The blade of the box cutter jutted in and out of its slit with every nudge I gave with my thumb which was set firmly against its clasp.

In and out, in and out.

Irene stared at me from across the room, her dark pupils shrouded by the darkness of the night.

“You know what to do,” she said.

The plan, true to her word, was simple enough to follow. I was to be the bait, fresh blood for the wandering, starving Matriarch. I was to be abducted by her, held captive with no way of escape, to willingly let myself be feasted on while I placed all my hopes on Irene to come save me. Because, as Irene had put it…

“Vampires are at their most vulnerable when they eat. That’s when I’ll show up.”

So, one thing would lead to another, Irene will show up, do some demonic succubus-thing that will hopefully immobilize the Matriarchs. Of course, I’m just summarizing here, I’m sure the actual details are a bit more intricate… if only she wasn’t so vague about it.

As I went to draw the curtains close, I had a thought.

“There’s two of them.”

Of course, there was really no way of sugar-coating what that meant for me, not that Irene even bothered to anyway.

“Looks like they’ll be sharing then,” she said, looking at me with a strained expression.

There was no backing out for me, especially not when we had come this far already. One Matriarch, two Matriarchs… either way, my blood will be drunk upon. Didn’t matter if it were from two fangs or four.

Moonlight shone from the fabric of the blindings, and the clock hanging on the wall struck eight. It was nearly time to start. Yet there were still more questions I needed to ask.

“Two Matriarchs,” I said, leaving the box cutter’s blade unsheathed. “Which one of the two will be coming to pick me up?”

A bandaged hand, a slight limp as she walked, and the small wince of pain with every movement, things I couldn’t help but notice as Irene paced about.

“For your sake,” she said, holding her injured hand with her other palm. “Pray that it is not the frenzied.”

“And if it is?”

“I’ll protect you.”

How she looked at me then, the way her eyes glimmered with certainty, how her words rang out at me with a certain kind of resolve to them. For a moment, I thought of Ash, about how she had made that very same proclamation to me and what soon ended up happening to her following that statement.

After everything that has happened, I found that I didn’t like that sentence very much.

I readied the blade over the palm of my hand and stared directly at Irene.

“Whatever ends up happening,” I muttered, breathing in deep. “Remember, don’t kill yourself over me.”

In the silence that followed, I felt the tip of the blade touch my skin, felt my hand clutch the box cutter as tight as it could, afterwards, well… I didn’t even remember pressing the knife down, didn’t even remember how deep it plunged into my skin.

One moment, there was nothing, then the next, a searing pain was spreading across my entire palm, a tingling sensation from the narrow gash in the middle of it all. Blood started to trickle out and around my palm before dribbling down my wrist and spilling onto the floor in sporadic drips.

“Hypocrite,” Irene said, shaking her head with a sigh, and before I could even say anything, she had already moved on to giving me instructions. “Do a lap. Cover every inch with your blood, the bed too, make sure she’ll be able to smell it.”

My palm felt like it was on fire, the way the warm blood oozed out like liquid flames, coating my hand and arm like thick sludge. It was a strange, painful feeling. But I didn’t have the time nor the luxury to moan about some small stupid cut on my hand, I went around without question with the deep tinge of dark red.

Irene stood in the middle of the room, a silent watchful gaze over every corner I’ve ventured. So rigid, so quiet… her way of stifling her unease, I suppose.

“You nervous?” I asked her.

“No,” she said at once.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

One word answers. That wasn't like her. Yeah, she’s nervous.

One lap down. Apparently it wasn’t even close to enough, she gestured at me to go for another round. Of course, I complied, squeezing as much blood out of the wound as possible, bearing the prickling pain under a sharp hiss of breath.

“One other thing,” I said, smearing a wall to the side with red. “How do I know when I’ve been taken?

I heard footsteps from right behind me, it sounded like she started to pace about again, it seems to be sort of a tick for when she’s feeling uneasy.

“You’ll know,” she said. “There will be signs - random signs - any could occur. You’ll start feeling sleepy maybe, memory loss perhaps, some start to lose all sense of logic and time, others experience hallucinations. In your case, however, a Matriarch might…”

Her voice trailed away, and the footsteps stopped.

