Zeke couldn’t believe he’d finally caught her.

For over a decade, he'd tracked blood-soaked trails, hunting vampires, but Seraphina always slipped through his grasp—until now. The satisfaction of each kill never dulled his vengeance for long. She was clever, a wraith always a step ahead. But word had come—she’d grown careless, her killings clustered too close. He’d tracked her progeny down, a creature masquerading as a baker’s apprentice, a mockery of her twisted legacy.

The irony tasted bitter. His father had been a baker, stolen by Seraphina long ago. Paranoia gnawed at him—was this a trap? Yet, when the creature recoiled from the holy water, Zeke knew it was real. Now, he had them—chained, helpless, in the dark.

Sitting in the corner, three glasses of whiskey deep, Zeke felt the bittersweet rush of revenge. The crucifixes, the iron bars, the chains—they were all part of the sweet agony of his victory. As the creature stirred, Zeke rose, boots thudding on the floor, his voice rough as gravel.

“You know why you're here?”