Jade's mind, usually a fortress of cold logic, was a battleground. On one side was the deep, systemic exhaustion that made even lifting a finger a Herculean effort. On the other was the razor-sharp instinct of a predator who knew he was in a trap. And draped over him was the trap itself—ancient, beautiful, and hungry.
Seraphina's crimson eyes held his, a silent challenge. Her proximity was a violation of his space, her scent an attempt to cloud his judgment. The thin veil of her gown did nothing to hide the power and intent coiled in her form. She was not asking.
Every instinct, every shred of his Obsidian Core's nature, screamed to throw her off, to unleash a wave of Nether-Flame that would scour this entire opulent chamber to ash. But the well was dry. He was a king without an army, a sovereign without his power.
He saw the calculation in her gaze. She knew. She felt his weakness, and she was exploiting it, not with force, but with a far more dangerous currency: intimacy and debt.
"A schedule," Jade stated, his voice flat and cold, a stark contrast to her heated whisper. He ignored the hammering of his own heart, the traitorous thrill that ran beneath the layers of ice. "We agreed. Ten seconds. Three hundred milliliters. No kissing."
A low, throaty laugh escaped her, a sound of genuine amusement. "Oh, my darling," she murmured, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, sending a jolt of cold fire through his nerves. "Do you truly believe now is the time for logistics?"
She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "The Vow binds me to protect you. But it does not specify how I must be… replenished. Your blood is the heart of my strength. And right now, you need my strength more than ever, do you not? With a king to dethrone?"
She was weaving her own logic, her own trap within the trap. She was offering a darker, more intimate bargain, leveraging his grand ambition against his immediate survival.
Jade's jaw tightened. To refuse was to remain weak, vulnerable to the next assassination attempt from the upper floors. To accept her terms was to surrender a piece of his autonomy, to feed the very obsession that chained him.
His glacial crimson eyes met her burning gaze. There was no fear in them. Only a cold, furious calculation.
"Get on with it, then," he said, the words a blade of ice. He tilted his head slightly, exposing the column of his throat in a gesture of submission that was anything but. It was a command. A transaction.
A flicker of surprise, then profound satisfaction, lit her features. Her smile was victorious. Sharp, elegant fangs glinted in the low light.
"As my Sovereign commands," she whispered.
And she struck.
Her fangs pierced his skin with a sharp, precise pain that was instantly washed away by a wave of shocking, violating pleasure. It wasn't just the physical sensation—a dizzying pull at his very life force—but the profound intimacy of the act itself. In the heart of her opulent lair, pinned beneath her, he was completely and utterly at her mercy.
A low, involuntary sound escaped Jade's throat, a mix of a gasp and a groan. His hands, which had been lying limp at his sides, clenched into fists in the silken sheets. He could feel the strength being drawn from him, a terrifying vulnerability he had never allowed anyone to witness. Yet, intertwined with the violation was a strange, dark thrill—the thrill of fueling a power as ancient and terrible as the one drinking from him.
Seraphina let out a soft, shuddering sigh of pure ecstasy against his neck. Her body relaxed into his, a deadly weight that was both suffocating and strangely comforting. For a handful of heartbeats, there was no Tower, no King, no plots—just the silent, primal transaction between a vampire and her vessel.
Just as abruptly as it began, it ended.
She pulled back, a single, crimson droplet tracing a path from her perfect lips down her chin. Her eyes, now glowing with renewed, terrifying vitality, met his. The hunger in them had been sated, but the possession had only deepened.
"Magnificent," she breathed, her voice thick with power and satisfaction. She licked the stray drop from her lip, her gaze devouring the dazed, pale figure beneath her. "The echo of that power you unleashed… it's still there. I can taste it on your soul. It makes your blood sing."
Jade said nothing. He simply stared up at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression a carefully reconstructed mask of ice, though his eyes betrayed a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, shame, and a flicker of something darker, more complicit.
She smiled, reading him perfectly. She leaned down once more, but this time, her lips brushed against his forehead in a chilling, possessive kiss.
