Tamara's body strained against the poison that was running through her veins even though she was in a deep slumber that night. Her dreams were riddled with interruptions. As their anxieties escalated, her parents began to call her on her phone many times. Henry reacted with a voice that was calming and reassuring.
He explained we had a modest house party, and he was right. As a result of drinking too much, Tamara passed out. She is currently napping, but I will make sure that she is at home the next day.
Initially, her parents were worried, but when they discovered that Tamara was with Henry, a capable young person, they were able to feel more peaceful. As a result of their trust in him, their nervousness diminished.
Tamara's eyes opened aflutter the following day, and she was confronted with a ceiling that she had never seen before. Her eyes shifted to Henry, seated nearby, gazing over her with an intense expression.
"Oh! You're awake! Henry exclaimed, hurriedly coming to her side.
Tamara winced, feeling tremendous pain in her neck. "What happened?" she questioned, her voice hoarse. I'm really hungry and feeble.
Her eyes concentrated on the table, packed with chicken and other things. Instinctively, she reached for the food, wanting to satiate her appetite. But as soon as she tried to swallow, a wave of nausea swept over her, and she vomited it all.
What's happening to me? Tamara gasped, panic growing in her chest. Her eyes pleaded with Henry for answers.
Henry's expression was a mix of pity and shame. You've been. Changed, he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Deborah. Turn you.
Tamara's eyes widened in dread. Turned me? What do you mean? Her voice trembled.
Henry's gaze fastened onto hers, full of grief. You're becoming like us. A vampire.
Tamara's cheeks paled, her mind reeling. She felt her body transforming, her senses increasing. The atmosphere seemed brighter and sounded more piercing.
No, she whispered, denial sliding in. "This can't be happening."
Henry's hands encircled hers, warm and calming. I'll help you through this, Tamara. I.
Her mind flew back to the horrific scene from the previous day when she had unlocked Debora's door and saw the blood, the slain guard, and the vampires. Panic grabbed her as consciousness began to settle in. What did you do to me, Henry? Tamara asked, her voice quivering with panic. She grabbed her neck where the pain was still sharp, her fingers skimming over the bite marks, which were already repairing due to her new vampire system. Henry stood by her side, shame weighing hard on him. He had dreaded this moment, knowing Tamara would inevitably find out the truth. Tamara. I'm sorry, he continued, his voice low. Debora, she. She bit you. Tamara's eyes widened, her breath racing. No. No, that's not feasible! She backed away from him, her pulse racing as panic muddled her head. I'm becoming one of what? A vampire? Henry nodded slowly, his gaze filled with regret. I attempted to stop her, but it was too late. You're turning into a vampire. Tamara's body shivered as she absorbed the reality of what had transpired. The hunger eating inside her wasn't for food but for blood.
Behind the door, Deborah's hands curled into fists. Each word from Henry's mouth seemed like a razor slashing further into her heart. Betrayal swirled in her chest, her heart rising with wrath. So this is how it's going to be? She thought bitterly. Blaming me? After everything I've done for him? Tamara hesitated, her eyes searching Henry for the truth. And you just let her? How do I know you're not using me too? Henry sought for her hand, desperation creeping into his voice. Tamara, I swear, it's not like that. You're different. You mean something to me. Tamara snatched her hand back, uncertainty clouding her eyes. "I'm not sure what to believe anymore." A tight silence hovered between them, broken only as Henry moved to a shelf, collecting a little bottle of dark liquid. He walked back to her, holding it out. "Here," he replied gently, it's from my livestock. Drink this. You'll feel better. Tamara hesitated, glancing at the vial. Her lips parted as she met his gaze again. Why are you doing this? If I'm just another pawn, why aid me? Henry looked down, a mix of melancholy and honesty in his gaze. Because I care, Tamara. More than I probably should. Outside, Deborah's breath hitched. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears. Care? She had heard enough. Brimming with betrayal and rage, she warily backed away, her thoughts seething with revenge.
From that day forward, Deborah's attitude toward Henry worsened. No more warm grins, no more laughing exchanged between brothers. She scarcely knew him now, her every glance icy and distant. Yet Henry didn't view it as a threat. He brushed off her antics as just a phase, assuming his sister would ultimately come around. Little did he know, Deborah had already begun conniving in the shadows. Deborah's voice dripped with malice as she spoke to the housekeepers one evening. Do you believe Henry cares about you? You're nothing to him. Just tools to do his bidding. But with the power you have today. She hesitated, a wicked sneer twisting her lips. You can be more than that. You can be dominant and untouchable. We're vampires now stronger than any human. Why should we serve them? The housemaids exchanged apprehensive glances, but Deborah's words slithered into their skulls like poison. She could see the glint of uncertainty in their eyes, and she pressed on, her voice low and persuasive. Think about it. You have the strength, the speed. You can command terror and respect. Humans are nothing compared to us. But if you stand by Henry's side, you'll always be under him. Take control. Embrace your power. The male servants, particularly seduced by Deborah's frightening magnetism, began to nod in accord. One of them, a towering man named Isaac, spoke out. What do you want us to do, Miss Deborah? Deborah's smile grew with a glimmer of joy in her eyes. First, I want you to show mankind what genuine power looks like. Go out, bring them to us, and we'll turn them. But remember, we don't waste those with strong blood; they're valuable. Bite just enough to transform them—not to kill them, but the weak ones. She waved her hand dismissively. "Feast on them until there's nothing left." Isaac exchanged a glance with the others. And Henry? He asked, his voice wary. Deborah's eyes darkened. Henry doesn't need to know. He's soft. He thinks he can live quietly with them. But this world belongs to us today. Later that night, the male servants dressed themselves in exquisite clothes from Henry's collection, looking every bit like the wealthy men of the night. They selected cars from the garage that were sleek and elegant, perfect for enticing naïve women into their trap. As midnight arrived, they went off into the city, cruising the streets with a predatory glimmer in their eyes. When they returned, their victims—young, gorgeous women—were barely conscious. Deborah was waiting for them, her lips curving in delight. Well done. Now, let's see who it is. One of the males, Samuel, leaned in and bit into the neck of the first woman, his eyes flashing crimson as he tasted her blood. He hesitated, his expression displaying dismay. "Weak," he muttered, and without hesitation, the rest of them descended on her, draining her lifeless within minutes. The next victim, however, was different. As Isaac bit into her, he froze, his eyes shining. Strong blood, he muttered, pushing back. "She'll turn." Deborah watched with glee as the woman's body convulsed, her eyes darting wide, now blood-red. "Welcome," Deborah said, her voice filled with malicious triumph. "You belong to us now."