Victor doted on me all morning, asking gentle questions about my life before Belmore, and I returned the favor. He told me about his birth parents—how he barely remembered them—and how he had raised Miriam and Henry himself after their parents died in the Holocaust.
We sat on the front lawn while he spoke, his hand tracing lazy shapes along my hairline. I refused to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds, pretending to pick at my nails or watch a strange, skeletal cloud drifting overhead. He didn't seem to mind. Whenever I wandered too far in thought, he'd tap the tip of my nose.
"Why do you keep drifting away?" he asked, amused.
"I'm not used to men worshiping the ground I walk on. Forgive me if I'm still a bit shy."
Victor laughed, but it didn't shake the strangeness of lying there with him, like we were just two ordinary people. In truth, I was rotting from the inside out. The thing inside me—the hunger—gnawed at the edges of my sanity. Always pulsing. Always waiting.
By nightfall, we stood at the front door. I carried a brand-new cream-colored suitcase—a wedding gift from Victor. "I believe that's everything," he said, surveying the manor. "All the lights are extinguished, the doors locked."
Belmore loomed dark and silent behind us as we drove away, its secrets shrinking in the rearview mirror. We stopped in town, pulling up in front of the same dusty gray church I had visited weeks ago.
"I have some business to attend to," Victor said, his voice unreadable.
A crowd of people stood waiting outside the church—hundreds of them, all with their eyes downcast. No one spoke as we passed. Not a single child cried, though many women held them tightly.
We walked up the aisle side by side. Victor took the podium, his presence heavy and absolute. I stood just behind him, my skin prickling.
"The legacy of Belmore lives on," Victor began, his voice deep and commanding. "And prosperity will return to these lands. But I've heard whispers. Some of you doubt me. Some of you have placed your faith elsewhere. You think me incapable of restoring Belmore to glory."
His voice hardened, his eyes going near-black. Heat rolled off him in waves.
"I ask you now: point out the sinners. Let them feel the weight of their betrayal."
At first, no one moved. Then, slowly, trembling hands began rising—pointing to others in the crowd. One by one, people were named. "Sinner," they whispered. "Sinner."
Victor smiled. A cruel, almost delighted smile.
Several men stepped forward to seize the accused, dragging them onto the stage. They cried, pleaded—some collapsed to their knees with clasped hands.
"My children," Victor said, almost tenderly. "What do you say to the allegations your brethren have brought against you?"
The accused said nothing, exchanging desperate looks. Finally, an older man with a thick mustache broke from the group.
"We are not sinners!" he shouted. "We are people—tired of our master's 'gifts' tearing us apart!"
A collective gasp rippled through the church.
The man turned and spat at Victor's feet. "I revoke you in the name of our Lord. Our Father God."
Victor gave a small nod.
And then they burned.
Fire erupted around the accused, engulfing them in seconds. Their screams were short-lived. The heat hit me like a wave, singeing the air in my lungs. When it was over, only piles of scorched flesh and charred fabric remained.
I stared in horror. Fire—summoned from nothing.
Victor's voice rang out once more. "Now that the serious matters are addressed, I encourage you all to prepare yourselves. Riches are coming."
Silence hung like ash in the air. Then, all at once, the congregation lifted their heads.
"Blessed be Belmore," they chanted in one voice. "Bound unto you, Lord Princeps Tenebrarum."
And that was it. They filed out as though nothing had happened—smiling, even joyful.
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Someone would miss those people, wouldn't they?
Victor wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked back to the car. I didn't protest. What could I say to make any of it feel okay?
The scent of burnt flesh followed us all the way to the jet.
Two stunning flight attendants greeted us onboard. Unlike the villagers, they weren't afraid of Victor. They offered him champagne, a massage. Their eyes skimmed over me like I was barely there—until Victor spoke on my behalf.
We retreated to the back of the plane, into a private suite lined with velvet and gold. I heard them giggling behind the curtain, whispering about my hair, about Victor.
Then the voice came again.
I flinched. The words were so clear I looked around, certain someone had spoken aloud.
"No," I whispered, pressing my hands to my ears.
The voice was firmer now. Older. Colder.
I shut my eyes, trying to anchor myself. When I opened them, I was standing over the bodies.
Blood soaked the walls. Their heads were severed, limbs scattered like discarded toys. And for the first time in hours, the hunger inside me was silent.
A moan escaped my throat. I stumbled backward, hands slick with blood. Victor appeared behind me, calm as ever.
"You'll learn to control it," he said gently. "The hunger won't always dominate you."
He crouched beside me and peeled my hands away from my face. "Don't be ashamed, Ayana. We all go through the change."
I wanted to scream at him. Demand he undo whatever curse he had placed on me. But the words wouldn't come.
He sent me to clean up, then tucked me into bed like I was a child.
Yes, they'd been cruel. Dismissive. But they were people.
And now they were dead—because of me.
Sleep didn't come. I sat upright in bed, watching the endless stretch of navy sky beyond the window. The hunger was gone. But something worse had taken its place.
Guilt.