A few guaranteed him that there was such an entry. Paulina met his eyes and gestured. She appeared to be less scared of him now, her dread supplanted by a restless interest. “Great. Lead me there, and I will remunerate you. Else”— he shut a hand all over, his palm covering the mouth, the thumb and fingers grasping the sides of the jaw—”else, you have no expectation at all and just this for an award.” He started to crush Vlad’s head, step by step expanding the pressing factor, meanwhile gazing at him, attempting to test to the focal point of the man’s little rodent soul, wanting to add a liberal serving of embarrassment to his misery. Vlad endeavored to indulgence himself away. He kicked, ripped at, his heels battered the stones, his screeches quieted by Beheim’s palm. His eyes augmented, and before long slender blood red edges started to show around the whites. His whole body was bursting at the seams with vibration. “Does it hurt?” Beheim asked in a tone of false concern. “I envision that it should.” Vlad’s arms thrashed. An ear-splitting keening spilled out from the stifle of Beheim’s hand. With a break like a gun fired, his jawbone broke. His eyelids slid down, and he seemed to pass out. Beheim kept on crushing. Initial one eyelid started to swell, then, at that point the other. They were by and large leisurely constrained open by the distending globes of the actual eyes. He gave Vlad a light slap to resuscitate him and afterward covered his mouth once more. Vlad’s neck swelled with a held back shout. A cheekbone broke, his appendages shivered. Swelling bows of white became apparent underneath the tops. His face felt like a sack of broken tiles, and when finally Beheim dropped him to the floor, he stayed there like an extraordinary child with his legs spread, his arms outstretched, his head rolling, and his breath making a breezy, yelling clamor in his throat. “There,” Beheim said, clearing drool and blood off of his hand. “I have been forgiving. Live in the event that you can.” Vlad overturned onto his side, weakly grabbing for buy on the stones. His eyes were open at this point. Red-rimmed, releasing ridiculous tears, they swell like hard-bubbled eggs from their attachments; his eyelids were extended across the upper segments of the globes. Based on the manner in which he tested for the edges of the stones, Beheim accepted that he should be visually impaired. He turned his look to different survivors, who were wincing back against the divider. Just Paulina had prevailed with regards to keeping up with her balance. “Take the attire of your dead,” he advised them. “Attack strips and make ropes. Lash yourselves together. I will hold the finish of the rope, and you will stroll close by me into the palace. At the point when I have won through to the Patriarch, I will compensate you. Is that reasonable?” They mumbled their consent and set about doing as he had trained while he kept an eye on Giselle. She didn’t react to his ministrations, and he became stressed that the maltreatment she had endured and the medications they had given her strength have an aggregately mortal impact. He would stand by a short time longer, he chose. On the off chance that she didn’t improve, he would do what he should. “Paulina!” He allured to the light young lady, driven her toward the entryway and out into the passageway, leaving the entryway slightly open so he could keep watch on the others. He stood Paulina against the divider and, staying away, examined her once more. There was some quality about her, a perfect erotic nature, and he imagined that this was what had at first propelled his desire. That, and her blood, with its exciting, sharp bouquet. Not really convincing as the Golden’s blood. A less refined vintage, yet a valued one regardless. “Have you never served one of the Family?” he inquired. “No, my master.” “Then, at that point how could you come here?” “I was brought into the world in the palace, ruler.” “Here… in this low spot?” “Indeed, master. Similar to my mom and father. What’s more, their folks before them. In excess of twenty ages of my family have lived in Castle Banat.” This reality drew in Beheim’s interest, however he had neither the time nor the tendency to scrutinize her about it further. “I would have you serve me, Paulina. Do you get what this involves?” “I do, my master.” “And would you enter my administration?” She gave no answer. Strain displayed in the arrangement of her shoulders and her neck; a portion of the shading had depleted from her cheeks. “Is it true that you are apprehensive?”