, face first, with an awful thunk that made your ears ring. When you crumpled to the floor, your nose was on fire, spurting blood.

 

You scrambled to your feet, again, clutching your face and edging away as the sisters’ power struggle devolved into a terrible, violent brawl. Daniela lunged towards you, fangs extended, only to be kept at bay by a hissing Cassandra who snatched her by the hood of her dress and yanked her down to the floor.

 

Daniela rolled, closing her jaw around Cassandra’s calf with a snarl. Cassandra hissed and promptly exploded into a swarm of flies, leaving Daniela free to scrabble to her feet and—

 

Oh, no.

 

You turned and made a break for it. The door was so close. If you could just—

 

“F-Fuck!” Pain exploded in the back of your arm, just over the elbow, as something—Daniela—caught you teeth first. The weight of her body slammed into you next, sending you sprawling to the floor.

 

The fall dislodged her teeth from your arm, which was a relief, and Cassandra—having since re-formed—did the rest. “Trying—to help— Get—off !” she growled, fisting Daniela’s hood once more and hurling her across the room.

 

Daniela’s body smashed through a wooden bedpost and right into the headboard, which splintered with a loud crack.

 

You flipped onto your back, breathing heavily.

 

“Get. Out,” Cassandra ordered, brandishing a sickle from nowhere—

 

You were all too happy to oblige. The moment you got your feet beneath you, you were booking it out of there. You took a sharp right out of the doors, sprinting for all you were worth—

 

—and straight into something solid.

 

“Oof!” You staggered back, wheezing. By some miracle, you managed to stay on your feet. Who—?

 

Black dress. Blonde hair. Assessing yellow eyes. Her lips were painted black—not a drop of blood in sight. The ovular stone around her neck was red where Cassandra’s was yellow, and Daniela’s was green.

 

Bela.

 

Her nostrils flared as she caught your scent—your panicked, bloody scent. Her eyes visibly darkened.

 

Fuck, could you catch a break today?

 

“Where are you running off to?” Her voice held a hint of teasing, yet there was also an undercurrent of something darker there, something hungry that chilled you to the bone.

 

“Miss Bela! I— Well, Miss Cassandra and Miss Daniela—”

 

As if on cue, there came a thunderous smash, followed by a thud, then a shouted, “FUCK— STOP STRUGGLING, YOU LITTLE SHIT—!” Cassandra, undoubtedly.

 

You both winced.

 

Bela inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Turned her gaze skyward as if asking for some divine intervention.

 

Nothing. Just more thuds, crashes, and a half-shriek half-moan ringing out that just might’ve been the most unsettling thing you’d heard yet.

 

Bella huffed, grumbling to herself. “Have to do everything myself—” She shouldered her way past you, headed inside—only to stop mid-stride. “Stay there,” she growled at you, low and threatening.

 

You gave a start, trying to act like you weren’t just about to bolt. “R-Right.” You shrank back against the wall. “Of course, Miss Bela.”

 

With that, she squared her shoulders and stormed into the room. The doors were shut with a slam behind her.

 

You heaved a sigh, sliding down until you reached the floor with your knees tucked to your chest.

 

More crashes and thuds rang out, muffled by the barrier. Someone screamed in fury. You caught snippets of dialogue between all the crashing and throwing and chaos:

 

“—so irresponsible— Can’t believe you lost her—”

 

“—BOLTED! Do you know how fast she is—?”

 

“—just—want—a taste— C-Cassie already had some—”

 

“—NOW! Quit moving— DANIELA, STOP!”

 

You gave a jolt as a mass of black and red came flying through the doors, taking one clean off the hinges with a resounding crack. A split second later, a sickle embedded itself in the wall opposite.

 

You jumped to your feet as the crumpled heap that was Daniela Dimitrescu surged up onto all fours, her mouth red and glistening with blood.

 

You didn’t wait for her to give chase. You were already off like a shot, hightailing it down the hall like your life depended on it—and fuck your entire life for this, but in that moment it really, truly did.

 

Distantly, you registered the sounds of Bela and Cassandra bellowing obscenities after the two of you, yelling for Daniela to come back there right this instant or else—

 

You cried out and almost stumbled as sharp teeth gnashed at your ankle—fuck, fuck, fuck, she was right on your heels. Literally.

 

You took a sharp left at the next opportunity, hoping that Daniela wouldn’t be able to turn fast enough. The sound her body made as it slammed into the wall behind you was the best thing you’d heard all day. Tearing across the landing, you angled for the stairs leading down into the main hall—

 

And promptly tripped. Go fucking figure.

 

You went flying, tumbling down the curved staircase, letting out grunts and yelps all the way down. It was a miracle you didn’t break anything. Then, instead of spilling out onto the floor, you toppled straight into a white curtain-looking thing, soft as satin, with something solid beneath it…

 

Legs. Oh, no. Oh, fuck.

