Chapter 7
Cassandra's POV
They shared the same power, the same life, the same eternal solitude that bound them to this world. They were the same kind.
Then what did that make me?
I looked down at the nightgown draped over my body and caught sight of the blood on my elbow—human blood, fragile blood, worthless blood.
I was nothing more than a replaceable blood bag. A tool purchased to soothe his moods, valued only for the laughable sweetness that tainted my veins.
I thought back to earlier, in the study. He had pinned me against that cold mahogany desk, torn my clothes open with brutal efficiency, and taken me—possessed me, fed on me—in a manner that bordered on humiliation.
In that moment, his eyes had held nothing but savage hunger. Not a trace of tenderness.
And yet now, he was willing to slice open his own wrist and offer his most precious blood—his very essence—to ease Serena's pain.
So he did know how to be gentle. He simply reserved all his cruelty for me, and all his patience for her.
The wet, rhythmic sound of feeding from beyond the door gradually ceased.
Serena released her mouth with a satisfied sigh. Her lips were stained with Alexander's blood, the crimson giving her cheeks an almost obscene flush.
She extended her tongue and licked the remnants from her lips in a slow, indulgent motion, then tilted her head back to gaze at him with adoration pooling in her gray eyes. "Alexander... your blood is the most exquisite thing I've ever tasted."
Alexander withdrew a dark silk handkerchief from his suit pocket and methodically wiped the wound on his wrist. The vampiric healing ability was already at work—the gash closed at a visible pace, leaving behind only a faint white scar.
"Feeling better?" he asked quietly.
"Much better." Serena leaned into him, resting her cheek against the expensive fabric of his trousers and nuzzling softly. "Tonight... could you stay with me? I'm still a little frightened."
Alexander fell silent for a moment.
Through the narrow gap in the door, I watched as he turned his head slightly, his gaze drifting—almost lazily—toward the doorway.
In that instant, I held my breath in terror, pressing myself flat against the wall, praying he wouldn't discover me lurking like some pathetic voyeur.
He didn't approach. He simply withdrew his gaze with indifference.
"I'll have Ilias stand guard outside your door. Sleep, Serena." He declined her request, but his tone remained gentle.
I knew I couldn't watch any longer. If he caught me now—cowering outside like a pitiful wretch—what little dignity I had left would shatter completely.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing myself to endure the searing pain in my elbow and the trembling in my legs as I retreated step by agonizing step.
My eyes burned with the threat of tears, but I refused to let them fall.
Crying over a heartless monster like him would be a waste.
I turned and melted into the endless darkness of the corridor. In that moment, I understood with painful clarity that in this opulent Gothic manor, I had never been the mistress of anything.
I was simply an outsider. Thoroughly, completely unnecessary.
Three days had passed since Serena's breakdown and since I had witnessed that grotesque "feeding ritual."
In those three days, Alexander had acted as though I no longer existed. He hadn't come to my room, hadn't summoned me in the dead of night to fulfill my "wifely" duties. All his attention seemed devoted to preparing for tonight's family banquet and comforting my dear "sister"—his precious fledgling.
I stood before the full-length mirror, studying my reflection.
I had chosen a deep green velvet gown with long sleeves. The high collar and fitted cuffs concealed the bite marks on my neck and the bandage still wrapped around my left elbow, which throbbed with a dull ache. I applied slightly heavier makeup than usual, attempting to mask the pallor of my skin and the dark circles that sleepless nights had etched beneath my eyes.
But no matter how much I tried to disguise it, I could still smell it—the fragile, mortal scent that clung to me.
"Knock, knock." A maid rapped on the door. "Madam, the banquet has begun. The master requests your presence downstairs."
I drew in a deep breath and straightened my spine, like a prisoner walking toward the gallows.
As I descended the curved staircase into the grand hall, I was assaulted by a heady mixture of expensive perfume, aged wine, and the thick metallic tang of blood.
The entire first floor had been transformed. Enormous crystal chandeliers cast their cold light over the scene, and a long dining table groaned beneath the weight of silver cutlery and tall glasses filled with dark red liquid. The hall was crowded with dozens of men and women dressed in exquisite evening attire.
They were all members of Alexander's bloodline—pureblooded aristocrats, the true rulers of New York's nocturnal empire.
The men were impossibly handsome, the women devastatingly beautiful. Without exception, their skin possessed that marble-like pallor, and their eyes gleamed with the arrogance and cruelty that came from living for centuries.
As I stepped off the final stair, the low hum of conversation abruptly stilled.
Dozens of eyes turned toward me in unison.
There was no welcome in those gazes—only naked scrutiny, disdain, and in some cases, undisguised hunger. To them, I wasn't Alexander's wife. I was a slab of meat, fragrant and misplaced, left carelessly within reach.
"Oh my God, is that... the human?"
A female vampire in a black lace gown and dripping with rubies fanned herself dramatically, her voice loud and unapologetic. Her name was Eleanor, a pureblood elder from Alexander's father's generation.
"No wonder the air suddenly reeks." Eleanor wrinkled her delicate nose and regarded me as though I were garbage. "Alexander actually allowed a mortal—one who ages, who sweats—to attend a family banquet? She smells like livestock."
A ripple of muted laughter passed through the crowd.
I stood frozen, my fingers digging into the fabric of my skirt so hard my nails nearly pierced the skin.
Fight back, Cassandra. I screamed at myself internally. But I realized that in the presence of these immortal predators, my quick wit was utterly useless. Any retort would only make me look like a yapping chihuahua.
Just then, a sweet, crystalline voice cut through my humiliation.
"Aunt Eleanor, please don't say such things."
Serena emerged from the crowd like a graceful red butterfly.
I frowned. Having received Alexander's first blood, she had naturally ingratiated herself with the family elders.
Tonight, Serena wore a custom-made burgundy haute couture gown that Alexander had commissioned for her. The plunging neckline displayed her curves to devastating effect. Around her pale throat hung a diamond necklace that had once belonged to Alexander's mother.
It was a family heirloom I had never been permitted to touch.
She glided to my side and looped her arm through mine in a gesture of false protection.
"Sister is only human. She can't help the... mundane scent she carries." Serena flashed Eleanor a smile, her small fangs glinting. "Besides, her blood is quite useful to Alexander, isn't it? After all, he does need the occasional fresh 'blood bag' to vary his palate. We should be more tolerant."
