Chapter 17 Soft landing
Valerio scoffed mockingly, turning fully to face Octavio.
“Evyths is nothing but a hound—a life that I saved from her devil incarnate mate. Nothing more,” Valerio declared, leaving no room for questions.
“I do not believe you—”
In the blink of an eye, Valerio caught Octavio by the neck, strangling the duke while Octavio tried to suppress the prince’s attack, mustering his strength to push him away.
“You are not to believe me, Duke. You are to accept what I say without questioning. You are my subject; act as one,” Valerio warned firmly, his tone a low growl that sent shivers down the duke’s spine.
Valerio released him as Octavio staggered to stand, laughing maniacally while rubbing his neck as Valerio attempted to leave.
“That felt good!” Octavio said, halting the prince’s steps, his gaze dark. “But the truth is the truth, my prince. When a powerful vampire prince sticks to the laws that Great Dracula made, it shows strength and loyalty to his clan. But when he acts against those laws, it means one thing: he has tasted or is about to taste the forbidden.” Valerio’s jaw clenched at Octavio’s words. “Return to your chamber, my prince. I have prepared a gift for you!” Octavio flew off, leaving behind his piercing words and a cloud of brown dust.
Valerio knew that his friend had doubts about him, and yet he was speaking the truth. Valerio didn't want to accept Octavio’s judgments, but Octavio knew him too well.
Valerio had always placed honor and power above everything else, but in Evyths’ case, the tables were turning. A slave hound, as he called her, was becoming his weakness.
“Fuck!” Valerio muttered under his breath, punching a tree until it cracked. The loud thud reverberated through the air, causing the birds that lived in the tree to scatter. Valerio rubbed his face in frustration.
Distraught. Confused. Broken.
…
Later that night, Valerio finally entered his room, eager to satisfy his curiosity and discover Octavio’s gift. The familiar scent of jasmine and blood lingered in the air, but there was another scent mingling within it.
It was the smell of silky furs, sweat, berries, and flesh. It was distinct yet familiar.
Valerio moved gracefully toward the feminine figure asleep on his bed.
Evyths.
She was pale, bruised, and half-dead. He leaned closer, feeling her pulse on her wrist beneath his thumb; she was alive.
Strands of red hair covered half of her parched face.
“Who… did this?” Valerio asked under his breath, his golden eyes scanning her battered body. His cold fingers roamed her arms, her torso, and then along her slender legs.
“Who dared to touch my pet?” he whispered.
Pet? She heard him.
Though she had been in a deep sleep, her ears were sensitive enough to catch the prince’s words, even his quiet whispers.
Unknowingly, Valerio placed his cold hand on her forehead, and as he spoke strange words under his breath, her overheated temperature began to normalize.
Evyths began to shake little by little, a surge of power leaving his body and transferring into hers. The process took some time. Valerio withdrew his hand, watching as her wounds and bruises healed, restoring her to her initial appearance without a visible scar.
Valerio smiled to himself, but Evyths could sense it. His gaze traveled over her delicate body, searching for even the slightest scratch, and he found only the same mole surrounded by tiny freckles that had caught his attention back at Davendale Kingdom during the territorial meeting.
“That mole,” he muttered unconsciously, the memory of that day still fresh in his mind.
He felt pity for Evyths but twisted that ownership for his own advantage—one that benefited both vampires and werewolves at the time.
Valerio draped a thick crimson furry blanket over Evyths’ chest, a tingling sensation enveloping him.
It was real; the pull he felt towards her was undeniable. And Octavio was right: he was tasting the forbidden, breaking the laws that Great Dracula, their deity, had created.
His fingers glided up to her collarbone; her skin felt soft, and the sound of her heartbeat filled his ears like a melancholy melody.
Before he could hold back, Valerio leaned in closer, his golden hair brushing against her cheek as he inhaled her warm breath.
He caught a trace of Octavio’s scent near her face, a mix of copper, chamomile, and dust.
A tight frown consumed his face, but at least Octavio had resisted the urge to bite Evyths and had saved her from the cell.