 

Craning your neck to have a look, you found golden eyes burning into you.

 

You opened your mouth to say something—probably “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” or “Fancy meeting you here,” or something equally as stupid—but at that precise moment, Cassandra and Daniela came hurtling down after you in a tangled, hissing ball of limbs with a half-formed Bela swarming up the rear.

 

You gave a jerk and scrabbled for purchase on the step, desperate to avoid being flattened, but you needn’t have worried.

 

Lady Dimitrescu intercepted them with practiced ease, drawing the pair up by their hoods and dangling them from either hand. They seemed to weigh nothing to her. She was so strong. You felt a flush heat your cheeks.

 

Not the time.

 

“What is the meaning of all this?” the woman seethed.

 

The effect was immediate.

 

You froze in place.

 

Daniela stopped fighting, going limp in her Mother’s grip like a scruffed kitten. Cassandra just crossed her arms and scowled. Bela, too, remained silent.

 

“My room. Now.” Her tone brooked no argument.

 

She stepped gracefully over you like you were a tree branch or something equally as inconsequential, and made her way up the stairs, youngest daughters in tow. After a moment, Bela drifted down to you and helped you to your feet.

 

“Come on, little one. Let’s go.”

 

‘Little one’?

— —

You found yourself in a vast, gorgeously decorated bedroom, its interior bathed in a warm yellowy light from the glow of the fireplace. A lofty four-poster bed sat opposite, its gilded frame gleaming in the low light.

 

Lady Dimitrescu positively towered over the four of you, seated in a row on an immaculate chaise. She was, as always, nothing short of a vision: the very pinnacle of early 20th-century fashion, her dress cinched above the waist to showcase her buxom figure and long, long legs.

 

“Tell me,” Lady Dimitrescu began, her gaze settling on you. “Did I not just hire you?”

 

You fought the urge to squirm, wedged between Bela and Cassandra as you were.

 

“You did, my lady.”

 

“Yet you have been assailed not once, but twice by my impertinent daughters.” It was curious to hear her so aggrieved over the events that had transpired. There was no chance she really cared about your well-being. What was she getting at?

 

“S-Sorry, Mother,” Daniela whimpered.

 

“I do not want apologies. I want explanations.” Golden eyes zeroed in on each of her daughters in turn. “Why is she still alive?”

 

Ah. That made more sense.

 

“She tastes weird,” Cassandra blurted out.

 

You weren’t sure what compelled you. You were scared. You were injured. Above all else, you were pissed. “Daniela didn’t seem to mind,” you retorted.

 

Cassandra looked equal parts chagrined and delighted. To her credit (and your detriment), she recovered quickly, leaning in closer to purr, “If you’re offering, I can retest that theory—”

 

“That is enough.”

 

Cassandra immediately fell back into line.

 

“It’s my fault, Mother,” Bela piped up next. “I was the one who told Cassandra to watch Daniela. I should have handled it personally.”

 

“You’re right. You should have.” Her remarks were quick, cutting.

 

Bela visibly shriveled.

 

“And you.” Her gaze fell to Cassandra next, brow arched. “How did Daniela manage to escape and get halfway across the castle without your knowledge?”

 

Cassandra appeared at a loss for words. Her mouth flapped like a fish on land as she said, “Well, I didn’t— She’s so fast, Mother, I only went upstairs for a minute—”

 

“And what, pray tell, were you doing upstairs when you ought to have been watching your sister?”

 

Cassandra ducked her head and mumbled something unintelligible.

 

“My patience is not limitless, Cassandra, and you are testing it.”

 

“I got bored,” Cassandra spoke up, only marginally louder this time.

 

“‘Bored,’” Lady Dimitrescu repeated, her voice dripping with derision. “Is that so?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again.”

 

“See that it does not.” Her gaze swept over the four of you. “You can all count yourselves quite lucky that I have neither the time nor the patience to dole out punishments today. But make no mistake—you will be punished,” she asserted icily, glaring at each of her daughters in turn.

 

“Yes, Mother,” they all chorused in unison—a chastened, doleful refrain.

 

She paid them little mind, turning instead to address you for the final time. “As for you.” She looked you up and down, painted lips curled with palpable distaste. “Show me the wound.”

 

Fuck. “M-My lady?”

 

“I will not ask twice.”

 

Your face was on fire as you stood and shrugged off your blazer. Daniela’s bite had torn clear through the sleeve and the dress shirt underneath, which was stained a deep, bloody red.

 

Cassandra wolf-whistled, like an asshole. You wished you could throttle her. You wished you could disappear entirely.

 

“The shirt, too.”

 

Swallowing thickly, you gave a nod. You untucked the shirt and began undoing the buttons with shaking fingers.

