The Reborn Blood Servant No Longer Craves Her Masters Fangs

The next evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the coven's business day began, Seraphina appeared in the Nightshade Syndicate's boardroom.

Julian sat at the head of the long obsidian table, nursing a crystal glass of synthetic blood mixed with dark liquor. He looked entirely satiated, his skin glowing with the ethereal, immortal beauty that came after a deep, fulfilling feed. He took a slow sip, his eyes scanning the room of high-ranking vampires and elite human executives, before he casually made his announcement.

"From tonight onward, Seraphina is my chosen Consort," Julian's voice echoed through the cavernous room, commanding absolute silence. "She is not only my eternal mate, but she will also be an instrumental partner in our mortal affairs and real estate expansions. You will all treat her with the utmost reverence. Her word is my word."

Then, his obsidian eyes shifted, locking directly onto me where I stood by the projector. He pointed the silver tip of his pen at me, a subtle, cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"Especially you, Elara."

The room's temperature seemed to drop. The other vampires subtly shifted their gazes between us, well aware of my long-standing, pathetic devotion to the Vampire Lord. I was his chief blood-servant, his shadow, the one who managed his life for five agonizing years.

I looked back at him, my expression a blank, unreadable mask, and simply nodded.

Seraphina, seated to his right, smirked. She flashed me a triumphant, pitying smile, leaning slightly so her shoulder brushed against Julian's broad chest.

I pretended not to notice the display of ownership. I quietly gathered the meeting notes, tapped my tablet to shut off the holoscreen, and started to leave the boardroom to begin my nightly administrative duties.

But just as I reached the heavy glass doors, Seraphina's voice drifted through the room, soft, melodic, and expertly wounded.

"Julian, darling..." she murmured, loud enough for the heightened hearing of every immortal in the room. "Does Elara not want me involved in Syndicate affairs? I know how protective she is of your schedule. I know how... important she considers herself to you. If my presence upsets her, or if she's unhappy with me taking my rightful place by your side, perhaps I shouldn't come to the tower anymore."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked as fragile and pitiful as a wounded bird.

Julian’s brow furrowed instantly. A low, protective rumble vibrated in his chest, his fangs lengthening slightly in defense of his mate. The protective instincts of a pureblood were fiercely territorial.

Before he could unleash his anger on me, before he could dress me down in front of the entire council, I turned back around and replied in a crisp, professional tone:

"Of course not, Lady Seraphina. I am merely an employee. But if my presence causes you any distress or dissatisfaction, I will ensure that I stay entirely out of your sight from now on. My only priority is the efficiency of this Syndicate."

Without waiting for Julian's reaction—without glancing to see the shock that surely registered in his ancient eyes at my coldness—I walked straight out of the room and back to my private office.

Half an hour later, the heavy oak door of my office swung violently open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crack.

There he stood. Julian. His tall, imposing frame blocked the doorway, his dark, stormy eyes completely devoid of the satiated calm from earlier. He looked furious.

Instinctively, I took a step back, wanting to hit the electronic lock. I didn't want to deal with his volatile moods anymore.

But Julian moved with supernatural speed, bridging the distance between us in a fraction of a second. He slammed his hand against the door, shutting it, and trapped me against my desk, his towering form caging me in. He leaned in, his nose brushing my hair, inhaling deeply. He was searching for the sour scent of jealousy, the rapid heartbeat of a heartbroken lover.

"Are you avoiding me?" he demanded, his voice a dangerous, velvet whisper. "Why did you speak to her like that?"

I kept my heartbeat steady, utilizing every ounce of discipline I possessed. "I spoke to her with respect, My Lord. Are you upset? Because I agreed to stay out of Seraphina's way?"

I quickly shook my head, meeting his intense gaze. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm happy for you, Julian. You and Seraphina finally get to be together without any obstacles."

His eyes flickered, a flash of genuine confusion breaking through his anger. He stared at my neck, watching my pulse, listening to the steady, calm rhythm of my heart. He seemed... deeply dissatisfied with my answer.

"Is that the truth?" he scoffed, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "Or are you just being passive-aggressive? A pathetic attempt to make me feel guilty?"

He backed away, running a hand through his dark hair, a bitter laugh escaping his throat.

"Elara, don't insult my intelligence. Don't tell me you've suddenly gotten over me. Three years ago at the Winter Solstice gala, you let me feed from your wrist and you kissed me when you were drunk on vampire wine. You think I didn't notice the desperate way you clung to me?"

