The city of Eastminster was said to be a marvel of human civilization—bustling markets filled with chatter and the scent of roasted chestnuts, children darting between towering buildings with wooden toys clutched in their hands, merchants loudly hawking overpriced trinkets to wide-eyed fools. But as our carriage rumbled past the towering stone gates and into its heart, I saw none of that.

  The world was still cloaked in shadow, the moon hanging high above us like a silent spectator to the charade we were about to perform. Entry was surprisingly smooth—too smooth, really. One flash of Arthur’s family emblem was all it took. The guards didn’t so much as glance inside the carriage. Lucky them. If they had, they would’ve been greeted by the grotesque sight of blood spattered across the floorboards—evidence of the rather inconvenient necessity of feeding Arthur with my arm as his dinner plate. I was still slightly annoyed at how messy he was with it.

  To maintain appearances, we both wore contact lenses, though Arthur’s hastily acquired pair didn’t quite match his original eye color. They were a shade too light, a detail anyone who had seen him more than once would notice. Not that it mattered much. One close inspection and he’d be exposed anyways. His canines had grown far too long to pass for human, his posture had become animalistic, and the worst part—oh gods—the drooling.

  The drooling was unbearable.

  He sat beside me like a particularly needy and damp idiot, his mouth slightly open, saliva collecting at the corners. Every few minutes, I had to elbow him lightly or push his jaw shut to prevent an embarrassing stream from dripping onto the upholstery. That, combined with the stench wafting through the city, made for a nauseating combination. I’d have preferred the battlefield.

  Tom, ever the loyal and bafflingly competent subordinate, steered the carriage from the front. He had never been to Eastminster, yet managed to navigate its labyrinthine layout with only my rough mental map to guide him. Left at the bridge with the three arches. Right past the statue of the blind duke. Avoid the fountain—always avoid the fountain. Without him, I might’ve gotten us lost in this architectural monstrosity, but somehow, we arrived at our destination just as the first hints of grey began seeping into the sky.

  The gates of the White family mansion creaked open on command, iron bars sliding apart with slow, ancient reluctance. Guards stepped aside, offering polite nods. The front courtyard looked more like a cemetery than a noble estate. Cold, tidy, and devoid of life. A handful of maids stood in a neat line at the base of the marble steps, their expressions fixed somewhere between grief and suppressed panic. Clearly, the lack of news from the frontlines had begun to rot their hopes.

  I stepped out first, allowing my boots to touch the cobblestone with deliberate elegance. I moved like a woman in full control, but my eyes stayed sharp, scanning every flicker of expression. I reached back into the carriage and offered Arthur my hand. He took it, thankfully remembering not to slobber on my fingers, and stepped out like a broken noble dragging his dignity behind him.

  I squeezed his hand, both to appear loving and to remind him to behave. I had given him very clear instructions: no grunting, no snarling, and, under no circumstance, was he to gaze at me like I was his next warm meal. Though judging by the way he ogled me, that rule was already hanging by a thread.

  The head maid stepped forward and dipped into an overly theatrical curtsy, her voice tremulous as she spoke.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, my lord.”

  I nearly rolled my eyes into the back of my skull. Instead, I kept my mask of sweet civility firmly in place.

  “It saddens me to tell you that the lord is unwell,” I said with the perfect balance of sorrow and strength. “As you can see, he is emotionally devastated by the loss of his army. He has already entertained thoughts of ending his own life.”

  The maid gasped so hard I feared she might choke on her surprise. A satisfying reaction.

  “And during the war against the elves,” I continued smoothly, “I had the privilege of becoming his emotional support. I intend to continue fulfilling this role in the mansion as well. Do you agree, honey?”

  The word “honey” felt like vinegar on my tongue. I almost gagged on it. But Arthur, well-trained, nodded just as I’d instructed him to in our little rehearsals. He was becoming quite the obedient pet.

  So far, everything was going according to plan.

  “…We will prepare a room for… both of you. Come this way,” the maid said, her voice clipped and formal, betraying only a sliver of her suspicion. And just like that, two vampires—monsters in disguise—were welcomed into the heart of a noble mansion. Humans really were too trusting.

  As we stepped across the threshold, I turned on my heel and flashed a lazy peace sign at Tom, who was still seated on the driver’s bench. His answering smirk was brief, barely visible in the dying light, but it was enough. I’d see him soon. Hopefully, with Mary.

  The maid led us up the grand staircase, her heels clicking across the polished marble floor in a rhythm that echoed down the empty hallways. At the top, she opened the door to a spacious guest room. A chandelier flickered above us, lighting the rich burgundy carpet and the gleaming wooden furniture. In the center stood a four-poster bed, plush and inviting, draped in velvet sheets.

  Without an ounce of grace, I flopped onto it face-first, arms outstretched like I owned the place. I rolled around, crumpling the bedding like a child testing the quality of her new toy. Arthur followed awkwardly behind, his movements stiff but obedient. He climbed into bed without question, settling under the blankets I tossed over him.

  “Wow,” I muttered, rolling onto my back. “This is the second-best bed I could ever imagine.”

  The maid twitched slightly but forced a smile. “That is… good to hear. If I may interject—”

  “No,” I cut in, voice sharp.

  “You did—”

  “No.” I didn’t even glance at her. “We don’t need anything except a good rest. We will answer your questions tomorrow. Arthur needs time to… reflect. Recover.” I waved my hand toward the door. “You may leave now.”

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  Her lips pressed together in a thin, offended line, but she bowed her head slightly and turned to leave. Just before the door clicked shut, she gave Arthur one last long look—a mix of suspicion and concern—and disappeared into the hallway. I waited a few seconds before moving. Quietly, I padded across the room and locked the door with a soft snick.