 

This was bad. This was really, really bad. The bite would be half-healed by now. She didn’t even reach bone.

 

No one was supposed to know.

 

You peeled your shirt away with downturned eyes and bated breath. You barely registered it crumpling to the floor.

 

“Turn.”

 

You did.

 

It was silent for a long moment. Then—

 

“Well, well.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice was intent, positively molten with renewed interest. “Isn’t that curious?”

 

“What?” Cassandra squawked in dismay. “I wanna see!” She grabbed your arm, wrenching you towards her. “Whoa.”

 

“Almost healed,” Bela murmured.

 

“Oooh,” exclaimed Daniela.

 

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and angry. You refused to let them fall.

 

“The bandage on your neck,” Lady Dimitrescu said. “Remove it.”

 

It took you a couple tries. Your hands were shaking so much. You managed it the third time, crumpling the gauze in your fist as you bared your throat. You couldn’t bear to look at them. You knew what they were seeing: impossibly smooth, unblemished skin. No evidence of Cassandra’s onslaught.

 

“Someone’s been holding out on us,” Lady Dimitrescu mused, more to herself than to anyone else.

 

“M-My lady, I can explain—”

 

“Please, Mamă, can we keep her?” Daniela wheezed, sounding almost mad with frantic energy. “Best toy, won’t break, can’t kill—”

 

“This is not a daycare, Daniela dearest.”

 

“It would keep her body count down,” Bela said tentatively. “Cassandra’s, too.” At her mother’s reproachful glower, she wilted and said nothing more.

 

“I do not reward incivility,” Lady Dimitrescu snarled. “Leave us, all of you. I wish to speak with her. Alone.”

 

The moment she said it, the three of them jolted into action. It was a dizzying spectacle: three half-swarm, half-human blobs buzzing and fighting and tripping over each other in their haste to obey.

 

It was also over far sooner than you might have hoped.

 

All at once, you found yourself alone with the matriarch of the household, again. You did not dare make a move to sit, nor so much as breathe.

 

Lady Dimitrescu settled into a large bergère with a noiseless sigh. Her eyes, twin golden flames, peered intently over at you from beneath her broad-brimmed hat. “Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

 

“I’m not from around here, my lady.” What a dumb place to start.

 

Judging by the way her eye twitched, Lady Dimitrescu shared the sentiment. “Yes, I think that was quite obvious to just about everyone.”

 

“Right. Sorry, my lady.” If your visibly non-white features didn’t do it, the accent surely would. “The scientist… He said I was meant for something more. He said the serum would make me strong.”

 

“Which scientist?”

 

You shrugged. “He never told me his name. He had a strange accent. Mostly English with a little bit of something else.” German maybe?

 

“And this serum you speak of… What do you remember about it?”

 

“It was blue. He… He didn’t seem to know what it would do to me. He was happy with my abilities, I think.”

 

Instead, she gave the barest hint of a nod, silently urging you to continue.

 

“I heal faster. I’m strong. Quick, too.” You paused there, shuffling awkwardly in place. “Can I put my shirt back on, my lady?” She hadn’t yet asked about the twin crescent-shaped scars along your pectorals. Perhaps if they were covered, she never would.

 

Unlikely, but a girl could dream.

 

The Lady’s eyes flashed with something. Amusement? Displeasure? It was impossible to say. “Shy, are we?”

 

You ducked your head, feeling your cheeks get hot. “A little. Sorry, my lady.”

 

“Come here.”

 

You hesitated, thinking you’d misheard.

 

“Come here, pet. I will not ask again.”

 

It was like a fire had been lit under your ass. You scurried over to her.

 

“Closer.”

 

You obeyed, getting well within an arm’s length. It took everything within you to remain upright. The way she loomed over you, even when sitting, was nothing short of hair-raising.

 

“Give me your hand.”

 

Trembling slightly, you acquiesced.

 

The leather of her gloves was cool, smooth against your skin. Her hand dwarfed yours, but her touch was light and gentle as she guided you to splay your fingers, palm facing upwards.

 

She held up her other hand. What did she plan to do? You watched in dread then awe as something thin and sharp began to protrude from the tip of her pointer finger, piercing through leather with ease. It looked like metal—a spotless silver—and gleamed where it caught the light.

 

“Curious, isn’t it?”

 

You gulped, unable to tear your gaze away. It was not terribly long, about the size of your finger, but it looked sharp enough to carve you up like a cut of beef.

 

“Worry not, darling. I’ll be gentle.”

 

Doing your best to school your expression into something neutral, you met her gaze.

 

By the knowing look she wore, you didn’t at all succeed.

 

“It looks really sharp.” You were never the most eloquent speaker, but this was a new low.

 

She chuckled. “Don’t move.”

 

You stood, frozen to the spot, as she lowered the razor-sharp—finger? Claw?—to your hand. Your heart was hammering in your chest.