"Rest now, my darling," she whispered, her voice a silken command. "You are safe in my web. And soon… we will discuss how to use this ambition of yours. A king, you say?" She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Every king needs a queen."
With that, she rose from the bed in a fluid motion, the transparent silk swirling around her like smoke. She glided across the room, leaving him alone in the vast bed, the scent of frost and roses clinging to him—a brand.
He was still weak. Still injured. But as he lay there in the profound silence, the hollow ache in his veins slowly being replaced by the cold, hard ember of his will, one thought crystallized with absolute clarity.
He would conquer this Tower. He would break every chain.
And he would start by breaking hers.
A sliver of energy, stolen and given by Seraphina, coarsed through Jade's veins. It was enough to push back the worst of the Soul Fatigue, a temporary loan against his will. Disgusted by the lingering grime and the faint, rusty scent of his own blood on his clothes, he ripped the soiled shirt off, letting it fall to the opulent floor. His pale, sculpted torso was a map of recent struggles, the defined muscle a stark contrast to his current magical depletion.
Finding no towel or fresh garments in the chamber, he saw no other option. He had to clean up. The thought of trudging back to his sterile Sanctuary room felt... beneath him. He needed to wash off the violation, the weakness, and then head straight to a training sector. He needed to feel his power again, to burn away the lingering sensation of her fangs.
He stepped out of Seraphina's chambers and into the heart of the Crimson Palace.
The corridor was a gallery of shadows and deep crimson tones, lit by floating orbs of contained blood-light. And it was far from empty. A pair of vampire courtiers, dressed in impeccable black silks, froze mid-conversation, their eyes widening as Jade passed them, half-naked and radiating a cold, unfamiliar aura. They didn't attack; they were too stunned.
Then he saw the maids. They were human—or at least, they appeared to be. Their faces were pale, their movements graceful but subdued, dressed in simple, dark uniforms. Their presence here, in this den of predators, was a mystery in itself.
He approached one, his voice flat. "Is there a bath nearby?"
The young maid stared, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes traveled from his intense crimson gaze, down the length of his white hair, over the sharp planes of his face, and across the powerful lines of his bare chest and abdomen. A deep, crimson blush spread across her cheeks. It took her a long, flustered moment to find her voice.
"Y-yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing deeply. "D-down this hall, the third door on the left."
Jade gave a curt nod and continued, leaving a wave of whispers in his wake.
"Did you see him?"
"Is that the Lord of the house? I've never seen him before!"
"But he has the white hair... the crimson eyes..."
"He's so handsome..."
The gossip traveled on swift, unseen currents, reaching Seraphina just as she was admiring her renewed vitality in a dark mirror.
"What has my household in such a flutter?" she asked a passing attendant, her voice laced with mild amusement.
The attendant bowed. "My Lady, the maids... they speak of a handsome man with white hair and crimson eyes. They... they believe he is the Lord of the house."
Seraphina's amused smile vanished. Her blood-red eyes narrowed into slits.
"Jade," she whispered, a flicker of panic and fury in her ancient heart. "He left my chambers..."
Meanwhile, Jade found the bath. But as he walked towards the door, a figure emerged from a connecting corridor, forcing him to stop.
The man was a carbon copy of Seraphina—the same ethereal, ageless beauty, the same sharp, predatory grace. His hair was a silver so pure it made Jade's own seem off-white, and his eyes were a blazing, familiar crimson. He was dressed in regal, dark robes that whispered of absolute authority.
He turned, and his gaze fell upon Jade.
Jade didn't even have time to process the threat, to summon a fragment of power.
It hit him like a physical wall.
A bloodlust so dense, so ancient, and so utterly malevolent that it stole the air from his lungs and the strength from his legs. His knees buckled, hitting the cold, hard floor with a jarring impact. He choked, gasping, as the sheer, suffocating weight of the aura threatened to crush his very soul.
Through the red haze of agony, he looked up at the terrifyingly beautiful man, who regarded him with nothing but cold, dispassionate curiosity.
Jade forced the words through his constricted throat, each one a victory.
"Who... are you?"