Arét's POV
Dante's eyes hardened, and his voice dropped cold.
"You can either sign these papers and agree to the deal, or you can spend the next nine months of that pregnancy in a dungeon, sleeping on cold stone. And let me tell you something, rats will eat you alive. That baby? Won't live. And neither will you."
I shuddered.
What kind of evil was this man capable of?
"I'll take the dungeon," I spat, arms crossed tight over my chest. I was bluffing. God, I was bluffing. But I wanted to see what he'd do next.
I didn't see the hand coming.
His fingers hooked into my hair, yanking me hard, half-dragging me over the counter. Pain exploded across my scalp as my knees scraped the floor.
"Let me go!" I shrieked, clawing at his wrist, trying to break free. But his grip only tightened.
"You want the dungeon?" he growled, voice vibrating with rage. "You'll get it. I might even give you pets. How do you like a feces-infested cell, hmm? You'd rather rot in filth than pretend to be mine?"
"You don't get it, Arét. You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know the things I've done."
His breath grazed my neck, his grip on my hair tightening. "And let me tell you… I wouldn't hesitate to watch you die a slow, painful death."
"I'll sign it!" I screamed, my voice hoarse. "I'll agree to the deal! I'll do whatever you want!"
His grip loosened instantly. I collapsed to the floor with a heavy thump.
He didn't even look back. Just walked to the fridge like he hadn't just threatened to murder me. Like dragging me across the floor was a normal part of his day.
He grabbed a glass. Then a large keg from the fridge, two liters of something thick and red that swirled in slow, heavy loops.
The moment he poured it, the metallic stench hit me. Sharp. Rusty. Familiar.
I gagged. "Is that… blood?"
He turned, totally unfazed, lifting the glass like it was a soda. "Yes."
I blinked.
He had to be lying. Messing with me. Trying to break me even more. But I knew that smell. I'd spent enough hours in labs and hospitals. I knew the color, the thickness, the way it moved.
That was blood.
Refrigerated blood.
My stomach twisted violently.
He took a slow sip, eyes on mine the whole time.
I scrambled backward on the floor. My hands slipped as I tried to get away from him.
"What… what are you?" I choked out, my voice barely audible.
That was when he smiled.
Beamed like a little boy about to show off a magic trick he'd been dying to perform.
"I thought you'd never ask," he said, eyes glittering.
"I've been so eager to see your face when I finally told you."
Then he tilted his head, eyes bright.
"But first, guess."
"You're crazy to think I want to play a guessing game with you," I spat, my back hitting the wall as he moved closer.
He crouched to my level, close enough that I could smell the coppery residue of whatever he'd just drunk. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, then his fingers brushed the side of my neck, and I flinched.
"Guess, Arét. Think," he said, soft, like he wasn't the same man who'd threatened to feed me to rats five minutes ago.
"I need to leave in…" He glanced at his watch. "Fifteen minutes. And I don't want to spend it torturing you."
He grinned before walking back to the counter and taking his seat, his elbow propped on the counter.
My body was trembling so hard, I could barely think. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to run. But I wanted to live more. I knew I was no match for a man who was at least 200cm tall.
So I took a deep breath and played along.
"Fine," I muttered. "You're… a cult leader?"
He scoffed like I'd just insulted his entire bloodline.
"Demeaning. Try again."
I swallowed. "Psychic?"
"They're con artists. It's baffling people believe that shit."
That one, I agreed with. Unfortunately.
"I don't know!" I snapped, tears blurring my vision. "I don't know what you are."
He didn't flinch. Just leaned against the counter and watched me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve.
"What do people think I am?" he asked, voice lazy. "All the rumors… the stories. The whole 'he's immortal' headline thing."
I stared at him, eyes boring into his deep black one.
"They say you're the devil," I whispered.
He stood up at that. Slowly.
Not offended. Not surprised. Almost like he was proud.
"Very close, Arét. Now think…" he said, a playful delight in his voice. "What creatures drink blood, are pale as I am, and live for a very, very long time?"
My brow furrowed as the pieces slammed together in my head.
"Vam… vampires?" I asked, unsure if I sounded more like a fool or someone about to vomit.
His eyes lit up like I'd just handed him a Christmas present.
"Bingo!" he said brightly. "You're really smart... and my time's up here, I look forward to spending time with you tonight."
He stood, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, like we hadn't just had the most unhinged conversation of my entire life. "Don't try to run. This is a 200-acre estate. My men are stationed outside. You can wander into the big castle if you want, but it's boring. I stay here in this little cottage, it's why I brought you here."
He reached me in the blink of an eye, dropped a kiss to the top of my head like I was his cherished lover, not his hostage, and whispered, "In the castle, stay away from the East Wing. And yes… be good."
Then, just like that, he was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, I counted the seconds in my head.
Sixty.
A hundred.
Two hundred.
When I was sure he wouldn't double back, I scrambled to my feet and ran up the stairs.
Every door was locked.
Of course.
I bolted back down, nearly twisting my ankle in the process, and reached for the front door. It opened, but as I tried to step out, a figure materialized in front of me.
A guard.
His stance was stiff, arms crossed, his skin pale like Dante's.
Medieval armor. Blank stare. Creepy as hell.
"You are not allowed to leave," he said without emotion.
"Excuse me?" My voice cracked. "Get out of my way."
I shoved at him with all my might.
Bad idea.
He shoved me right back. Not hard, but hard enough to send me stumbling backward into the room.
Okay, I thought, fighting won't work.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I bent over, clutched my stomach, and let out a loud, broken cry.
"Call Dante! Call him and let me tell him how you're treating his fiancée, tell him how you're trying to kill his unborn baby! Do you know I can get you fired? Or worse... killed? How dare you treat me like this!"
His face faltered. The cold hardness in his expression melted into pure panic as he dropped to his knees, clutching at my feet like a puppet.
"I apologize, My Lady. Please… do not let Master punish me. I beg of you... forgive me."
Oh.
I blinked down at him.
That worked? That actually worked?
I kicked free with a practiced scowl. "Move out of my way."
He scrambled to the side.
"Take me to the castle," I added, voice filled with faked authority. He nodded eagerly, desperate to be on my good side now, I felt bad for him, but right now, I needed to gather information.
The walk to the castle was longer than I expected. My legs ached, but my eyes widened the moment I saw it. It was tall and terrifyingly beautiful. Regal in a way only things with long, dark histories could be.
I'd always loved ancient things.
When we reached the massive doors, I turned to the guard and flicked my wrist. "You can go now, don't follow me around like a dog!"
He bowed and retreated.
Now it was just me.
I walked in, trying to appear as graceful as possible. Staff and guards moved around like I was invincible, barely sparing me a glance.
Then I saw the portraits lining the hallway.
"Valemont the First," the gold plaque beneath the first one read.
My eyes narrowed. The man in the painting looked familiar. Too familiar.
I moved to the next one. "Valemont the Second." Same face. Same high cheekbones. Same cold, icy eyes.
Next. "Valemont the Third." Same. Again.
And again.
And again.
My stomach sank. My skin turned clammy.
This wasn't a family line.
This was him.
Over and over. Different eras. Different clothes. Same man.
All the rumors. The internet theories, they were true.
He was immortal!
Valemont wasn't a name passed down.
It was one man. One monster.
I stumbled back from the last portrait, hand covering my mouth as bile rose in my throat.
Holy. Shit.