  “That didn’t go too well…” I murmured, leaning against the wooden frame, arms crossed. The maid had noticed something was off—Arthur’s behaviour was far from subtle. His feral hunger was barely restrained, and while I had pulled off the performance for now, I knew we couldn’t stay under scrutiny for long. We needed backup. We needed Mary.

  I stepped toward the window and pushed open the heavy curtains, revealing the view from the mansion’s upper floor. From here, the city sprawled outward in glimmering lights and quiet alleyways. Eastminster—almost mine. A single conversation. One carefully choreographed performance. That was all that stood between me and control.

  I sighed, then drew the curtains closed again and turned toward the bed. Arthur was watching me with that hungry, wide-eyed look—like a predator waiting for permission. I snarled, annoyed and mildly amused. “Fine. But undress first.”

  In hindsight, I should have added, without destroying your clothes.

  Arthur made no effort to preserve dignity or fabric. With a growl of impatience, he tore his shirt in half like a rabid animal, tossing the shreds across the room. Then he yanked off his trousers with the elegance of a drunk raccoon. I stared, unimpressed.

  “Well, that’s… one way of undressing.”

  I rolled my eyes and began to remove my own dress, with significantly more control. Or I tried to—until the creature I had created launched himself at me with inhuman speed. I barely managed to toss the fabric aside before he collided with me and sank his teeth into the base of my neck. I winced.

  “What a hungry child I’ve made…” I muttered through clenched teeth, fingers threading through his hair as the warmth of blood trickled down my back.

  Hours passed. Time blurred in that quiet, dark room. I had no idea how long we remained tangled together—minutes, hours. It was probably noon when the first knock came. I ignored it. Likely another maid, curious about the unnatural sounds that had filtered through the walls. I’d done my best to keep quiet, but… well, mediocre success at best.

  Then came another knock.

  Then another. Fourteen in total.

  That was the signal.

  I scrambled upright, wrapped in a sheet, and crossed the room to unlock the door. When it opened, I was greeted by the sight of Tom standing proudly in the hall, a travel-worn backpack slung over one shoulder. And beside him, with a dazed expression and windswept hair, was Mary.

  I beamed. “Perfect timing.”

  Mary’s wide-eyed gaze scanned the room, then dropped to me—half-naked and smirking—and then to Arthur, sprawled in the sheets, shirtless and dazed.

  Her mouth opened. “What… what happened here?”

  Her voice was equal parts scandalized and weary.

  “Well, you see…” I gestured casually toward the battlefield that used to be a perfectly respectable bed. Its wooden frame was split clean down the middle, and the mattress now lay directly on the floor, a rumpled heap of velvet and feathers. Still surprisingly comfortable, though. “Arthur got a bit greedy. Wanted to try something I had absolutely zero interest in. So, I slammed his head into the bedframe. In hindsight… that might’ve been overkill.”

  Mary blinked once, her gaze shifting from me to Arthur—who lay sprawled under the remains of the blanket like an oversized corpse with a pulse—and back again. “And his leg? Why does it look like every bone in it’s been shattered?” she asked, voice tight. There was a strange softness to her tone. Concern? Sympathy? I side-eyed Tom, who raised his hands wordlessly. He hadn’t told her what I’d done. Not out loud, anyway.

  “I caught him trying to bite my foot,” I said, with all the disgust the moment deserved. “Do you know what his feet smelled like? It was a war crime. I could see fungus and rot on his soles. So yes, I may have stomped on him… rather enthusiastically.”

  “At least he’s unconscious,” I added, nudging his motionless form with my toe.

  “Do you have what I asked for?” I turned to Tom, cutting the awkward silence short. Wordlessly, he handed over the leather bag. I yanked it open and smiled at the sight inside—two thick glass bottles, filled to the brim with deep red blood.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, unscrewing one and holding it aloft like a divine chalice. “He’s been sucking me dry all day. Literally. I’m starting to feel like a raisin with boobs.”

  “Why don’t you just stop feeding him?” Mary asked, a mix of confusion and exasperation in her voice.

  I stared at her, stunned for a moment by the naivety of her question. Then, I tilted my head, amused.

  “Sure,” I replied, voice light, “if I want him to go feral and drain every poor human in this mansion. Newly turned vampires don’t have restraint. They’re animals, not people. Their only thought is hunger. I’m the only safe food source he won’t rip to pieces—yet.”

  With that, I raised the bottle and drank greedily, ignoring the bitter taste coating my tongue. It wasn’t fresh, of course. No warmth, no scent of life. Just stale, metallic sludge. But it would do. It had to.

  I tossed the empty bottle aside and licked a drop off my lip.

  “Anyway,” I said, dusting off my hands, “let’s stop talking about this drooling idiot. We’ve got more important things to worry about. What did you find out? Anything new about the situation in the army?”

  Mary folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, tone shifting to something grimmer. “There were whispers—soldiers being found drained of blood, some local prostitutes turning up dead in the same way. Then the supply convoys stopped making it through. The elves ambushed every last one. After that, contact with the army was lost entirely.”

  She paused. “The official word from the elves is that they’ve wiped out the human forces. Eradicated them completely.”

  I let out a slow breath, smiling darkly. “Perfect.”

  “Perfect?” she echoed, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes. If anyone knew about the Devourer’s appearance, or how things really went down, it’d complicate everything. But this?” I gestured toward the room, the chaos, the silence outside. “This gives me space. I can control the narrative now. Arthur is disgraced, the army is gone, and no one suspects the truth. It’s all falling into place.”

  I turned back to her, the remnants of the bottle still dripping in my fingers. “And you? How did your side of things go? Did you manage what I asked?”

  My voice softened into something syrupy sweet, but there was no mistaking the edge buried beneath it—because the next step depended entirely on her answer.