Her particular intentions were as yet a secret to him, yet given the bits of gossip concerning her desire, her associations with Felipe and Dolores, given the overall chaos concerning the Family’s conceivable movement toward the East, there was potential rationale in abundance. Considering what he currently knew, Alexandra’s intercession in his examination and in his life was more suspect than any other time, regardless of whether it had come because of a partnership with Agenor. Could she have killed the Golden? It is absurd to question it, Beheim chose. All things considered, who of the Family was not equipped for brutality? From what little experience he had of Alexandra, he would not have thought her inclined to a particularly over the top nature as was confirmed by the disfigured body of the Golden. Yet, what rule did rationale have over the matter, at any rate? He was managing animals whose hearts were distraught, whose qualities were represented by the requirement for sumptuous mercilessness and wild disappointments of the soul. Indeed, even the most sensible among them were contaminated with frenzy, and however he could be sure of nothing, he was enticed to presume that Alexandra was the one he looked for. Had she not pretty much revealed to him that her intercession was absolutely self serving? Everything considered, he saw that her investigation of how he would be controlled by the Family individuals halted barely shy of being an admission. Furthermore, concerning the remainder of their inclusion, who could say what it had implied? Maybe some legitimate feeling had been included, however basically it had been important for a game, maybe a game that he had additionally needed to play. The way that he had permitted himself to become engaged with her at a particularly crucial time may be his very own side effect franticness, an outflow of an oblivious desire to play with death. What should be done, he understood, is test his theory without a moment’s delay. On the off chance that the passings of Felipe and Dolores had not been found—what the chances on that were, he was unable to figure—he could possibly play out a substantial test. In case he were demonstrated right, there may yet be salvation for him. Assuming incorrectly, he would not have long to lament his mistake. “Pay attention to me,” he said to the little gathering of survivors. “For this current man’s foolishness”— he gave Vlad another shake—”some of you have addressed a dear cost. In the event that you want to oppose me, take the lights and come at me now. Be that as it may, in the event that you wish to live past this day, I encourage you to enter my administration. After I have done what I should, I will liberate you.” He examined them a second, watching their responses; whenever he had fulfilled himself that they were totally cowed, he directed his concentration toward Vlad. “Master, I have privileged insights!” Vlad said, wriggling in his grip. “Significant privileged insights. I can give you blood to drink that will—” “The tortures of misery,” said Beheim. “Do you recall that?” He took one of Vlad’s metal teeth among thumb and index finger, and snapped it off, carrying with it a tooth and its grisly root. Vlad wailed, he curved and jolted. Dark red juice streamed down his jaw, matting his facial hair. Beheim held him overtop by the hood of his robe, and after a brief time Vlad hung limp and moaning. Then, at that point Beheim hammered him against the divider, staggering him, and pulled back his head to uncover his throat. The vast majority of the others were watching with what appeared to be reestablished interest. One blood draining, Beheim thought, was without a doubt as attractive as another according to their corrupted perspective. “Think about your spirit,” he said to Vlad, and sank his teeth into the man’s neck. The strong tissues were hesitant to part; Beheim needed to stress at the tissue to enter the vein. His mouth overwhelmed with an unpleasant taste, and when the blood sprayed forward, it was too sweet, the fundamental flavor fouled by a tough hint. He pulled away and spat a red piece into Vlad’s face. “Drink that,” he said, “in the event that you wish to copy your betters.” Still taken with the delight of the chomp, Vlad gazed foggily at the divider. To breath life into him, Beheim snapped off the second metal tooth, and as Vlad squirmed excruciatingly he addressed the others, saying, “I should arrive at Felipe de Valea’s condos unseen. What’s more, from that point onward, the Patriarch’s chamber. Is there a protected entry by which you might lead me? Answer cautiously. I won’t endure double-crossing.”