Dahlia’s POV

As a child, I used to think hospitals were the ultimate nightmare—boy, was I mistaken?

It took some time, but eventually I came to understand the terrifying truth. The Moroi take pleasure in watching us lose control and causing pain to humans—it’s like entertainment for them.

They see us as nothing more than experiments, made of their infatuation with humans, and completely disposable.

We’re constantly searching for an escape.

Amid paperwork and silence in my office, I can’t help but think of Rena. She went through the same experience as I did - losing her parents when she needed them the most.

How can she avoid drinking blood for this long?

The urge to drink must be overpowering. Without finishing the last phase, she risks… no, she can’t let it come to that.

As I pour over Rena’s medical and police records once more, a jolt of recognition shoots through me—the familiarity of her last name is undeniable.

Is this her daughter?

“My dear friend. What happened to you?” Lost in memories of our shared past.

In elementary school, Farah and I friendship grew; Though not sisters by blood, our trust and loyalty felt as profound.

High school brought her Andrei Florea—the handsome, intelligent, and wealthy student. Their secretive relationship baffled me; it wasn’t like Farah to hide things, especially not from me. And over time, our interactions faded to rare smiles and waves, and by graduation, the bond we once cherished seemed forgotten.

As my eyes scour through the police report, the words “Farah Florea - Pronounced Deceased” leap off the page, sending my heart plummeting into an abyss.

What about her other daughter? Since one of their daughters is awakening, that means…

That Farah’s secret lover was not just a human — a goddamn Moroi — ignited my rage.

Oh, Farah, your ignorance of our world has put your daughter’s life in danger.

While lost in thought, the sharp ring of the telephone shatters the silence, snapping me out of my reverie. I reach for the handset and hold it close to my ear.

“Hello?” My voice echoes, laden with anxiety as I await a response.

“Hey darling, just checking in. How’s work?” Nate’s voice filters through the phone, prompting a soft exhale from me as I steady my fraying nerves.

Did I expect her?

When Rena shared her plan to attend college, I was initially worried. However, realizing that we dhampirs yearn for normalcy, I supported her decision. Yet, ever since she left, a profound silence has grown between us.

“It’s good. I’m heading home soon. I just finished this last document.” While packing my papers, I glance at my bare finger where my ring sits.

The familiar hum of an incoming call blending with his voice. “Take your time, my love. It’s important that you’re not pushing yourself too hard. I love you.”

His words hang in the air, almost tangible in their warmth.

“And I love you. Oh dear, I must let you go—there’s another call.” But even as I speak, I clasp to the reluctance of parting.

A pause fills the space between us—a canvas of unspoken emotion.

“Don’t be too long.”

I close my eyes for a moment, drawing internal strength from his sentiment.

“I won’t be…” My heart aching his longing, this distance a tangible thing. With a heavy finger, I end the call.

After the call ends, I switch lines, feeling the weight of anticipation on my shoulders.

The phone crackles; a hush, tremulous voice seeps through the line.

“Hi…” There is a lengthy pause, and the fragile whisper that follows disturbing the silence. “D... Dahlia”

I clench my fists, fighting against the surge of elation that her voice, even in agony, brings to me. I strive for measured calm. “Holy hell, it’s been months. Rena, are you alright? What’s going on?”

“Dahlia,” she repeats, her tone desperate, her words tumbling out in a rush, “Something’s... something’s wrong with me. I feel... I can’t...”

I push back against my own fears. I offer her my strength with the steadiness of my voice. “Rena, listen to me. I’m here for you. Just breathe and tell me everything. We’ll figure this out—together.”

A heavy silence lingers on the line, only to be abruptly broken by a jarring thud that echoes through the receiver. Anxiety tightens its grip around me as I clutch the phone, my determination to aid her swelling despite the unknown.

“Rena?” My voice cutting through the quiet, a second, more urgent attempt to reach her.

A soft, secondary breath whispers alongside Rena’s own, distinct in the quiet stillness. Amidst the background rustle, a man’s voice breaks through sudden and sharp.

“Hey,” says a deep voice, filled with worry. “This woman is in awful shape. Where do you live?”

“Don’t even think about touching her! Who the heck are you?”

"I swear I won’t hurt her. Do you mind telling me where you’re at so I can bring her to you?"

I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much to this stranger. But with Rena’s condition, I know I have little choice.

I give him my address and race home as fast as I can, my mind swirling with worry.

What happened to Rena? is she hurt, or is this something more? Is her bloodlust spiraling out of control?

When I arrive, Nate opens the door before I even knock. He must see me pulling up, the panic clear on my face.

“Dahlia, what’s wrong?” he grips my shoulders in concern.

I take a shuddering breath. “It’s Rena. She called me from somewhere, collapsed, and a stranger has her. He’s bringing her here, but I don’t know what condition she’s in.”

Nate’s brow furrows with concern. He draws me into a comforting embrace. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of her like we always have.

