Chapter 77 Prepare a few feeders
Sebastian POV
Morning does not arrive gently.
It does not creep in with soft light or the quiet easing of night into day, and it certainly does not bring peace.
It snaps into place like a blade drawn too fast, sharp and immediate, because the second my awareness surfaces, something is wrong.
The bond is the first thing I feel.
Not calm. Not steady.
Awake.
Watching.
My eyes open.
And there she is.
Amara is crouched on top of the massive armoire across the room, her body balanced with unnatural precision along the carved wood like some predatory creature that has claimed the highest point in the space. The morning light filters in through the tall windows behind her, casting her in a pale glow that should make her look almost ethereal, but there is nothing soft about the way she watches me.
Her eyes burn.
Crimson.
Not just red, but layered, streaked through with flickers of molten gold that catch the light in a way that feels alive, shifting, something deeper than either species should hold on its own.
It is wrong.
It is powerful.
And it is locked entirely on me.
I do not move.
Not fully.
Just enough to breathe.
Because the moment the mattress shifts beneath me, even slightly, she reacts.
A sharp hiss tears from her throat, low and warning, the sound vibrating through the room like something ancient and territorial. It is not the sound of a wolf, not entirely, and not the sound of a vampire either. It is something in between, something new, something that makes every instinct in my body rise in answer.
“Amara,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady, careful.
No sudden movements.
No threat.
Her head tilts slightly, the motion slow, deliberate, like she is trying to place me, trying to understand what I am to her in this moment.
Not mate.
Not yet.
Something else is louder.
Hunger.
I can feel it bleeding through the bond, raw and jagged, scraping against everything else she is. It has edges now, direction, awareness, and it is far more dangerous than it was last night because it is no longer drowning her completely.
It is guiding her.
That is worse.
I shift my gaze slightly toward the door without moving my head, calculating distance, timing, options, and then I speak again, louder this time.
“Get a servant,” I call out, my tone carrying just enough command to reach beyond the room. “Now. Bring the Vampire King.”
There is a pause beyond the door, the faint sound of movement as someone obeys without question.
Amara’s attention snaps instantly.
Not back to me.
Past me.
To the door.
Her body tenses, muscles coiling beneath her like a drawn bow, and the shift in the bond is immediate.
The hunger spikes.
Sharp.
Focused.
Not on me.
On what is coming.
“Amara,” I say again, firmer now, pushing just enough of myself through the bond to reach her. “Stay.”
Her lips pull back slightly, revealing fangs that were not there yesterday, longer than they should be, sharper, catching the light with a dangerous gleam as another quiet hiss slips free.
She does not listen.
Of course she does not.
The door opens.
A servant steps in.
Young.
Male.
Human.
Great.. just what I need.
He barely has time to register the tension in the room before Amara moves.
She launches from the armoire in a blur of motion that should not be possible, even for her, even for what she has become. Her body cut through the space between them in less than a breath, silent and lethal in a way that turns my stomach cold.
I am already moving.
But I know before I even reach her that I will not be fast enough.
“Stop!”
The command cracks through the room.
Not mine.
Her fathers.
Leviath appears in the doorway like he has been pulled there by instinct alone, his movement just as fast, just as precise, stepping directly between Amara and the servant without hesitation, his hand snapping up to catch her mid-lunge.
The impact echoes.
Her body collides with his hold, restrained just inches from the servant’s throat, her teeth bared, breath ragged, the hunger pouring off her in waves so intense it nearly chokes the air.
For a moment, everything freezes.
Her.
Him.
The servant, trembling behind him.
That’s when I notice the black veins traveling by up her neck and into her face.
Then Amara blinks.
Once.
Twice.
And something shifts.
The tension drains from her body in a slow, uneven release, her eyes flickering, the crimson dimming just slightly as awareness crashes back into place.
“What..” Her voice is hoarse, unsteady, like it does not belong to her. “What just happened?”
Leviath does not let her go immediately.
He studies her first, searching, measuring, making sure she is truly present before his grip loosens.
“You lost control,” he says calmly.
Her gaze drops to her hands, then to the servant, then back to him, confusion tightening her features before something else takes over.
Hunger.
Stronger now.
Conscious.
“I…” She swallows hard, her throat working as she steps back slightly. “I’m so hungry.”
The words are quieter than anything she has said since I woke, but they hit harder.
Because I can feel it.
Not just the edge of it.
The depth.
Leviath exhales slowly, then gestures behind him.
A servant steps forward, holding a glass.
Dark.
Thick.
Blood.
He takes it and offers it to her without hesitation.
“Drink.”
Amara stares at it.
For a long moment, she does not move. When she grabs it, she brings it to her nose.
Then her nose wrinkles slightly. She presses the glass to her lips and takes a sip, instantly back away.
And she shakes her head.
“I think I’m gonna..” she cuts off as the red contents spew back up and onto the floor.
The refusal is immediate.
Certain.
Leviath’s brow lifts just slightly, intrigued.
“Well.. sht. Maybe it’s too early for that.”
Her gaze shifts.
Not to the glass.
To the servant.
The same one she almost attacked.
Her eyes darken again, the gold flaring brighter within the crimson as the hunger twists into something sharper, more specific.
“Not that,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “It’s not.. right.”
The realization settles heavily in the room.
Leviath watches her carefully.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he speaks.
“You need fresh.”
The words lands like stones dropped into still water.
Amara’s breath hitches.
Yes.
I feel it.
Recognition.
Need.
Leviath tilts his head slightly. “You are craving it from the source. You’re a fresh vampire.. hybrid, I mean. You may be very different from the rest of us. You may require fresh.”
I step forward then, unable to stay still any longer, my jaw tight as I look between them.
“No.”
The word is firm.
Final.
Amara’s head snaps toward me, something defensive flashing across her face, but it is quickly swallowed by the hunger again.
“I need it,” she says, her voice rougher now, strained. “I can feel it. It’s not the same.”
Leviath does not argue.
He simply turns his head slightly toward the servant behind him.
“Prepare a few feeders. Let’s give her options.”
The words hit like a blow.
Everything in me recoils at the idea, instinct rising hard and immediate, the wolf in me rejecting it on principle alone, on something deeper than reason, something territorial and protective and unwilling to allow this kind of need to be met in this way.
But then I look at her.
Really look at her.
At the way her hands tremble.
At the way her breathing stutters.
At the way the bond strains under the weight of something she cannot control.
And I know.
This is not optional.
This is survival.
My jaw tightens further, my hands curling slightly at my sides as I force the words out.
“..Do it.”
Leviath’s gaze flicks to me, measuring, then gives a single nod.
The servant moves quickly, disappearing from the room without another word.
Silence settles in their wake.
Amara does not look at me.
She stares at the door.
Waiting.
Every part of her focused on what is coming.
I step closer anyway, slow, deliberate, until I am within reach, close enough that if she snaps again, I will be there before anyone else.
Her head turns slightly at the movement.
Her eyes meet mine.
Crimson and gold.
Wild.
But not empty.
Still her.
Somewhere beneath it all.
“Hey,” I say quietly, keeping my voice steady despite the tension coiled tight in my chest. “Stay with me.”
Her expression shifts.
Just slightly.
The hunger does not disappear.
But something else flickers through it.
Recognition.
The bond hums.
Faint.
Fragile.
But there.
“I’m trying,” she whispers.
And for now..
That has to be enough.