I made my way around his desk and all but ran out of the room. I needed to get out of there. Away from him. Just being in his presence alone was making me physically ill, and seeing his face certainly did nothing to quell the rage growing within me.

How could he just take away my life like that?

I sighed heavily and bounded down the staircase, nothing but a shower and sleep on my mind. Today had been a long day; I was running on less than three hours of sleep, and the time that was not spent trying to keep myself awake was devoted to attempting—in earnest—not to scour the town for Nate and that whore, and to rip them both to shreds.

"What a fucking day," I muttered quietly, and ran a hand through my hair. The strands had become dampened with sweat, and only made me feel filthier than I already had; I couldn't wait to wash the blood off of me, along with the scent of that Shifter.

I wiped my hand on my jeans and walked briskly down the hall to my bedroom, the last door on the right. I had the only bedroom on this floor, which was perfect. My parents were upstairs, far away from me, which allowed on many occasions for me to sneak in without getting caught.

I turned my light on and looked around the room. It was spotless, unlike earlier today when I had nearly torn my room apart looking for clothes to wear. The cleaners must have had their hands full in here…I'd have to remember not to make such a big mess next time.

The walls were painted a light grey, and were mostly bare, aside from the few shelves and pictures I had put up recently. On the opposite side of the room, the wall had been knocked out. In its place was a floor to ceiling window. It gave me a perfect view of the yard and the woods that lie just on the edge of our property, a place where most of my time was spent when I wasn't working or at a friend's house.

My bed sat in the middle of the wall, a stone slab stretching a little more than a foot above the mattress. Lamps hung down from the high ceiling. I turned the television on and began undressing, tossing my clothes into a haphazard pile in the corner. I slumped onto the edge of my bed and reached into my dresser, taking out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear.

I stared down at my leg. The skin had healed, as did the muscle underneath, and it looked as if nothing had ever happened.

"Convenient," I mumbled, and glanced toward the doorway.

Fast, heavy footsteps pounded in my ears, rubber soles squeaking on the marble floor. I tugged my jeans on as quickly and as quietly as I could and headed for the door, pressing my ear to the wood. Three sharp knocks shook the door, and I stepped back, sniffing the air.

It wasn't my father, or my mother, and for that I was thankful. I put my shirt back on and called out to the person on the other side of the door.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Ragno?"

I recognized the voice immediately. O'Keefe.

"Come in," I said, and stood in front of my bed, fingers curled under the waist of my jeans should I need to strip down and shift. I prayed I didn't need to, but after tonight, there was no trusting anyone.

O'Keefe walked in, carrying his duffel bag in one hand, and a small orange bottle in the other. He offered a tightlipped smile and locked the door behind him. O'Keefe placed his duffle bag on the floor beside my bed and handed me the orange bottle.

"Hm. It's not every day members of my father's staff come bearing gifts," I joked. I read the label, staring in confusion at the name scrawled on the label.

"It's essentially Tylenol, but a stronger version," he explained.

"Oh," I tossed the bottle onto the bed and looked him over. The medic looked as if he'd been mugged; his clothes were wrinkled and dotted with specks of blood. His short blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, streaks of crimson trailing along his hairline. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Your father called me back into his office after you left. He made it very clear how displeased he was with my suggesting his blood would do you no good. I guess now I'll have to refrain from attempting to actually help you. Your father seems to know what's best," he said evenly, although I could tell he was annoyed.

"My father's word is absolute. If his blood will help, then it'll help," I rolled my eyes. I took in O'Keefe's disheveled appearance and frowned. Would he do the same to me if I objected once more to being turned?

"It seems that way," he agreed. "Were you busy?"

"No," I shook my head. "I was going to go shower. I lack the energy to do much else. Today was a long day. Why do you ask?"

O'Keefe unzipped his bag. "I felt bad at having to leave you like that earlier, so after dealing with your father, I wanted to help you."

"And how do you plan on doing that without my father knowing?" I asked.

He smirked. "Have you forgotten you father isn't the only Vampire in this house? I can work fast and close up the wound. He'll never know."

