When the door opened again, all of the girls froze and watched with anticipation. Irene's heart was pounding, filling her ears with the rush of blood as a man stepped in. She had expected to see one of the red-heads, or Gabriel whom she suspected to be behind all of this. It was neither.

Standing in the doorway was a finely dressed man of average height and build, with brown hair that hung down to his shoulder in loose curls. "Ah mesdemoiselles! Queue up and follow moi." An icy needle wove discord in Irene's stomach. She recognised his voice. It was one of the men who had attacked Cyrus.

The girls all looked at each other, hesitating to move. The man clapped his hands three times while stomping his foot. "Vite vite vite!"

This startled the girls and they shuffled around, brushing against each other and nearly stepping on each other's toes. No one wanted to be first. Irene sighed and took the lead, and the other girls followed. Shuffling forward, each step more difficult than the last, she stepped through a narrow corridor with the other captives hobbling behind her.

Another door was opened in front of them. The first thing that impressed upon Irene was red. It was all just too red. From the patterned red wallpaper along the far wall, to the red lanterns that hung from hooks in the ceiling, making the pale cement floor take on a rosy hue. The next thing to attract Irene's attention, and stop her in her tracks, were the bars that cut through the center of the room.

"Entre! In you go."

Tina, who had taken up the rear, took one look at the cage-like room, and promptly ran in the other direction.

"Tina! Don't!" Irene yelled.

Within the blink of an eye, the man had caught her and lifted her off her feet. The other girls didn't dare move. It didn't stop Tina from kicking and flailing the whole way until she was tossed into the cell. The man cleared his throat and gestured again into the room, his tone acrid and insincere. "Je vous en prie."

Irene and the others filed in. They all stood in a line as the man closed and locked the door behind them.

Moments later there was a loud bang, and a flash of light. Irene raised her hand, eyes squinting from the visual shock as floodlights basked all of them. She heard some whimpers and grumbles from the other girls as they, too, shielded and rubbed their eyes. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw a door on the other side of the bars swing open.

A man with short, slicked back sandy hair stepped in. Irene trembled as he leered at the lot of them, grinning.

“Come in, sire,” the man called. Through that same door entered a familiar figure. Irene's eyes narrowed as she recognised that overbearing swagger and shining blonde locks.

Gabriel. She quickly averted her gaze, staring at the floor and trying to look less conspicuous.

“Are any of these fine ladies the girl you were looking for?”

Gabriel took his time examining each and every quivering girl. Finally he gave a nod.

“The one on the far right." His cold gaze rested on Irene.

"Very good, sire." The slighter man bowed.

Immediately, he entered the cell. The other girls looked alarmed, but just shuffled away from him as he strode over to Irene. She backed away, but he clicked his tongue at her disapprovingly, snatching her arm. In vain she dug her heels into the ground, but it made no difference. She felt as though her arm may come out of her sockets if she resisted any harder. Frantically, she looked at the other girls, desperate for help. They looked horrified, but none of them had an ounce of defiance left in them. Perhaps, and it may have been Irene's imagination, but she thought she saw relief on Ashley's face.

“Got her,” the sandy-haired man said, dragging Irene through the steel cage door.

Gabriel nodded, putting out his hand to seize Irene's chin. “Yes, good work Guy. This is the one who was with Cyrus.” Gabriel flashed a twisted grin. Whispers, like rustling leaves, erupted behind her. “Take the shift off, tell Louis to fill in for you.” He took Irene by the arm and turned to leave.

“But sire…”

Gabriel waved his hand in a dismissive motion at Guy. “Fine, fine, have it your way." Impatience was clear in his tone. "But only one. We have to be careful with the local supply."

Irene heard the barred door creak open as she was being led away. She shuffled into the hallway, again trying to drag her heels. Shivers racked her spine while screams echoed behind her. Shuddering, sickness and disgust oozed into her heart. She heard one of them scream out Ashley's name and another screeching a demand to be let go. Images of what their fates may be flooded into her mind.

Irene was dragged into a room with a receded cement floor, a drain sitting like a dimple on the spattered ground. The cement had dark stains and a fetid yet metallic smell filled her nostrils. She instantly felt sicker.

Without a word or warning, Gabriel grabbed her around the waist and lifted. She tried again to fight, jabbing her elbows at him and trying to kick, but it made no impact. She didn’t stop struggling until she was forced to prostrate herself on the ground. It took Gabriel little time to bind her arms behind her back. Once she was securely restrained he walked over to a small table.

