'Didn't I talk to the DJ about that infernal mix?' Therese glared at the glass of blueblood grade elixir Vandal had just poured. The bass from the mix caused the contence of her glass to vibrate.

"Will that be all for the Queen Bit-, My Lady?" Vandal, the demented Phlebotomist asked. He was still kneeling before her, her heeled foot rest on his blue scrubbed shoulder.

"Yes, thank you, cretin."

"Your insults are nothing but loving words to me. Payment is in order?"

"Low, vulgar thing you are. My vitea shouldn't be wasted on you. Still, you are a valuable asset."

She unbuttoned the cuff of her sleeve. The tan fabric was bunched up and pushed up to her elbow. The blue arteries were visible under the marble white, undead flesh of her wrist. She could remember when her wrist was warm and pink as the kine dancing down stairs are.

Therese bit her wrist, vitea leaked slowly from the twin puncture wounds. She offered her torn flesh to the ghoul at her feet. He gripped her wrist with a hunger similar of that of a starved wolf. She kicked him in the chest, sending him backwards.

Vandal crashed into the offices, peeling, and maroon wall. His head smacked the wall and he was sure at least two ribs were broken. He gripped his chest and released a slew of profanity. He slowly got to his feet. Maroon pain chips clung to his hair and scrubs.

"If you were not my ghoul, that kick would have killed you." Therese said, looking into her wine glass of blood.

She swirled the contence like she was aerating a pricey glass of merlot. It was starting to clot. She sniffed the glass. The protein rich life fluid thrilled her but yet mad her stomach churn with disgust. She remembered when she was Embraced by her Sire. After being drained to death, she was forced to suck vitea form her Sire's wrist. One undead, she promised herself she would never drink 'from the tap'. She drained the glass and set it on her desk.

Therese looked at the wrist she bit. Just scabbed pin holes took residence on her skin. She opened a drawer and took out a gold knife she had crafted when she took Vandal as a ghoul. She studied the knife. It was nine inches long: four inches for the hilt and handle, 5'' for the blade. She had 'Therese Voerman' etched in a fine, feminine script.

She pushed back her pc's keyboard and put the stained glass in its place. She straightened her back in her swivel leather chair. No Ventrue, such as herself shall ever be caught 'slouching'. She positioned her wrist over the crystal glass. She placed her blade over her blue-green ulnar artery. She closed her eyes when she made the quick, clean incision. Cold crimson trickled slowly and thickly in the expensive glass.

She filled the glass until her wound healed. There was only a swallow. She aerated the glass again. Vitea thickly coated the bowl. She looked over to Vandal, he was still holding his ribs and a riverette of blood came from somewhere in his hairline. He has his usual 'mad man' smirk. She knew he was hurting, but she was also aware that he enjoyed pain inflected on him by a woman. She knew about the prostitute that he had travel from downtown to Santa Monica and his shopping list of pliers, wire and nylon rope. Hannah, she believed her name was.

Vandal wasn't always the masochistic, cracked phlebotomist lackey. When she first found him, he was clean cut and proper. A star student at Stanford Medical with dreams and high hopes. Perfection. Valuable. Would have made a beautiful Ventrue like herself.

Therese recalled the thrill she got when she was first stalking him. Following him around Palo Alto, hiding in the shadows. The swear dripping down his neck, the alcerated heart rate, looking over his shoulder every time he walked from the dorms to the main campus. The hunter-prey relationship made her cold heart beat again. She would peek at him when he was alone, curl up like a scared rabbit on his bed, weeping and praying.

He stopped eating, he missed classes and stopped sleeping. He was weak and excitable. Dark bags circled his blue eyes like the crude eye shadow her sister, Janette wore. After stalking him for a few months, she snuck into his dorm. He pulled a knife on her that he kept under his mattress. His hand was shaking and he threatened her with harm is she stepped any closer. He fainted from shock when she easily disarmed him.

She called for a cab. She placed him in the backseat and climbed in as lady-like as possible. Another kindred like herself was in the driver's seat. The dominance and power he was imitating filled her with dread. His mirror sunglasses blocked any eye contact. His name tag said his name was Caine. They didn't talk on the ride from the dorms to her rented hotel suite.

She laid him on her bed. He was dying and she knew it. Lack of sleep and nutriance has sunk its nasty talons in him. Therese has yet to ask for permission to sire again. Janette was a failure, but she couldn't be parted from her sister.

She pried open the young and forced her vitea down his throat. Color was starting to return to his face and his heart was keeping a regular pattern. He was safe for now.

Therese shook her head of the memories. That was twenty years ago. He changed his name to Vandal just weeks after his second sip of her blood. Like all ghouls in the service on kindred, he stopped aging. He was stronger than the average human and had a rapid healing rate, durable.

Vandal was hungrily staring a hole through her. She handed him the glass with a look of disappointment and disgust. He drained it and licked the bowl of the glass to collect as much vitea as possible.

"Leave. Now." She snarled.

"What's wrong? Queen Bitch doesn't care for pillow talk?" He smirked in that cocky way that she was sure Janette taught him.

She was Ventrue and yet she somehow sired that mad, painted, harlot Malkavian. She assumed her bloodline was weak. She tried to keep her Childe and her Ghoul apart. Janette must have slipped him her vitea. Ruined him. Tainted him.

"I said leave. I will not see you out." She spun away from him and turned on her dated pc.

She listened to the scuffling of his worn skater sneakers. She lifted her eyes from her booting screen. He still had the wine glass in his hand. He placed it into the red ice chest that he transported blood packs to his master. He slipped on his old windbreaker.

"Call it cobweb madness, but you and Janette have more in common than you would like to believe. " He kept a relaxed stride to the office's wooden door. "Daughter of Janus."

She slammed her hand on her desk. "I will not be spoken to in such a manner!" Therese screamed after him. Vandal paid her no mind. He was gone.

She screamed. Her hands gripped the sides of her head. Her furious fingers tore out her tight, blonde bun. She flung herself down into her revolving chair. She jerked the black, square framed glasses from her face and pinched the bridge of her nose.

In life, no, when she and Janette had just entered their teen years, she would take off her glasses and pinch the bridge of her nose and try to ignore their father 'disciplining' Janette for sneaking out at night or being caught in the backseat of an older boy's car. A migraine would soon follow. Her head would feel like it was being ripped in half.

She still anticipated the migraines, but they never came back. She slowed her breathing to an easy pace. She put back on her glasses and gazed at the monumental oil painting she had commissioned. She studied her father's hard gaze and the innocent, white dresses that she and her sister were wearing.

"Sister" Therese heard Janette's mocking voice. "Beloved sister?"

"Shut up" She hissed.

"But Therese, I love you."

"Shut up! Shut up!"

She stood up and placed her glasses on her oak desk. She kicked off her expensive Prada pumps that matched her blazer and skirt. She undressed and folded her business suit, bra, panties and panty hose and placed them on her desk.

She slipped into the office's full bath. She filled the Jacuzzi tub with hot water and added her favorite, sandalwood scented bubble bath into the rushing water. She thought back to her childhood. When her father was done with Janette, Therese would run a hot bubble bath for her sister's beaten body.

Janette would still be whimpering in pain as Therese was placed a hot, warm washcloth on her swollen cheek. Therese had snuck a morphine pill from her father's medicine cabinet. She would poke it into her twin's mouth and have her chew it.

After her opened cuts had clotted and the swelling was done on her face, she would leave to find her a clean night gown. At this point Janette would cling to her wrist and beg her to not leave her alone. After some coaxing and the effects of the morphine, she would allow her to leave for a moment. Only one moment.