"Why not?" I said. "It's better than being in pain," I grumbled.

O'Keefe gestured for me to take a seat on the bed and spoke while he removed a few things from his bag.

"I hate to ask this of you, but unless you want them ruined even more, would you mind taking your pants off, Ms. Ragno?"

"I've never had anyone ask me so politely," I said, and laughed when his eyes widened. "It's a joke. And call me Quinn."

"Right. Quinn. You may call me Andrew, or Andy if you like."

I unbuttoned my jeans. "Well, are we gonna get this over with?"

. . .

Not long after I undid my jeans, Andy had successfully reopened the wound, removed the splinters and healed me once more all in a surprisingly short amount of time. I supposed he wasn't kidding when he said he could work fast.

O'Keefe left me with the pill bottle, giving me strict orders to take the medication should I feel any pain. But with the amount of Vampire blood I had ingested tonight, I doubted that I would feel anything. I was in a haze by the time he walked out of my bedroom; I felt like I was floating on air, and as much as I liked the feeling, I didn't. I knew what effects the blood could have, and if they kept finding ways to pump me full of the shit, I'd be an addict in no time at all.

Yawning tiredly, I hopped into the shower and sank onto the tile floor, letting the hot water run over my body until my skin had turned a dark shade of pink and the hot water was about to run out. Grabbing the handle on the shower door, I pulled myself up and rushed through washing my hair and the rest of my body.

I had forgotten to grab my clothes off of the bed I realized, frowning at the sink. All that was there was my towel, a grey one large enough that it could wrap around two of me. I pulled the cloth around my body and stepped into the cold air of my bedroom, cursing and muttering under my breath that not everyone in this house is unaffected by the low temperature. I froze upon noticing that someone was sitting on my bed, and glared at the six foot tall, tanned skin body that was perched on the edge of my bed.

He had changed, trading his blood stained suit for a white t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, and had washed off any trace of blood. My father stared straight ahead, his eyes locked on the open door in front of him and for a moment I wondered if he had even registered that I was standing there, only a few feet away from him, watching with narrowed eyes.

"I made a phone call after you left. I spoke with Silas—you remember him, don't you? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, you met him when you were very young, after all," my father said.

I remembered Silas vaguely; his face was a blurred vision in my mind now. Why would he bring him up?

"Anyway, I made an appointment to speak with him and the other heads tomorrow afternoon—it's the only time I could get them, and such a shame it's at the sun's peak. I'm going to be sore tomorrow," he chuckled quietly to himself. "We'll be discussing your transition into power, as well as another…transition, one I hadn't mentioned over the phone. I can only assume you catch my meaning," he still hadn't taken his eyes off of the door.

By this point I wanted to rip the dead heart from his chest and paint the walls with his blood. Anger flared in my chest, and I trembled in my spot, back pressed to the door frame, trying with everything I had not to lunge across the room and attack him, my own father, for doing this to me.

"If all goes according to plan, you'll be moved into the state house in two weeks time, and turned shortly after. Oh!" he gasped, turning to look at me. "That's just in time for your birthday, no?"

"You miserable fuck," I spat.

He pouted, making a tsking noise as he left my room. "That's no way to speak to your father, Quinn. Goodnight, dear, and make sure you pack a bag."

My father closed the door gently behind him, and as the lock clicked into place, the towel dropped to the floor around me, and I lost myself in a frenzy of blinding rage. Screams erupted from my throat as my fists slammed through drywall over and over, seeing nothing but my father's smug face staring back at me until I had broken my knuckles, until I couldn't take the pain anymore.

I stomped across the room and dressed myself, wincing in pain each time I moved my fingers. I knew I couldn't stay like this, all bloodied and bruised. I couldn't show up to a meeting with the heads of the Supernatural community looking like I did, no matter how much I may have wanted to spite my father.

If I was going to be granted this much power, I wasn't going to look like some idiot teen who decided to beat the shit out of a wall.

So I left my bedroom and walked along the quiet hallways, looking for Andy, looking for any of the medics. Looking for blood.

The last blood I would consume until my father turned me.