Valerio scoffed slightly, a wave of anger washing over him as he remembered that it was his mother who had harmed Evyths.
The stern prince gently cradled her face, his cold hands stabilizing her temperature even further.
His gaze deepened as he stared at her dry lips, which were beginning to regain their life and bloom.
Those were the same lips he had kissed just days ago—lips that haunted his dreams and settled heavily in his mind, day and night.
Perhaps they were the same lips that led to the rejection of his power-hungry mate, Raven.
He drew closer, her warm breath caressing his face as the tip of his nose grazed hers, and finally, his lips found hers.
The urge was impossible to resist. He succumbed to it once more, even though he had just lied to Octavio, claiming that Evyths was nothing more than his hound.
The kiss was hungry, salacious, and warm—a flavor he had never tasted with Raven.
His kiss with Raven had been cold, a kiss of a corpse—dead.
He could have lingered even longer, but then a realization hit him: he did not want this kiss to lead to something that could change the course of time or rewrite their fate as sworn rivals.
When Evyths’ fingers twitched, he swiftly pulled away, his speed aligning with a ray of light.
With her half-open eyes, she caught a glimpse of the prince's awkwardness, a part of him that no one else had ever seen. His insecurity and clumsiness settled effortlessly on his face like a new feature.
The prince rubbed the tip of his nose, his jaw tightening, instantly restoring his stoic demeanor—a stark reminder of his identity.
Most revered. Most feared. Most fearless.
Evyths forced her eyes open, and Prince Valerio rose, straightening himself and collecting his composure.
“You are… you are awake,” he said forcefully, his tone flat and emotionless.
Compared to what Evyths had heard earlier, he wasn't very good at pretending.
A small smile appeared on her lips. “M-my prince,” she stammered, as his usual signature smirk returned to his face.
“How do you fare?” he asked calmly, although his baritone betrayed the calmness he attempted to portray.
Evyths sat up, swallowing hard when her eyes landed on the dents of his arousal, visible through the loose brown fabric he wore.
A clear indication that he was aroused by his hound. Evyths gasped slightly and looked away.
“I- I am well, your highness,” she managed to say. “I- I- please forgive me. I have no idea how I ended up in your chambers. I will—” she attempted to move, but he interrupted.
“Stay still; your internal organs are not yet recovered. According to my years of research, werewolves cannot endure internal wounds for long…” he said, struggling to maintain a vacant tone. “Especially Omegas,” he added.
His last words pricked her skin. “Your highness, is that another way of… calling me weak?”
“Quite the opposite, Eva. In fact, I am baffled that you are not dead. You have nine lives. Literally everyone in my kingdom has tried to kill you lately…” he said as her eyebrows raised slightly, her gaze splitting between his lower body and his piercing golden eyes. “That is an achievement worth celebrating. No werewolf has survived the traps of vampires in my territory…”
“Except that you keep saving me. That is not… entirely my achievement, your highness,” she replied with a coy smile.
Valerio’s lips curved slightly, his sharp jawline complementing his features.
How could a god this beautiful be a vampire? Evyths pondered as he moved closer to her.
Tossing the hem of his cloak aside, he sat next to her. His gaze traced her skin while she fiddled with her fingers, feeling a bit uncomfortable sitting in the prince’s bed, which seemed like it hadn't been used in centuries.
“Tell me, Eva,” he began, his husky voice cutting through the silence. “What happened between you and the queen?”
She shook her head slightly.
“Don’t lie to me, Eva!” he said with a low growl. “I saw the bruises and wounds. I know the queen’s wrath—whips and fire…” he added coldly.
Evyths swallowed hard, her palms sweating and her breath quickening.
The more he looked at her, the weaker she felt in her knees, knowing all too well that lying to the prince was a dangerous game.
Inhaling the jasmine fragrance lingering in the air and exhaling her fear, Evyths finally found her voice.
“She thinks that… that I poisoned the guests—”
“She thinks or did you… poison my guests?” he asked firmly, his voice offering no emotion or sympathy.