“There isn’t any point in wasting your energy, girl.” Gabriel turned around with a knife in his hand, twirling it effortlessly between his gloved fingers. Terror filled her chest as he approached.

“Get away from me!” Irene commanded in a deep, but shaky voice. Gabriel grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her upright. She scrambled back into a sitting position, and the tall vampire crouched beside her.

“I’ll show you just what you’ve allied yourself with,” he sneered. His breath reeked of decay. Irene tried to pull back, but could not. With nowhere to flee, she firmly banished fear from her face and stared straight into Gabriel's ghastly pale eyes.

“What I allied myself with?”

“Yes.” Gabriel pulled again at the collar of her shirt, slipping it down, exposing her shoulder. His eyes ran all over her form, searching. He pulled the collar the other way, scanning her neck and shoulders. Irene went still, breathing shallow, but rapid breaths. His eyebrows drew together, looking perplexed. Muttering preceded a rough hand snatching Irene's chin. He stared intently at her for a while, before his gaze shifted, seemingly lost in thought.

“Do you know what that man you were with is?” Gabriel asked, as he stood up, pulling her to her feet. It took her a moment to find her balance, arms bound as they were.

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“You… you mean Cyrus?”

“Yes, that pathetic, greasy weasel,” Gabriel spat the words disdainfully.

Irene drew in a slower breath to calm herself. “A... vampire?"

Gabriel leaned down, so that their noses were almost touching. She did her best to stare back without going cross-eyed. It was a futile endeavour, as his putrid breath caused her eyes to water, forcing her to blink.

“Good. You passed the first test. I would have known if you were lying. But... how much do you know?”

“About what? What do you want?”

“Answer my question."

Terrified as she was, Irene falsified cold confidence as she relaxed her eyelids, letting them droop. “As you said, he's a greasy weasel. I don't care to know anything else."

"Has he fed from you?"

"...Once." At least, once was all she remembered.

"Hmm. Once," Gabriel's eyes narrowed. The answer did not seem to please him. "Has he made any promises or bargains with you?"

"I wouldn't believe any promise he'd make."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and snorted, again invading her olfactory senses. Irene wondered why he smelled so terrible. Cyrus didn't smell like this. She couldn't attach any particular smell to him.

"I don't know what you want. If it's Cyrus, I can't help you. I haven't seen him in days." Irene saw just a slight smirk surface upon Gabriel's lips. What's there to smile about? Agitation flared up and Irene felt her cool melting into a muddle on the floor. "I don't know anything. Let me go; I promise I won't say anything about any of this."

Gabriel grabbed the knife again. Irene’s eyes went to it, then back up to him. He poked his finger gently with the sharp tip. “Something isn't adding up. But if you know nothing, you're useless." He glanced over his shoulder then peered back at his captive. "Well you may have one more use."

Gabriel slashed at her with the knife, cutting her just under the clavicle. She tried to scream, but the pain was so intense that her throat constricted. Instead a squeak was all she produced. She remained with the full scream trapped in her lungs, until the air released in a long, raspy breath.

Gabriel cleaned the blood off of the knife and headed for the door. Irene stared in disbelief and shock as all other sensations fled, leaving only hot pain and cold sweat. Her heart pumped furiously, and with each beat, her shirt became more saturated. She bit her lip and fell to her knees.

Irene wasn’t sure how long the pain throbbed in her before she heard the click of a door opening. No. The echo. Two doors. Her eyes shot open and she peered in desperation at a man who lay crumpled on the floor. He looked malnourished and scrawny, but despite being nearly skin and bone, he still had a strange amount of muscle definition on his bare back. Red streaks contrasted brightly across his china white skin, interspersed with red splotches and burn blisters. His pants were torn and tattered, and his bare feet had nails jutting out from them.

He wasn't alone. From another door a second figure was tossed in, rolling like a ragdoll until he came to stop. He looked even more emaciated than the first man, but had fewer wounds. He curled up tight and then rolled onto his hands and knees, retching and heaving like a cat about to expel a hairball.

The man with the nails in his feet groaned and groggily lifted his head. Irene gasped. Although gaunt, she could tell it was Cyrus. He was in worse shape than he had been in when she had first encountered him. He looked like he’d been starved for months… but he couldn’t have been in this god-forsaken place for that long! At that moment she knew she had been hurled into the shark tank.

Cyrus stared at her long and hard, his face seeming contorted and wild. He struggled onto his perforated feet and shambled towards her, his eyes fixed on her cut.