“Irene?”

There, I froze, in the middle of tainting the bedside table, calling out her name only to be met by a deathly discomforting quiet. Fearing the worst, I turned my eyes to the room and saw nothing but an empty space where Irene last stood.

Not good.

I felt fear form as a swelling lump on my throat, gradually mounting for every second I was alone in the room. Surrounding me was darkness and blood as I made my way to the center, searching desperately for a sense of rationality yet ultimately finding none.

What was it… what did she say would happen? Drowsiness, slight amnesia, loss of time and logic, hallucinations… Irene never got to finish, what was the last?

“Terestra?”

There was a cold chill that ran down my spine at the mention of that name. Spoken, in a voice that sounded so wistful and dreamlike. Uttered, with a voice that I didn’t recognize.

“Terestra?”

A voice that was just right behind me.

Turning around, I was met by a pair of misty, clouded eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. On the bed sat a woman with a slender frame, her skin paler than a sheet of white paper, with long flowing hair a tainted murky grey.

The pure whiteness of her eyes distracted me from the most distinct feature about her appearance - the sharp fangs that protruded out at each corner of her lips.

The Matriarch… there she was… sitting on the bed across from me.

“Why aren’t you... answering me?” The Matriarch asked.

She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t sad, she wasn’t anything. There was no emotion behind her words at all. Even if I wanted to answer her, I couldn’t. Her sudden appearance left me too much at a loss for words, I could barely even breathe.

Silence wasn’t the answer she was expecting to get from me. She stood up, barefeet, and slowly walked towards me, her every step almost ethereal and light.

“Terestra,” she whispered, while lightly caressing her fingertips on my cheek. “Yet… no… you can’t be. Are you?”

I finally found my voice.

“I’m not Terestra,” I said.

“Not… Terestra?”

She withdrew her hand away.

“Lying?”

She stared, her eyes looking back at mine, but it was if she was staring through me. The way she spoke her words, seemingly addressed to me but at the same as if she was talking to someone else.

“Not lying…” I told her.

“No.”

Teetering and swaying as she drew away from me, her expression lost and confused. Never have I seen a more dream-like demeanor in a person. For how she acted and moved… she could have been sleepwalking for all I knew.

“Sister… said to me…” The Matriarch voice echoed in a quiet drawled tone. “Sister said… Terestra was here. Sister never… lies.”

Sister? Two Matriarchs… siblings. That explains it. And what’s this about Terestra? Was she actually here? Why is she mistaking me for her?

“Who are you, exactly?” I asked.

“No…” she lowered her gaze. “I speak… only to Terestra… and… sister.”

Her speech was gradually becoming slurred. She just looked so out of it and feeble… was she the frenzied one?

I took a second to glance elsewhere and the very second I did, I discovered no walls, no carpets, no roof - no room. Everything had faded in an instant in a swirl of a black inky void.

We were standing in an abyss of nothingness. How was that possible? None of us moved an inch, yet the motel room was practically nonexistent.

The impulse of panic surged through me.

“Where am I?”

She didn’t answer.

“Where did you take me?”

Silence again.

Creeping away, with her hands huddled to her chin, avoiding all eye contact while muttering something just out of audibility.

I took a step closer. “What are you trying to say?”

“Hungry…” The word left her lips, and I froze immediately. “I eat… don’t want to eat… so hungry. Blood… need blood… need… Terestra.”

Fingers trembling, head twitching, small rapid movements entwined with deep heavy breaths.

“Don’t want… blood…”

Couldn’t back away, couldn’t escape, the blackness that shrouded us was almost suffocating.

I steadied my voice, trying my absolute hardest to maintain any semblance of calm. The bizarre and erratic behaviour of the Matriarch made it hard to tell what she was going to do.

Anything could set her off. Movement could, running could… I had to stay… so stay I did.

“What…” Big breath. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t want… to eat,” she repeated.

I gulped. “Eat what? What do you not want to eat?”

Her eyes stared back at me again and for the first time I saw a sliver of emotion swirling within them… a flicker in her brow, a strain in her stare… I was seeing fear.

“Don’t want… to eat you,” she said.