Chapter 3

I expected to sleep alone.

I was wrong.

Around 3 AM, I woke to a presence in the room. Not a sound — vampires don't make sounds when they move. Just a shift in the air, a deepening of the cold, and the faintest scent of something dark and intoxicating, like aged wine and winter frost.

I kept my eyes closed and my breathing steady.

He was standing at the foot of the bed. I could feel his gaze on me like a physical weight, tracing over my face, my throat, the exposed curve of my shoulder where the blanket had slipped.

For a long time, he just… watched.

Then I felt it — the lightest brush of cold fingers against my hair. So gentle it was almost nothing. Like he was afraid I'd break.

My pulse spiked. I couldn't help it.

He noticed instantly. The fingers froze.

"You're awake," he said quietly.

No point pretending. I opened my eyes.

He was leaning over me, one knee on the edge of the mattress, his silver hair falling forward like a curtain. This close, I could see the faint dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

He looked starving.

"Were you watching me sleep?" I murmured.

He pulled back immediately, straightening up. "I was checking on my investment."

"Mmhm. And the part where you were touching my hair?"

"Checking for lice."

I almost laughed. The all-powerful Vampire King, making up excuses like a teenager caught staring at his crush.

"You know," I said, sitting up slowly, letting the blanket fall just enough, "if you're hungry, you can just say so."

His gaze dropped to my neck for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my face.

"I don't feed from humans."

"Then why buy one?"

Silence.

"Why me specifically?" I pressed. "A million gold. You haven't attended an auction in two hundred years. Then I show up and suddenly you're there? That's not a coincidence."

His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted — a crack in the armor.

"Go back to sleep," he said.

"Answer the question."

"That was not a request."

He raised a hand. Dark energy gathered at his fingertips, the same kind of knockout spell I'd seen in fantasy novels.

"Oh no you don't—"

Too late. The darkness hit me like a wave, and I was out.

When I woke the next morning, there was a breakfast tray on the nightstand — fresh bread, fruit, and a glass of something that looked like orange juice.

There was also a note, written in sharp, elegant handwriting:

"Eat. Don't wander. Don't cause trouble."

Underneath, in smaller letters, almost like an afterthought:

"Your hair is fine. No lice."

I pressed the note to my chest and grinned at the ceiling.

Oh, this man was going to be so much fun to destroy.

After breakfast, I did exactly what he told me not to do. I wandered.

The castle was enormous — a labyrinth of dark corridors, locked doors, and rooms that seemed to go on forever. Most of the vampire servants avoided me. The few who didn't shot me looks ranging from pity to open hostility.

I found the kitchen (massive, industrial, clearly designed for blood storage rather than cooking). I found the armory (rows of ancient weapons, all coated in dust — decorative, not functional). I found a ballroom with a cracked chandelier and a music box that played by itself.

Then I found the locked wing.

It was on the east side of the castle, sealed off by a pair of iron doors covered in strange symbols. The air around it felt different — heavier, colder, almost electric.

I reached for the handle.

"I wouldn't."

I spun around. A vampire stood behind me — young-looking, maybe early twenties in appearance, with messy dark hair and a lazy grin. Unlike the other servants, he didn't bow or look afraid.

"You're the human," he said, looking me up and down. "The one the King bought."

"That's me. And you are?"

"Dorian. Royal advisor, occasional babysitter, and currently the only person in this castle willing to talk to you." He leaned against the wall. "Which is why I'm telling you nicely: don't open that door."

"What's behind it?"

"The King's private quarters. His real ones. The bedroom you're staying in is just for show."

"What's in the real one?"

Dorian's grin faded slightly.

"Answers you're not ready for."

Before I could push further, footsteps echoed down the corridor — heavy, deliberate. Alaric appeared at the end of the hall, and the temperature plummeted.

His eyes went from me, to Dorian, to my hand still hovering near the iron door.

"Dorian," he said softly. "Why is she here?"

Dorian raised both hands in surrender. "She found it on her own. Blame your terrible security."

Alaric's gaze locked onto mine. Cold. Furious. And underneath it — afraid.

"I told you," he said, each word carved from ice, "not to wander."

I held his stare.

"And I told you — I'm bad at following rules."

He closed the distance in two strides, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me away from the door. His grip was iron, his skin freezing, but his hand was shaking.

Actually shaking.

"Whatever's behind that door," I said quietly, "it scares you more than I do."

He didn't answer.

He just dragged me back to his chambers, locked the door, and vanished into the shadows without another word.

That night, I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

Something was very wrong with the Vampire King.

He wasn't keeping me as a blood slave. He wasn't feeding from me. He flinched every time I got close, like my touch burned him.

And yet he'd paid a fortune to own me, put me in his bed, and watched me sleep like I was something precious he was terrified of losing.

Then, from somewhere deep in the castle, I heard it.

A scream.

Not human. Not vampire.

Something else entirely — raw, agonized, and unmistakably Alaric's voice.

I was on my feet before I could think, hand on the door, ready to run toward it.

The door wouldn't open.