- XLIII -

Semira stared at the door closing behind the lord of the castle, her eyes wide with both trepidation and excitement. The dark haired beauty had never believed in supernatural creatures, but in the last hours she had been proven wrong twice. First her family had been hunted by monstrous werewolves, and now Viktor's predatory smile had revealed their host's true nature. They were blood-drinkers just like in the old legends.

A shiver ran down Semira's spine, but the sensation wasn't caused only by fear. Viktor's whole appearance, including his demonic aura, had deeply impressed her. Like under a spell, or rather a curse, she felt drawn to him, a burning hunger for his majestic strength awakening deep within her heart. With every moment she had spent in the vampire's presence, Semira had more and more longed to become like him, to partake in this immense power. When Viktor had first spoken to her, she had been sure she had his attention, sure her persuasive smile had caught his eye, but then he had turned to Ilona, virtually devouring her with his gaze, and he had asked all those questions about motherhood and the duties of women.

It was obvious that the warlord had allowed their group to stay at the castle because he was looking for a wife, however, it was likewise obvious that after he had learned their family's history, he would never choose Semira. Viktor wanted his future wife to bear children, and she had given birth only once and probably wouldn't do so ever again.

Semira balled her hands into tight fists, her nails almost drawing blood. Coming to this conclusion, the enthusiasm she had felt before turned into impotent anger. That limitless, supernatural power had been within her grasp for only the shortest of moments, the thought of escaping her dissatisfying existence as a wife and mother raising her heart to heavenly heights, before fate struck her again, throwing her back into the depths of the hellhole she called her life.

Breathing heavily, Semira threw a rancorous glare at her hideous husband and pitiable son before smashing the door and leaving for the dining hall.

Viktor sat in a chair by the fire, cradling a goblet of bull's blood in his hand and considering this evening's conversation with the mortals. The man and the boy were negligible scapegraces he would get rid of as soon as possible, but the two women really were worth a thought.

On impulse, he would have chosen Semira. She was beautiful, strong and smart, and she knew how to present her qualities. She would make a perfect lover, just like Amelia. However, Viktor wasn't looking for a lover, he was looking for the mother of his child, and Semira seemed to be many things, but certainly not a good mother. Regardless of the fact that she was unlikely to become pregnant again, she didn't treat her only son like a caring parent should.

Ilona was quite different. Not as stunningly beautiful as her sister-in-law, but still pretty. She was tending to the boy like to her own child and – most important – Ilona was obedient. The girl would definitely never make a scene the way Amelia had done. She would listen to him and fulfil his every wish, like a good wife should.

Taking a sip from the red liquid of animal origin, Viktor smirked maliciously. The warlord had made his decision. He would soon replace that all too familiar dull taste with the pure, exhilarant flavour of virgin blood.

Semira sat with Lajos's men in the dining hall, staring at the full plates of meat that had been served moments ago, but while the others were crunching knuckles and ribs, she could only swallow the bile rising in her throat.

Her husband and Ilona were still in their quarters, talking to Tanis. In her thoughts, Semira thanked the bootlicking scribe for keeping them away from her, for she could not have borne looking Ilona in the eye.

Her sister-in-law, compliance and innocence personified, prepared to become a perfect wife, a perfect mother, the perfect woman. Ilona, the saint! Compared to her, Semira appeared, and would always appear, like the worst person on this earth, a nasty old hag with a corrupted character and a foul soul.

The noblewoman involuntarily dug her nails into the wooden tabletop. How she hated that naive girl! But Semira needed to stay calm. Resorting to violence against Ilona would do herself no good. If it came to light that she had gotten rid of her sister-in-law, Viktor would not marry her instead. He would kill her instantly.

No, the austere beauty needed to prove that she was better suited to become the lord of the castle's wife. It was true, she hadn't become pregnant anymore after giving birth to her useless son, but was it really her own fault? Lajos was by all means not a healthy man, so who said that the infertile part in their marital cohabitation wasn't him? God? Semira grimaced.

She would demonstrate that she was stronger than her husband, in mind and in character as well as physically. In an act of daringness and ruthlessness, she would prove to Viktor that she was a vigorous woman, ready to stand at a warlord's side, to become an immortal blood-drinker, while Ilona would tremble in fear at the thought of it. She would prove that she could burn all the bridges behind her, leaving every bit of her loathsome mortal life behind and secede from her unworthy so-called family to be with the ruler of vampires.

Semira's grip on the table loosened, and as of their own, her fingers closed around the handle of a long carving knife.