Chapter 71

Throughout my life, I had always avoided danger, not walked straight into its jaws. Hiding felt safer, even natural. I’d never deliberately confronted my fears. Facing my father and his pack had always seemed like a battle I couldn’t win—not when I was fighting alone.

But everything changed when Hadrian stood beside me. His strength and influence gave me a foundation to rely on, yet I wasn’t the same person anymore. I had grown stronger, fiercer. When I fought that wolf from the northern pack, it wasn’t a desperate struggle to survive. It was something more—a declaration of my right to be free.

Hadrian’s decision to take me to the noble gathering still struck me as recklessly bold, yet I couldn’t deny a strange sense of safety in his presence. At some point, I’d begun to trust him completely, though I couldn’t pinpoint when it happened. Deep down, I was certain he wouldn’t let anyone harm me.

After Gareth finished his lecture and left, Freya knocked on my door, carrying what looked like a feast. A four-course dinner disguised as lunch, complete with a medical tonic masquerading as tea.

“What’s with all this?” I asked, eyeing the mountain of food awkwardly.

“You need to eat more from now on,” Freya replied cheerfully.

I chuckled nervously. “I might be a little anemic, but I’m not pregnant, Freya. I don’t need to eat for two.”

“Doctor’s orders,” she insisted, placing a hand over her chest as if swearing an oath.

I reluctantly glanced at the spinach salad, wholewheat pasta with broccoli, hummus, and tofu soup. The entire meal screamed “Iron!”

“Fine… I’ll try,” I muttered, spearing a spinach leaf with my fork.

Freya sat across from me, her elbows on the table, head resting on her hands as she grinned like a child waiting for a story. Her gaze was so intense I nearly choked on my food.

Setting the fork down for my own safety, I gave her a pointed look. “What?”

“So… how was it?” she asked, her excitement barely contained.

“How was what?” I replied nervously.

“Lord Protector’s bite, of course!”

“Uh…” The memories of last night flooded back, vivid and electric. My skin burned at the thought of it. “It… hurt,” I mumbled.

“Hurt?!” Freya exclaimed, visibly disappointed.

“But the second time was better,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

“The second time?” Her lips curved into a wicked smirk.

Heat rushed to my face as I remembered exactly what that second bite felt like—and everything that followed.

“Judging by your expression, it was much better than just ‘better,’” she teased with a laugh.

“Not the bite itself,” I said shyly, avoiding her gaze. “But everything else… it was amazing.”

She burst into laughter. “I knew it!”

“Can you stop? You’re making me blush,” I said, though I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

“So? Are you going to be the Lady Protector now?” Freya’s tone shifted, her question laced with anticipation.

If I’d been floating on air until that moment, her words were the stone that dragged me back to the ground. My smile faltered, turning bitter. Gareth’s earlier words echoed in my mind, a reminder of reality’s cruel edge.

“No, Freya,” I said softly, the words stabbing my heart even as I spoke them. “I can’t be the Lady Protector. I can only be a temporary mistress.”

“Why not? The Lord Protector cares for you,” she argued, her voice filled with naive hope.

“The Lord Protector needs my blood,” I corrected gently, trying to convince her—or perhaps myself. “Our relationship is more of a contract than anything else.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a solemn expression. I wanted to agree with her romantic notions, but I knew the truth. Once Hadrian took the throne, I’d be nothing more than a mistress he used to sustain himself.

An unsettling thought crept into my mind. “Freya… Can a mark disappear over time?”

She looked at me, startled by the question. “I’ve never heard of that happening,” she admitted. “As far as I know, the mark can only be overwritten by someone else.”

Her response was hardly comforting, though the idea of overwriting gave me a slim glimmer of hope. If I ever fell for Hadrian, I’d need a way to protect my heart.

“So… if another vampire bites me, would that make me his instead of Hadrian’s?” I asked cautiously.

Freya laughed. “Of course not! The mark can only be overwritten by someone stronger than the one who placed it.”

A laugh escaped me—hollow and hysterical. If my blood had truly made Hadrian the most powerful vampire in existence, who could possibly be stronger?

“I wonder how one becomes heartless,” I murmured under my breath, the weight of my own words sinking in.

“What was that?” Freya asked, leaning closer, her brows furrowed with curiosity.

“No… nothing.” I forced a smile, hoping it would mask the turmoil roiling within me.