 

“Let’s see what all the fuss is about, shall we?”

 

It was nothing—the flick of a wrist, the barest flutter of movement. In its wake, a hot, stinging sensation sliced across your palm. You watched, transfixed, as blood emerged in a string of beaded crimson. Its tangy, metallic scent tickled your nostrils.

 

Lady Dimitrescu wasted no time. In one graceful movement, she’d coaxed your hand up and lowered herself to meet it.

 

Golden eyes, fervid and suddenly ravenous, peered down at you from beneath the slanted brim of her hat, and for the life of you, you couldn’t bear to look away. You were a fly in the spider’s web, rooted to the spot as she leaned forth, lips parted, and licked a hot, wet stripe along the bleeding wound—once, twice.

 

A weak, shuddering exhale escaped you. Your legs felt like they were going to give way.

 

And when she sealed her lips around the cut, humming into your flesh as she began to suck—

 

You let out a most indecent moan.

 

The sensation was indescribable, bordering on obscene—the soft seal of her lips, the errant swipes of her tongue, the meticulous suction as she gulped you down with hollowed-out cheeks and fluttering eyelashes.

 

A whine escaped you when she pulled away. Too soon, too soon, you thought.

 

Her painted lips were stained, glistening with fresh blood. You watched her in a haze as she plucked two white squares of fabric from the desktop, offering one to you and keeping the other for herself.

 

Head spinning, you accepted the offering. It was a handkerchief.

 

“Press this to the wound,” she instructed, using her own to dab delicately at her bloodied mouth. “And take a seat.” She nodded toward the chaise lounge.

 

You did as she said, if not a bit stiffly.

 

The lady rose to her feet, crossing the room in a few long strides. You were grateful for the reprieve as she rummaged through one of several drawers at her vanity, providing a moment—however brief—to gather yourself.

 

Your heart was racing, thumping behind your ribcage, but with every measured breath, its fervor diminished. Your head, meanwhile, was still spinning. What just happened? She drank from you, and you… liked it.

 

Thankfully, you weren’t given much time to dwell on it. Lady Dimitrescu returned to her seat moments later with a lit cigarette protruding from a long, thin black holder.

 

You could do little more than watch, mesmerized, as she drew a long pull, held it for two counts, then inclined her jaw to exhale, baring the long, pale column of her throat. It was ridiculous, really, how attractive she made it look.

 

You needed to get a grip.

 

As she smoked, silence settled upon the pair of you. A few times, you watched her tap the ash from her cigarette into a small wooden ashtray, lined with steel, sitting atop a nearby end table.

 

It was not as awkward as you might’ve feared, but it was heavy—laden with things yet unsaid. Questions unanswered.

 

You tried to be patient. You really did.

 

It was never your strong suit. “So?” you prompted.

 

The lady’s gaze fell to yours, brow raised. “So what, pet?”

 

Heat rose to your cheeks. Did no one in this family know your name? “My blood. Do you think it tastes… weird?”

 

She took another pull. Held it. Exhaled. “It’s certainly unusual,” she said. “Not unpleasant by any means.” Well, that wasn’t terribly descriptive. “Tell me: What do you think of Bela’s proposal?”

 

‘Bela’s proposal.’ What a quaint—read: infuriating—way of putting it. “Does it matter what I think of her ‘proposal,’ my lady?”

 

Her eyes flashed with irritation. “Less of the cheek, pet,” she chastised. “It’s excusable—charming, even—until it isn’t. Learn to know the difference.”

 

You gritted your teeth. “Yes, My Lady.”

 

“Such fire,” she commented, wearing a self-satisfied and most infuriating smirk. “Little wonder my daughters are so taken with you.”

 

You couldn’t think of anything to reply with that wasn’t ill-tempered or downright combative. You held your peace.

 

“We’ll start with a trial period,” she said eventually. “You may continue your duties in the meantime, but if my daughters have need of you, you are to drop what you are doing and tend to them straightaway. I will inform Anica of the change.” Another hit; another hold. Another exhale. “You are permitted to resist them. They may actually prefer it.”

 

It took all of your willpower to suppress a full-bodied shudder at that, but you managed it.

 

“Questions?”

 

You wanted to run away. You wanted to protest the unfair treatment. You wanted to beg for your life in the hopes that she might spare it. Instead, you heard yourself say, “No. Thank you, my lady. I’ll do my best to please you.”

 

Amusement danced in her gaze. “See that you do.” With that, she took another hit—her last, for the cigarette had burned its way down to the filter. “You’re dismissed.”

 

You rose to your feet the moment the command was uttered, hating the pang of disappointment you felt at the swift expulsion.

 

With a dutifully averted gaze, you snatched up your discarded clothing and made a beeline for the door.

— —