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Countless gallons of water ran down the drain as the graceful vampire was reduced to nothing more than a sobbing heap. Béatrix’ bloody tears only served to make even more of a mess, would the water ever run clean? She thought about the girl she had murdered when her humanity wasn’t intact… and how many years she had spent running around claiming human lives just the same. No, no amount of cleansing could wash away her sins. 

One with a lesser conscience would simply blame everything on the bloodlust, but the truth is, vampirism had never made Béatrix a monster. Vampirism had given her a second shot at the life that the Black Death would have gladly snuffed out. Francis had saved her and taught her to be a well-mannered, sophisticated vampire - a wife who maintained all the ladylike qualities she’d had as a human. Without Francis, she had spiraled into a cold-hearted murderer, a whore who’d just as soon screw you as she would kill you, preferably in that order. Hell, she’d even tried to pull off a one-night stand with her soul mate…

The wallowing in a self-pity party was to be expected after a humanity shift and, in time, Béatrix stood up and turned off the shower. It was important to repent for one’s sins, but it was even more important for her to catch the next flight to NY. Of all the places in the world, Trixy had the fewest enemies in the States, she would be safest there. Flitting around the old home, Béatrix gathered her things, remembering to go get her phone, which rested plainly on the balcony railing as if nothing had ever happened that day.

Staring out of the plane’s window, Trixy meditated on the [i]real[/i]  reason she was heading back to New York. It wasn’t the job, or the swanky apartment, or even for her own safety. No, it was to get answers. Out of all the awful things that hateful bastard had said and done, nothing stabbed quite as much as those two words: [i]"My son."[/i]  Trixy looked down at the name on her wrist, the same one that the Alpha had been glaring at when he uttered the phrase. She clenched her fists in her lap. If Bartholomew had anything to do with this, or with Francis, so help him… The world did not yet know what kind of monster Béatrix de la Croix could truly be.