Chapter 4

Cassandra's POV

After the disastrous dinner, I locked myself in my room.

Night had fallen deep. Outside the window, rain continued to fall, droplets drumming against the glass like some irritating lullaby. I wore a thin wine-red silk nightgown, barefoot on the cold wooden floor, my stomach empty yet devoid of any appetite.

Knock, knock.

A soft rapping came from outside the door. It was the old butler, Ilias.

"Madam, pardon the intrusion." Ilias's voice filtered through the oak door, flat and without inflection. "The master is in an extremely foul temper. He has already shattered two wine glasses in his study. There seems to be some trouble at the estate boundaries. Please take this vintage to him, and... calm him down."

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath.

Calm him down. That was my job, my only value in this Gothic manor. When I signed that damned contract, it was spelled out clearly: whenever the lord required it, I must offer up my blood and body at any time.

I pulled open the door and took from Ilias's silver tray an expensive bottle of Bordeaux and a clean wine glass.

The east wing corridor stretched dark and long before me. Passing by Serena's newly renovated suite, I heard her coquettish voice inside complaining to a maid about the fireplace temperature being insufficient. I clenched my jaw, quickened my pace, and stopped before the heavy double walnut doors at the corridor's end.

I didn't knock. I simply pushed the door open and walked in.

The study was thick with the heavy scent of cedar, mingled with parchment, aged whiskey, and something dangerously metallic—blood. Alexander stood behind the massive mahogany desk, both hands braced against its surface. Several parchment reports stained with dark crimson lay scattered on the floor.

Hearing the movement, he looked up.

He wore no jacket. His black shirt hung open at the collar, sleeves carelessly rolled to his elbows, revealing pale, sinewy forearms. Those eyes—usually cold as winter frost—now churned with crimson undertones, and his two sharp fangs had fully extended beyond his control, pressing against his lower lip.

He looked like an enraged ancient beast, ready to tear apart its prey at any moment.

"I didn't call for anyone to enter," he growled, his voice terrifyingly hoarse.

"Ilias asked me to bring the wine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I approached with the tray. "You need to calm down, Alexander."

When I came to stand before him, his crimson gaze traveled from my face downward, lingering on my chest rising and falling with my breath, then dropping to the pale thighs exposed beneath the hem of my nightgown.

"Wine?" He suddenly let out a cold laugh, a low rumble vibrating from his throat.

The next second, I didn't even see him move.

Crash!

With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the silver tray and wine bottle from my grasp. The bottle shattered, burgundy liquid splashing across the expensive Persian rug like a pool of fresh blood.

"Ah!" I cried out in alarm. Before I could retreat, his cold, powerful arm clamped around my waist, lifting my entire body and slamming me roughly onto the wide mahogany desk.

Papers scattered to the floor beneath me.

"You think what I need right now is wine, Cassandra?" His knee forced its way between my legs, pinning me mercilessly against the desktop. He lowered his head, his cold nose nearly pressed against my neck as he inhaled deeply, greedily.

"You smell... full of jealousy's sour notes, and damnably sweet."

"Let me go!" I struggled, both hands pushing against his iron-hard chest. The image of him favoring Serena at dinner still circled in my mind—I had no desire for him to touch me now. "If you need to feed, go next door to your dear sister! Didn't she just complete her transformation? Doesn't she share the same life force with you?!"

"Shut up!"

He snarled, using one hand to pin both my wrists above my head, pressing them hard against the desk. His other hand, without any courtesy, slid along my inner thigh and roughly pushed up my silk nightgown.

"Don't bring her up to annoy me." His voice carried extreme impatience. His cold, rough fingers, through that thin layer of lace, found my nipple with precision and began kneading it forcefully.

"Mmm..." I bit my lower lip, trying to swallow back that shameful moan. But he knew my body too well.

His fingers carried an irresistible force as he tore away my underwear. When his cold, long fingers penetrated directly into my core, I realized with despair that even though my mind resisted him, my body still shamelessly responded.

"Still telling me to find someone else?" He pressed and rubbed my clit with cruel precision while whispering in my ear, "Your body is far more honest than your mouth, my dear wife. It's absolutely soaking wet right now."

"Don't... Alexander, please..." Pleasure shot up my spine like electric current to my brain. Tears of physiological response formed at the corners of my eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I was forced to open my tear-blurred eyes.

He bent down, his burning tongue licking across the pulsing skin over my carotid artery. Then, without any mercy—

Puncture.

Sharp fangs instantly pierced my skin, burying deep into my vein.

"Ah—!"

Searing pain mixed with the hallucinogenic, orgasmic pleasure brought by vampire venom instantly overwhelmed me. He gulped down my blood in large mouthfuls, his fingers below matching the rhythm of his sucking, thrusting wildly inside me.

"Alexander... too deep... I can't take it..."

Pain, humiliation, and that soul-draining extreme pleasure intertwined. My nails scratched deep marks into the mahogany desktop.

In the dizziness of having my blood drained, under the brutal fingering, my body arched violently, convulsing in his cold palm through an intense climax.

When he finally withdrew his fangs, I collapsed on the desk like a dying fish, gasping for breath, my chest in complete disarray.

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. The crimson in those eyes had receded, returning to that suffocating icy blue.

He straightened his shirt collar, looking down at me as if the uncontrolled beast from moments ago had never been him at all.

"Fix your clothes. Go back to your room." He coldly issued his dismissal, turning toward the liquor cabinet.

I bit down hard, forcing myself through the soreness between my thighs and the dizziness from blood loss, climbing down from the desk. Clutching my nightgown closed, I said nothing and stumbled out of the study.

In his eyes, I was nothing more than a blood bag and outlet to be used at will. Nothing more.