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The promised dreams, dangled like a carrot.

“We cultivated her,” Dmitri corrects. “Prepared her. And when the time was right, we brought her to the fold.” He pauses, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Or rather, you did.”

The words hit me like a slap across the face.

“What?”

“January 9th. The Biltmore Hotel. Elizabeth was waiting in the lobby for her contact—a man who would introduce her to people who would change her life.” Dmitri watches my face carefully. “You approached her, Victor. In your vampire state, under my control. You brought her to us. You.”

“No,” I whisper, but even as I deny it, images flash through my mind—fragments of memory I can’t place, can’t contextualize. Watching a woman in black sitting alone in an opulent lobby, waiting anxiously. The resigned look on her face when she stepped out the main doors and saw me. The smell of her fear as she realized something was wrong.

“For three days, we prepared her for the ritual. The carved symbols, the careful positioning—everything must be precisefor the gateway to open.” Dmitri’s voice takes on a lecturer’s cadence, dispassionate and clinical. “And when the time came for the final act, you were there again. To complete the cycle. To drain her of the last of her blood.”

“Stop,” I plead, but he continues relentlessly.

“You drank deeply that night, Victor. Your first true feeding. The beginning of your awakening.”

The taste of copper fills my mouth as the memory crashes through the walls I’ve built around it—Elizabeth Short’s lifeless body, her slashed mouth, the slices and burns across her skin, the hot rush of blood. And me, drinking until full, my humanity receding with each swallow.

“No,” I say again, but the denial is hollow. I know it’s true. Can feel the truth of it resonating in my bones, in my blood.

I killed Elizabeth Short.

I drained her blood and consumed it. I am the monster I’ve been hunting all along.

“Of course, we didn’t know Virginia West would hire you to track the killer. I have to say it added a whole new element to our experiment. You were looking for him without even an inkling that you were looking for yourself. But then you started to pull the wrong threads, got mixed up with Cohen and his boys and his boys’ woman. What a tangled web you weaved for yourself, Victor.”

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes—tears of rage, of grief, of self-loathing. “Why are you telling me this?” I demand, voice breaking.

“Because you need to understand what you are.” Dmitri places his hand on my shoulder, the gesture almost comforting despite the horror of his words. “Your vampire self knows. Accepts. Embraces its true nature. It’s only your human consciousness that resists, that clings to outdated morality and weakness.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your vampire self knows me as father. Takes comfort in that knowledge. Obeys without question or hesitation. Not like Marco.”

Marco?I think. He can’t mean Marco Russo. Iknowhe’s dead. I’d almost be happy if he wasn’t.

“Doesn’t it feel good to have a father?” he adds.

The restraints suddenly feel too tight, the room too small. I struggle to breathe as the full weight of Dmitri’s revelations crashes down on me. I am Dmitri’s son. I helped murder Elizabeth Short.

I’mthe monster in this story, not its hero.

And Lena…sweet god, Lena. How could she ever look at me again if she knew the truth? How could she ever touch me, trust me, love me after what I’ve done?

What I am.

“She’ll never forgive me,” I whisper, not realizing I've spoken aloud until Dmitri responds.

“The Reid woman?” He waves a dismissive hand. “She doesn’t need to. Soon she’ll be the final sacrifice, the key that opens the gateway to Skarde. Her forgiveness or lack thereof will be irrelevant.”

Something shifts inside me at his casual dismissal of Lena’s life. A rage different from what I’ve felt before—not the mindless fury of my vampire side emerging, but something colder, more focused.

A clarity born of absolute certainty.

I may be Dmitri’s son by blood, but I am not him. I am not defined by my heritage, by the monster lurking in my veins. I am defined by my choices, and I choose to protect Lena. To stop the Ivanovs. To be worthy of the trust she’s placed in me, even if she never knows the full truth of what I’ve done.

But to do that, I need to escape. And to escape, I need to convince Dmitri that he’s won. That my vampire side has taken control.

I close my eyes, focusing on the rage simmering beneath my skin. I think of Elizabeth Short, of what I did to her under Dmitri’s control. Of Catherine, murdered to further his plans. Of Lena, marked for death to satisfy his mad ambition.