“I was, master. Exceptionally apprehensive. Be that as it may, presently… ” She brought down her eyes. “Presently I’m not really apprehensive as I was.” He connected and lifted her jaw, fixed her with a gaze. The line of her mouth lost its immovability, and her eyes enlarged; he saw reflected in them an orange wash of torchlight focused by a haziness that he perceived to act naturally. “Respond to me, Paulina,” he said. “Answer me now. I can’t allow you a long consideration.” “I would serve you,” she said in a floundering voice; she looked at the entryway, at Giselle, who lay as though dozing. “In any case, my master as of now has a worker.” “Most likely two are allowed,” he said, interested. However in his heart he saw how realistic a demonstration this careless enticement was. Should Giselle neglect to recuperate, should he present her to judgment and she fizzle at that too, he would have to supplant her. Another treachery. Not really bare a one as his captivation by Alexandra, however a more significant one, maybe, in that he was minimizing Giselle’s situation, planning to manage without her. Seriously dooming, as well, in what it told about the profundity of his affections for her. With the tip of an index finger he followed the blue vein in the empty of Paulina’s neck. Her eyelids hung, and she influenced somewhat, as though debilitated by his touch. “Respond to me, Paulina,” he said. Her answer, a murmured attestation, appeared to come from a spot profound inside her, a spot wherein she was astonished and stupefied, freed from all dread and restraint. He ventured to the entryway. The others gazed upward from their terrible work, faces eager. He didn’t talk, just asked them to alert with a gaze. Finally he pulled the entryway shut, shutting them in, and returned to Paulina, who had not moved. He touched her cheek, her hair, then, at that point slipped her robe from her shoulders. Her bosoms were tipped with puerile, blushing pink areola. They appeared unrealistically enormous, massively excellent. White creatures with delicate, gesturing lives of their own. He lifted one, testing its weight, and felt a flood of enthusiasm in his crotch. However his contemplations didn’t zero in completely on Paulina; they floated back to recollections of Alexandra, her more modest, firmer bosoms, her practically wild zest. That irritated him. He would not like to harp on her besides as a suspect, and to oust her from his musings, he twisted to Paulina, breathing in the musk of her white skin and the pleasantness of the waterway moving through the slender blue direct in her neck. He snuggled a spot, dampening it with the synthetic compounds of delight. His hands clasped her midriff. At the point when he drove his teeth into her, the tissue giving way as promptly as might a piece of stopper to a steel needle, she strained and let out a wronged heave; however at that point her head lolled aside, permitting him better access. Her blood hurried forward as though it were anxious to be plastered, and he was bewildered by the intricacy of its flavor. It was effectively the most superb blood he had at any point tasted. Rich with embodiment. Unusual shapes preceded his internal eye, shapes that accepted shading and extent, and to his huge shock, he started to have a remarkable feeling of Paulina’s set of experiences. He appeared to see her in a dim room of residue covered stone with a few other fair kids—her siblings and sisters, maybe—and somebody was watching, consistently somebody in the obscurity, watching and hanging tight for something. There were different pictures, a surge of, all passing excessively fast to enroll, snapshots of affection and dread and contemplative isolation, all weighted with that equivalent severe sensation of being watched, and at the core of these impressions was an implication of her temperament, her spirit, stained by the fierce, debasing society of Banat’s pariahs, yet by one way or another keeping a center of honesty and strength. Then, at that point this inquisitive misgiving of her was cleared away by his assimilation with the flavor of the blood, a dim sweet pleasantness with tart suggestions and an assemblage of wild, enraged life that invigorated a craving of unrivaled earnestness. It took each ounce of his self-restraint to pull back from her, and when he did, in any case dazed from the lavishness, she introduced a lovely sight, with her eyes shut, her straw-hued hair disheveled about her face, making it show up even more sensitive as opposed to this rowdy casing; there was a leakage of blood from the cuts his teeth had made, recording over the upper incline of her right bosom, and this invigorated him once more. In any case, he opposed the impulse to lick her clean and rather focused on the upsetting components of what had occurred. The dreamlike impact of the blood; the picture of the light kids. He reviewed what Vlad had said: “I can give you blood that will—” That will what?