We rush into the living room and barely sit down when headlights pierce through the window. I sprint to the front door and swing it open just in time to see a man carrying an unconscious Rena from his car.

Carter’s POV

As I approach the manor, I bring my car to a halt at the front gate. Stepping out onto the snow-blanket pavement, I make my way around to the passenger side. I open the door to reveal a woman, lost amid a peaceful slumber.

I slide one arm beneath her legs and the other behind her shoulders, ensuring a secure hold before hoisting her from the car. After a brief walk, I pause at the foot of the stairs, shifting to reaffirm my grasp.

Despite her shallow breaths and the pallor of her skin, she emanates an intense, feverish heat.

She’s on fire with fever. Healing should have come to her by now. Yet, what unsettles me even more is the vacant stare that doesn’t seem to know who I am.

She can’t be treating this like a game—playing with fire is dangerous.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me as her fingers clasp my shirt. Her head rests against my chest, drawing me deeper into a well of fascination.

Is this little temptress trying to devour me?

Before I even raise my hand to knock, the door creaks ajar. A woman appears, her hands gripping the doorframe, her bloodshot eyes lock on mine. At first, I mistake her clasping hands as a shield against the chill or a gesture of self-protection.

“Please, come in,” she invites, motioning toward the cozy embrace of the living room.

As I pass by her, we step into a room teeming with bookshelves, draped in dust-covered candles, and housing two vintage sofas. I set the woman down on the smaller of the sofas, finding it to be an ideal match.

“Sir, who might you be?” A figure from the corner, his eyes alight, tracking my every motion with an eerie intensity.

“Who might you be?”

“Relax, both of you. There’s no need for tension. Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Dahlia, and Nate, my husband, is over there,” she descending to her knees before the couch.

Dahlia’s fingers graze the woman’s cheek before she pivots towards me. Her gaze pierces mine. “What happened? And spare me the lies—I can see you’re one of us.”

“She found me feeding and screamed. That’s when I saw her fangs and the hunger in her eyes, and those red veins crawling up her arms are strange.”

“Understood,” she utters, the word laces with a desperation that makes her voice quiver. “Darling, the cellar—can you get me a vial of blood, type M, please?”

Dahlia’s plea comes out as a whisper, but it sends Nate racing toward the kitchen, his every step quick and deliberate, as if he’s trying to outrun the panic itself.

Turning to me, Dahlia’s eyes are moist oceans threatening to spill over. “I—Thank you for bringing her to us. I’m so sorry, I don’t think I got your name?”

The corner of my mouth tilts up into a wry grin as I lower myself onto the couch opposite them.

“Carter. And don’t mention it—right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” my voice a blend of nonchalance and hidden depth, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

Dahlia manages a weak smile, a spark of gratitude lighting up her teary eyes as Nate bursts back into the room, the requested vial in his hand.

“Your help... it means more than you know,” her composure steadying ever.

Nate passes her a shadowy liquid, its piercing aroma one that I know all too well. As Dahlia pours the vial, a thin rivulet of blood trickles into the woman’s mouth.

The woman’s eyes transform, the gray iris shifting, igniting into a blazing red. With a swift, fierce motion, she snatches it away from Dahlia’s grasp.

She gulps down her drink with a ferocity akin to a starving beast that hasn’t fed in years. With every swallow, her eyes blaze deeper into a fierce crimson.

She’s entrance again, ignoring our presence, her mind fixates on one desire: blood to tame the beast within.

“What’s up with her? I’ve never seen a Dhampir in this kind of agony.”

Dahlia glances at Rena with a mix of pity and frustration etching her features. “What you see—the protruding veins, the scorching skin—it’s a sign that her Valprya is reaching a critical point. Her body’s drowning in its own thirst. I took Rena in after this... this tragic mishap with her family. Someone awakened her—and she’s headstrong, too stubborn to complete—always resisting. And I get it, I do. But now I have to-”

A loud noise cut Dahlia off, drawing our attention to Rena, fast asleep amid broken glass on the floor.

Nate, embracing Dahlia from behind, whispering, “She needs to rest, and so should we.”

My mind drifts toward an uncharacteristic idea. It isn’t like me, but the words slip out. “Would you like me to watch over her for the night?”

Dahlia pauses, deliberating my proposal. “We don’t know you, yet you’ve stood by Rena when she was vulnerable. I’ve let you into my home, so we’d be grateful if you’d monitor her. Just remember, if you cause any trouble, we won’t hesitate to hunt you down.”

Nate and Dahlia offer me a smile, yet their expressions are etched with strands of distress.

I remain in the subdued light of the room alongside the slumbering woman, listening as their footsteps retreat upstairs, dissolving into silence.

As I settle into the couch, legs stretching out and propping up, I sink into the soft embrace of the cushions. My gaze drawing to the woman as I ease into comfort.

As I exhale, the name “Rena” slips from my lips, spiraling into a whisper. “Fuck me,” I yawn, the weight of weariness in my bones.

I steal another glance at her, unable to resist the pull, as I succumb to the gentle embrace of sleep.