I had to be stronger. I couldn’t keep deluding myself into believing that Hadrian would ever want me for who I was. He needed my blood, nothing more. By the time I finished my meal, a small realization brought me some solace—Hadrian wouldn’t need my blood every day. The castle’s blood supplies would be replenished in two days, and he’d go back to using blood bags. That thought comforted me. His “Mistress of the House” title was merely an act of gratitude. Nothing deeper. He wouldn’t seek me out unless absolutely necessary.

“It’s better this way, Thalassa,” I told myself. “The less intimacy, the less chance of falling for him.”

My resolve was set—or so I tried to convince myself.

I decided to rest and recover after the chaos of recent days. Hoping to clear my head, I went for a walk around the castle grounds. But as soon as I stepped onto the patio, the sight of the destroyed eastern wing stopped me cold. A massive pile of bricks and ash lay where a proud structure had once stood.

The thought struck me like lightning—if I had been at the castle two nights ago, would I have survived? The idea was as chilling as the knowledge that the attackers had managed such a devastating strike despite Hadrian’s people guarding the castle so closely.

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see a tall, brown-haired guard standing at the edge of the patio. His hesitant smile suggested he wasn’t sure if speaking to the newly named Mistress of the House was appropriate.

“Yes,” I sighed heavily, my gaze returning to the ruins. “It’s horrifying.”

“Were you here the night of the attack?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

“I was on duty,” he replied. “But my post was in the west wing. By the time I got here, it was already too late.” His voice turned grim. “Those attackers… they were suicide bombers. Vampires, highly trained. They carried explosive devices with a short range and detonated them as soon as they reached their targets. The whole thing was over in less than fifteen minutes. Most of them were dead before we even arrived—but they took far too many lives with them.” His fists clenched tightly, his frustration palpable.

I could feel his anger, the helplessness that came with facing enemies who had no intention of surviving their attack. Their sole purpose had been destruction, and once they reached their destination, nothing could stop them.

“Do you know how they got inside?” I asked, though I dreaded the answer.

His expression darkened, his lips twisting into a cold smile. “One of the guards in the eastern wing turned off the shields and alarms on one side of the castle. A traitor.” He spat the word like venom. “I was the one who caught him—but it didn’t change anything.”

“Where is this traitor now?” I pressed.

His jaw tightened. “Dead,” he said bluntly, then hesitated. “I mean… pardon my language, Madame. The bastard is dead.”

I snorted, amused by his restraint. “I’m not some delicate flower. Speak your mind.”

“Thank you, Madame.” He gave a small bow.

“So, how did he die?” I continued. If all the attackers were dead, this traitor might have been the only lead to the mastermind behind it all.

“He was poisoned—silver poisoning, to be precise. He didn’t even realize it was happening. Whoever hired him tied up their loose ends neatly. The bastard looked shocked as hell when he dropped dead.” A bitter chuckle escaped him.

The guard might have been satisfied with the traitor’s fate, but I could already imagine Gareth’s fury when he learned the only person who might have exposed the perpetrator was dead. Suddenly, Hadrian’s decision to take me to the gathering made sense. With no other leads, provoking the mastermind into making a mistake seemed like the only logical plan.

What was meant to be a calming walk left my mind more troubled than before. Thoughts of the attack and my kidnapping consumed me until midnight. Not even a long, hot bath could quiet my restless mind. I read nearly fifty articles on financial markets before my eyes finally grew heavy.

But peace was fleeting.

I tossed and turned in my bed—far too large and unfamiliar—until a sudden wave of warmth and comfort washed over me. A familiar scent enveloped me, sending a shiver down my spine. My eyes flew open, and I gasped.

My head rested against Hadrian’s sculpted chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me.

“Calm your heart,” he murmured, his low, velvety voice brushing against my ear. “Unless you don’t plan on sleeping tonight.”

“It doesn’t help when you say things like that…” I pouted, pressing a hand to my chest as though I could will my heart to slow.

He chuckled, his arms pulling me closer. The heat of his body pressed against mine, every muscle impossible to ignore. I swallowed hard.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Thalassa?” he whispered, his breath brushing against my ear.

“You make it sound like I’m doing it on purpose,” I muttered, pushing him away and turning my back to him.

A soft laugh escaped his lips. He brushed my hair aside, exposing the nape of my neck. I shut my eyes, bracing for a bite—but instead, his lips pressed softly against my skin. His tongue traced a slow, teasing path along my most sensitive spots, sending jolts of electricity through me.

“I want you, Thalassa,” he murmured, sliding the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder.

I didn’t push him away. I couldn’t. The moment he whispered my name, I surrendered completely.