Chapter 208: Savira: Follow

But while the shouts and admirations continued in a thunderous roar that could be heard miles away, in another part of the arena things were different.Far from the masses, seated high above in a reserved section, a cluster of noble vampires watched the spectacle in a far more subdued manner. Their admiration was measured, their tones hushed, and their expressions a mix of irritation and calculation. Unlike the humans below who lost themselves in worship, these ones whispered among themselves, their crimson eyes gleaming with quiet disapproval.

"I don’t like this," a finely dressed man muttered, his voice sharp with disdain. He sat with the posture of one long accustomed to being listened to and obeyed. His red eyes burned faintly, a controlled fire of annoyance. "The priests and priestesses in the Temple of the God of Light are already insufferable. Now they have a messenger—a girl—with obvious powers?" He scoffed. "It is dangerous."

Another noble leaned forward, speaking with grim finality. "I vote that she be killed before her influence takes root. She can heal, yes, but she has no offensive abilities. Her gift is dangerous precisely because it inspires hope."

"Duke Mallet!" another voice broke in, edged with alarm. This one, younger, clearly lacked the same confidence. His red eyes flickered nervously as he looked around. "She is the King’s pet! You would really dare to suggest killing her?"

"If the King truly cared for her," Duke Mallet replied with cold certainty, "he would not have stood by while she was run through with a sword." His words were calm but sharp, a blade cloaked in silk.

At his side, a woman dressed as elegantly as he was lifted her chin and added, her tone softer, more cautious: "I agree with the Duke. He clearly would have let her die if she had been unimportant. We can always find another human for him to toy with."

Murmurs followed. One after another, nobles joined in, some calculating, some openly scornful. A handful spoke of benefits—what her presence could mean for order in the kingdom—while others suggested methods by which her quiet removal could be arranged. The air thickened with intrigue, every word laced with ambition and subtle threat.

A cluster of marquises, their eyes gleaming a brighter, more volatile red, raised their voices louder, speaking with outrage and fury. They were eager to support the dukes, eager to show strength, eager to speak on behalf of the territories they controlled.

Meanwhile, the wealthy humans seated uncomfortably close to the vampires began to slip away one by one. They may have had the coin to sit in proximity to the nobility, but wealth meant little against fangs. One wrong glance, one spark of irritation, and their blood could be drained in seconds. None dared risk it.

But amidst the nobles, one figure stood apart. He was present but not included, sitting at the edge of the high seats as though deliberately ostracized. Lord Dangrey.

Upon his lap sat a human woman, a slave by the iron collar clasped tightly around her neck. Her hair had a faint copper hue, her face soft-featured though not strikingly beautiful. She stared downward, her eyes fixed on the ground, refusing to look up, her cheeks flushed with shame. Dangrey’s hand wandered with deliberate obscenity, sliding along her thigh, parting her legs with lazy cruelty. His lips curved in a mischievous smile as he watched her tremble.

"Selira," he whispered, his tone laced with mockery. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask." His fingers pressed shamelessly between her thighs as he leaned close, voice low, though pitched so that the other vampires could hear. "What would your daughter think, if she saw you like this?"

A furious hiss cut through the air.

"Lord Dangrey!" one noble snapped, his red eyes flashing. "You are a lord now! Do not think that luck—luck of stumbling across the hideout of a hunter family—gives you the right to act however you please!" His voice was bold, but it faltered when Dangrey’s low chuckle rolled out in answer.

Dangrey tilted his head, his fangs catching the light as he toyed with a strand of Selira’s hair, letting it slide through his fingers. He smiled faintly, his voice mocking, deliberately dismissive.

"Last I checked," he said smoothly, "I was a Duke. With my own territory. Tell me, Savira"—he addressed the trembling slave in his lap rather than the noble who had dared confront him—"if my ears serve me right, a Count should not be so stupid as to raise his voice at a Duke. Should he?"

Savira lowered her head further, shame burning across her skin. She flinched as Dangrey parted her legs wider, indecently exposing her body to the cold air and the cold stares of those watching. She did not resist. She did not dare.

The Count bristled, lips pulling back to reveal sharp fangs, but before he could leap, he caught the measured, restraining glance of Duke Mallet. Mallet gave a slight nod, silencing him. Mallet himself spoke instead, his tone dripping with disdain.

"If you are not going to contribute to the discussion, then do not distract us with your slave," Mallet said, his red eyes narrowing.

Dangrey rose abruptly, standing with careless strength. Savira slipped from his lap, collapsing to the floor, but she did not cry out, did not complain. Instead, she lowered herself instantly to her knees, awaiting his command like a dog waiting for its master’s word.

"Follow," he ordered.

She obeyed without hesitation, her eyes fixed only on his back as she trailed close behind him. Together, they descended into the underground tunnels. Above, the arena still shook with chants and exaltations.

"The Messenger of Light!" the masses cried. "The God has answered our prayers!"

But in the dim torchlight of the tunnel, Dangrey pushed Savira against the wall.

"Present yourself," he ordered with a cruel smirk.

She obeyed instantly, trembling, spreading herself against the rough stone. A moment later his body slammed into hers, driving her forward, her cheek pressed hard against the wall. Her breath caught, her voice breaking with a gasp of mingled shame and intoxicated pleasure. From the corner of her eye she could still see the arena, still see her daughter, Aira, radiant and hailed as divine.

"That is your daughter, yes?" Dangrey hissed into her ear, his thrusts sharp, punishing.

"Yes," she gasped, her body trembling, overwhelmed by both pleasure and despair.

"And?" His hand twisted in her hair, yanking hard enough to tear strands free. Her cry was sharp, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her pain.

"She’s yours too!" Selira sobbed. "Everything I have, or have ever had—it is yours!"

Only then did he still, pulling away with a sharp, derisive laugh. Her body crumpled to the ground, her legs weak and shaking.

"Good," he said, straightening his clothes with deliberate calm. "You should prepare to meet her, then."

He turned without another glance, his voice hard and commanding as he issued a single order.

"Follow."

And as before, Savira obeyed without hesitation, crawling after him with nothing but blind submission in her eyes.