Chapter 11 Chapter 11
The sterile scent of antiseptic burned my nose as I sat on the cold hospital bed, my fingers gripping the edge of the thin mattress. The fluorescent lights above cast an almost sickly glow on my skin, making the faint bruises along my arm stand out even more.
I had barely recovered from the last time they drained me, yet here I was again. Another donation. Another payment. Another piece of me being taken away for someone else’s survival.
I didn’t complain. I couldn’t. This was part of the deal.
Still, my body felt heavier today, weaker, as if something inside me was shifting in ways I couldn’t understand.
I clenched my teeth and turned my head, refusing to watch as the nurse prepped my arm, disinfecting the skin before inserting the needle. The sharp pinch made me flinch, but I forced myself to stay still.
I had lost count of how much blood they had taken from me since I arrived.
Each time, it left me more drained than before. Each time, I felt like I was losing a piece of myself.
As the bag began to fill with my blood, the door to the room opened, and hushed voices echoed through the space. I wasn’t alone anymore.
Curiosity got the best of me. Slowly, I turned my head, my vision slightly hazy, and caught sight of a woman standing just outside the doorway.
She was breathtaking.
Long, platinum blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, her skin smooth and flawless, like porcelain. Her frame was delicate, almost fragile, and when she smiled at the nurse beside her, it was the kind of smile that belonged to someone untouched by the cruelty of the world.
Emma.
This was the woman I was helping. The woman Alaric had traded me for.
I expected to feel nothing.
Instead, something twisted in my stomach, something unfamiliar. It wasn’t jealousy—it couldn’t be. I didn’t want him. I hated him.
And yet, seeing her made me feel... small.
She looked like she belonged in his world. Beautiful, elegant, perfect. The kind of woman a man like him would choose.
Not me.
I was just the girl who bled for them.
My fingers curled into fists as I averted my gaze, willing my heart to slow down.
I was doing something good. Saving a life. That was all that mattered.
But then I saw him.
Alaric.
He was standing just behind her, leaning against the doorframe with that same unreadable expression.
His cold, gray eyes flickered to mine, and for a moment, I swore I saw something there—something dangerous, something hungry.
But then it was gone, replaced by that familiar indifference.
"Is she stable?" His voice was sharp, emotionless.
The doctor nodded. "She's responding well. Her hemoglobin levels are still adjusting, but she’s fit to donate."
Alaric’s gaze lingered on me, assessing, calculating.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "I’m fine," I muttered, though I didn’t know why I felt the need to reassure him.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted his attention back to Emma, his expression softening—if only slightly.
The contrast made something tighten in my chest.
I turned my head away, furious with myself for even caring.
This wasn’t my life. This wasn’t my choice.
And yet, the weight in my chest refused to lift.
—
By the time I returned to the mansion, the exhaustion had settled deep in my bones.
The fever had started creeping in last night, a slow, smoldering heat that I brushed off as fatigue. But now, it was undeniable.
My skin burned. My head ached. My limbs felt heavier than before.
I needed sleep.
But as I walked through the halls, my body swayed, and I gripped the wall for support.
I barely made it to my room before my knees buckled.
The room spun as I collapsed onto the bed, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
I wasn’t sick. I knew sickness. This was something else.
My skin tingled, every nerve in my body hyperaware of something unseen. My heart pounded against my ribcage, erratic, desperate.
I curled into myself, gripping the sheets, trying to breathe through the strange sensation clawing at my insides.
Why did I feel like this?
What was happening to me?
I pressed my forehead against the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut.
And then I felt it.
Him.
The moment he entered the room, my entire body reacted.
Even in my fevered state, I felt the shift in the air, the suffocating pull between us that made my breath hitch.
I forced my eyes open, my vision hazy as I looked toward the doorway.
Alaric stood there, his expression unreadable, but his posture was rigid.
“What’s wrong with you?” His voice was cold, but there was something underneath it. Something almost... wary.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “I don’t know.”
His eyes darkened as he stepped closer.
The heat inside me intensified.
God, why did his presence make it worse?
My fingers dug into the sheets as I forced myself to sit up. “I’m fine,” I said, though the tremble in my voice betrayed me.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just watched.
I felt like I was unraveling under his gaze, like he could see straight through me.
I hated it.
“Why are you here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head slightly. “This is my house.”
I clenched my jaw. “That’s not what I meant.”
His expression remained impassive.
Then, without a word, he turned to leave.
A sharp pang shot through my chest. I didn't know why, but the moment he stepped away, the fever seemed to worsen, the heat consuming me.
My body ached in a way that wasn’t just exhaustion.
It was something deeper.
Something primal.
I gritted my teeth, determined to push past it. I wouldn’t let him see me weak.
Not now. Not ever.
But just before he disappeared through the door, he hesitated.
It was only for a fraction of a second, but I saw it.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Something he didn’t want me to see.
Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the suffocating heat of my own body, drowning in emotions I didn’t understand.
And for the first time, I wondered if I had made a mistake coming here.
Because whatever was happening to me...
It was only getting worse.