Irene felt panic strike her, and she began backing up, until her hands felt the wall. She slid back down, trying to make herself as small as possible. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to seize and shut her eyes in fear. There was a pattering noise, followed by a thunk and an inhuman snarl.

Irene's eyes peeked open as she saw the two men rolling on the ground, fangs bared like rabid wolves. The taller man had a choke hold on Cyrus, who was reaching in vain to try and claw at his assailant's face. Due to this smaller stature, he could not quite reach. It was almost sad to watch him try.

But Irene could not watch. Her eyes looked at one door, and then the other. They both looked heavy. But she didn't have time to worry about whether it could keep her in. She needed to try. She ran for the closest door and desperately tried to pull her wrists free from their bonds. She strained and rubbed and squirmed but made no progress. Shifting tasks, she attempted to kick the door handle, but that just unbalanced her. She fell hard on her backside yet again. Still lying on her back, she began kicking the door in desperation.

Irene flipped herself over, considering trying to make it to the other door. But it was likely just as unassailable. A scream caused her to shut her eyes again and cringe. No. She needed to be alert. She searched for somewhere to hide.

There was a table in one corner, but otherwise it was a fairly empty room. Irene looked up, to see if perhaps there was a vent. Signs of ventilation were evident, but the grates were much too small for her to fit, and too high to reach. While searching the ceiling, she noticed a camera perched in one corner. Irene glared directly at it, mouthing words she was normally too well-behaved to say.

Irene ducked as something went sailing past her head. There was a wet, slapping noise and then something red and lumpy plopped down at her feet. Sour bile burned her throat and coasted the back of her mouth. She barely managed to keep it down. She had no idea what she was staring at, but her best guess was some sort of organ. She didn't really want to see where it came from, but despite her better judgment, she looked over to the two brawling vampires.

To her surprise, Cyrus had somehow got the upper hand on the other blood sucker. He was on the ground, prone and eviscerated. Cyrus had one foot on the man's throat, and was leaning down, yanking entrails out of the other man's gut as he howled and gurgled in pain and outrage. Irene quickly looked away again. She could not witness any more of this brutality.

Irene hobbled over to the table, crouching down and awkwardly shuffling beneath it. She shut her eyes tight, the stinging in her breast reminding her of her own peril. Hiding would do no good.

How did it come to this? I should never have helped Cyrus. I should never have gone out late at night. I should have just stayed home, hidden away. I'm going to be eaten alive! What kind of sick cosmic joke is this?

Irene's blood roared in her ears, as dismay surged across her synapses. It took her a while to realise the screaming and snarling had ceased. She blinked her tear-crusted eyes, then slowly turned to peer out from under the table.

Irene screamed. Covered in blood, Cyrus was standing right there, staring at her.

“Cyrus," Irene peeped his name, pleadingly.

Cyrus crouched down, peering under the table, a vacant expression in his dark eyes. There was none of that smug superiority. There wasn't even an oily leer. Just starved desperation. He licked his lips and reached for her.

“CYRUS!” Irene screamed. The loud sound made him shrink back, startled. His head jerked up and he gazed at her face blankly. She stared at him intensely, trying to force him to keep eye contact with her.

A memory of Merle's old guard dog summoned itself. How that Rottweiler would bark its head off whenever she approached. Usually if she gave it an authoritative look, it stopped dead in its tracks and stared back. The moment she looked away, it would pull against its chain and growl. Thus Irene continued to captivate Cyrus with the very same expression.

For a while everything devolved into a staring contest. However, his eyes slowly drifted back to the blood on her shirt. He craved it. He needed it. All of this was evident in his wild eyes.

“Cyrus,” she repeated loudly. “Cyrus, wake up!” she urged frantically. “Cyrus… it's me, Irene! Peaches!”

Mad eyes looked up at her, and for the tiniest moment, Irene thought she saw a hint of cognizance, maybe even fear, in his eyes. But they glazed over and his focus returned to her wound.

He lunged.

Rip. Crash.

Irene shut her eyes at the sound of fabric tearing and the clatter of the table being knocked over. Lips pressed around her cut, her shirt in tatters. She could not come to terms with all of the thoughts and feelings whirling around her. First came the disgust and horror. Then there was a sharp sting caused by suction and further gnawing of teeth at her wound. Soon the pain was all-encompassing; she didn't just feel it on her chest but around her whole body. Following this was a sedating sensation and she could almost hear music somewhere in the distance, but it was a superficial tranquility over an ocean of terror.

Irene's entire body relaxed.

No.

Her whole body stopped.