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They heard the sound of the vehicle drive away from the house. The engine’s roar faded in the distance as Lazar and Abigail looked at each other.
“Why did you stop me?” Lazar asked, keeping his voice even.
“Because siring her now?” Abigail answered, looking around at the carnage throughout the massive room, “Would have been a mistake.”
She heard a disgusted exhale of her father’s breath, disliking heavily that they were allowing Ana to remain human.
They had been looking for her now, for years. To fill the holes that had been in their hearts, since her death, before Abigail was turned.
Lazar had intended to turn her. But a murderer had taken her life first, before he could. He had saved his daughter from death, though.
They thought that they had lost her. But when Abigail had seen her, as soon as she had seen her, even with the mask on Ana’s face? She knew who “Joey” was. And it wasn’t just because she knew Joey’s name in this life.
She had never met Ana in person before, just knew that she was someone who worked for her father and had killed one of the people working for him, albeit by accident, but when she finally did, she knew who the woman was instantly.
They had met. Ana, before she was born under this name, had given birth to Abigail.
Her name back then, had been Dumitra.
She had looked different back then, of course. Had been born under different circumstances and had lived an entirely different life.
But Abigail knew her own mother.
She had known she would spare Ana, the moment she realized who the woman was. Her claim that the reason why she had saved Ana’s life, was because she wasn’t strong enough to face Frank alone. A lie. But it had convinced Ana well enough.
She had intended, still intended, to track Ana down and sire her. Had she allowed her father to do it now, it would have just made their relationship strained, even if Ana would have been able to feel their connection after being sired.
She had a son in this life. She would need more persuasion than just being forced to be one of them.
“We give her time,” Abigail said, not facing her father, as she heard footsteps approaching the house, knowing her and her father’s coven were coming back with dinner, and she heard the weak, helpless pleas of the prey that was being dragged to the house, “We let her reconnect with her son, then we find them after a few years, keep watch over them, make sure they’re safe, then we grab them. Give both of them a home. Show Ana what we can provide for her son. Give her incentive to allow us to sire her. And if not? Then we make her into one of us, even without her permission.”
She looked back at Lazar, waiting for his verdict.
He seemed to hesitate, then he nodded.
He might have been the leader of their coven, but he trusted her, his daughter and closest lieutenant.
“We will give her time,” he said, “But the moment she is in danger again, we take her.”
Abigail smiled, relieved. She expected nothing less.