Chapter 8

“Kieran.”

The voice cracked across the room like a whip.

I froze, not because it was aimed at me, but because of what it did to him. Kieran stilled where he was, fangs bared inches from my neck, his breath brushing my skin. Then, with a sharp click of his tongue, he drew back.

I watched his eyes as he stepped away. The glowing purple that had burned so close to my face softened, draining back to the piercing green I had come to recognize as his usual color. His fangs, long and glinting a moment ago, slid back into place as though they had never been there. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath until I finally let it out.

My gaze shifted to the door. The man who had spoken entered calmly, his steps measured, his presence filling the room like it belonged there. Recognition flickered in my mind. He was the same man from that first night — the night I had been dragged into all of this, the night I learned about my father’s debt.

He looked at Kieran, not me. “Has the test been done?”

Kieran’s jaw worked. “We’re just about to.”

“Then what was the delay?”

The silence that followed was heavy, tense, and then Kieran turned his sharp gaze on me. “Follow me.”

For a second, I hesitated. My wrist still throbbed faintly where he’d gripped it earlier. Part of me wanted to resist, to demand answers, to walk out of here and never look back. But another voice in my head whispered, I’m already here. I might as well get it over with. It can’t be worse than what’s already happened.

So I followed.

We moved through a section of the lab that seemed to stretch endlessly. Figures in white coats moved with quiet efficiency, their hands busy with instruments and vials, their expressions unreadable. The air smelled sharp and metallic, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that every surface in here had been scrubbed within an inch of its life.

Finally, Kieran stopped at a smaller door. He opened it, and inside was a woman in a white coat. She turned as we entered, her face warm, her dark hair neatly tied back.

“Ah,” she said, her smile disarmingly kind. “You must be Santa.” She stepped closer, her tone soft. “I’m Dr Luria. Nice to finally meet you.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Kieran and the other man. “Leave us. I’ll call if I need you.”

For a second, neither of them moved, but eventually Kieran clicked his tongue again and stepped back. The door shut behind them, leaving me alone with her.

“You don’t seem like one of them,” I said.

“I’m not,” she replied easily. “I’m human. Like you.”

That caught me off guard. “Then… what are you doing here?”

Her smile wavered just slightly, as if the question tugged at something distant. “It’s a long story. But they’re not all bad. Once you settle in, you’ll see.”

I gave a short laugh. “Not all bad? They drink blood. Forgive me if I’m not eager to see the bright side of that.”

She chuckled softly, unbothered. “Perspective.” She picked up a vial and a small rack etched with strange markings. “Let’s start. We need to test your blood’s compatibility with Sire.”

“Compatibility?” I raised a brow. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Think of it,” she said with a faint glimmer of humor, “like a wine tasting before you open the bottle.”

I stared. “…You realize how disturbing that sounds, right?”

Her lips curved. “Some blood strengthens. Some weakens. Some is intoxicating, some bitter. Not every human’s blood is safe or pleasant for every vampire. Sire is… particular. We have to make sure yours suits him.”

I let out a breath. “Unbelievable.”

“And,” she continued, already readying the needle, “we also need to know how frequently you can be fed on. Some humans can recover in a week, others need longer. It varies. We’ll establish your limits.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So there are others? Like me? Humans you test for this?”

“Yes,” she said gently. “A few. You’ll meet them, in time.”

I sank back slightly. “Great. So I’m basically a walking wine bottle now.”

“You could put it that way.” Her tone was light, but then she added, more seriously, “But you must be special. Sire doesn’t usually keep a personal feeder.”

That word hit me like a rock. “Feeder? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That’s what vampires call humans they drink from directly. Most of the time, they rely on blood packs for meals. But sometimes, they need fresh blood — especially during Diako.”

I frowned. “Diako?”

“It’s a phase,” she explained, her tone calm, steady, “a cycle of heightened hunger. It comes every so often, and during it, they need blood from the vein. Some vampires keep a human just for that. Some feed only when necessary, others…” she hesitated, “…keep them close. A few even form bonds with them.”

I shook my head. “And I’m supposed to be that for your Lord?”

Instead of answering, she pricked my finger, catching a bead of blood in a crystal vial. The liquid pulsed faintly, glowing as if it had its own heartbeat. She whispered something low, words I couldn’t quite catch, and slid the vial into the rack. The markings lit up, glowing softly.

My stomach tightened. “What the hell was that?”

“Compatibility check,” she said smoothly. Then she drew a larger sample into a syringe and handed it to an assistant who had just stepped in. “Deliver this directly to Sire.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “So now I’m an experiment and a wine bottle.”

Doctor Luria gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. “Or perhaps something more. Sire doesn’t keep personal feeders. If he’s chosen you, there’s a reason.”

Before I could ask her what that meant, the door opened.

The air in the room shifted instantly, growing heavier, sharper. My chest tightened before I even looked.

Perth Otho stepped inside.

His eyes — storm-grey, cold and unyielding — locked onto mine. The weight of his stare rooted me to my chair, pinning me in place. He didn’t look at Doctor Luria, or the assistant, or anyone else. Just me.

My throat went dry.

Then, without moving his lips, his voice struck like a thunderclap inside my skull.

Come here.

The command echoed in my head, so loud it drowned out everything else. My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. My legs moved, my feet carrying me forward, my chest pounding. I tried to resist, to stop myself, but it was like my will had been shoved aside.

By the time I blinked, I was standing right in front of him.

Perth Otho.

And his eyes hadn’t left mine once.