Viorica watched Angel’s internal turmoil with unimpressed eyes as she continued to sip on the blood. The crimson liquid had drenched her golden dress, but Viorica didn’t mind. She never wore an impressive dress more than once; it always took away the effect if she did.

“All of you are so morbid.” She drawled, crossing her legs and flipping her red mane from her shoulder. “This isn’t fresh. I pilfered it from newly dead corpses in the morgue at the nearest hospital. So, if someone would get that Angel girl and tell her to stop her dramatics that would be great.”

“Now, down to business. It doesn’t matter how you were turned, not really. It wasn’t by me, either way.” Viorica snuck a smug glance at Mithias before returning to the table. “I understand you don’t have your memory; it will come back, eventually. Now, I was gracious enough to bring you into my home and if you don’t wish to be here, I’m sure Mithias will jump at the chance to show you to the door. But I should warn you that once you leave, you leave the only opportunity you have to learn to control your thirst for blood. Not to mention there are plenty of skills I could teach you.”