He began pacing my office like a caged predator. "All these years, those little hints you tucked into your daily briefings. The way you willingly offered your blood whenever I was stressed, never asking for payment. That encrypted folder on your terminal—the digital journal? I've had my tech vampires crack it. I've read all of it. You thought you were hiding your obsession so well. But the way you look at me? Everyone in this entire coven can smell the love rolling off you."

He stopped, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "The smartest thing you ever did was never formally confess. Because if you had? I would've laughed in your fragile, mortal face. Laughed at how pathetic and delusional you are to think a pureblood Lord would ever love a blood-bag."

He chuckled darkly to himself, then suddenly lunged toward my desk. He yanked open the bottom drawer, ripping the lock clean off the wood. He reached in and grabbed a thick, velvet-bound physical journal I had kept hidden—the one where I poured out my heart in my past life—and a handful of old, dried blood-rose petals he had casually given me centuries ago.

He scattered the pages and the crushed petals across the floor, driving the heel of his Italian leather shoe into them.

"I handpicked you fresh out of university," he spat, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. "I gave you immortality's protection. I trained you. I elevated you above the other mortals. And this is how you repay me? By sulking? You knew I only loved Seraphina. But you still harbored these disgusting... feelings you had no right to have. Do you know how embarrassing this is? For both of us?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a sinister, low register, his cold breath fanning over my ear.

"I came here to tell you something. Yesterday, when the Blood-Lotus was burning through me, I saw the look in your eyes before you left. You wanted to be the one to satiate me, didn't you? You wanted to offer your neck and trap me. Thank the dark gods you didn't. Because if you had touched me, I would've been disgusted for the rest of my immortal life. You're not worth a single drop of my venom."

My heart gave a solitary, painful thud. Even though I had sworn upon my rebirth never to love him again, hearing those merciless words still brought a phantom ache to my chest.

After warning me to keep my scent hidden and not to make Seraphina uncomfortable with my presence, Julian slammed the door so hard the hinges groaned, and vanished into the night.

I stood in the silence of my ruined office. I didn't cry. I didn't fall to my knees. I simply pulled up the Syndicate’s internal network and finalized my transfer paperwork. I was going to leave for the European Coven.

That night, I deliberately waited until the darkest hour, almost 3 a.m., when the Syndicate was quiet, to return to my office to pick up my personal belongings.

The moment I stepped inside, I noticed something was wrong. My custom, UV-shielded ergonomic chair—gone.

Then my phone buzzed. It was a social media post on the elite Syndicate network. Seraphina had posted a selfie, lounging elegantly in a luxurious, midnight-blue velvet office chair.

The caption read: "I just mentioned my back was aching, and my Lord immediately gave me the most comfortable chair in the entire tower. This is why it's so important to find a Vampire who possesses power, wealth, and infinite thoughtfulness! 🖤🦇"

She had taken the chair Julian had custom-ordered for me. Earlier this year, when a rogue vampire had thrown me against a wall, severely injuring my spine while I was protecting Julian's assets, he had specially commissioned the master craftsmen in Paris to build that chair for me. It was infused with healing magic, a gift worth over fifty thousand dollars—because I was his loyal "chief secretary."

He used to be so meticulously good to me. He knew exactly what it meant to show that kind of specialized, protective attention to a female subordinate in vampire culture. It signaled ownership. Affection.

And yet, he had intentionally let me fall for him, only to use his supreme power to crush me and declare I had no right to my own heart.

And now? Seraphina made one offhand, whining comment, and Julian didn't even bother to inform me before he ordered his guards to strip my office of my healing chair.

Hearing my footsteps, Julian suddenly appeared in my doorway, leaning against the frame with feigned nonchalance. "Seraphina has a delicate mortal spine. I gave her your chair. Your injury's healed anyway thanks to my blood. Any standard chair will do for you now."

I didn't even look up from the cardboard box I was assembling. "Mm," I murmured, my voice perfectly steady.

Julian's frown deepened. He crossed his arms, staring at me with a predatory intensity, his heightened senses searching for a crack in my armor.

"Elara," he probed, "didn't you used to hate it when I showed favor to other mortals? You used to give me the silent treatment for days. Why aren't you throwing a tantrum now? Why aren't your tears flowing?"

He pushed off the doorframe, stalking closer. "Are you plotting something? Because I'm warning you—if you dare try to sabotage Seraphina, I'll strip you of your Syndicate protection and throw you to the feral vampires in the underground."

I finally looked up, meeting his ancient, angry eyes with absolute nothingness. "I'm not trying to do anything to anyone, Julian. I just want to be left alone to do my work. And isn't this what you've always wanted from me? For me to be a perfectly hollow, professional machine? You should be thrilled."

Julian pressed his pale lips together into a thin line. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, almost like a sulking, petulant immortal child who realized his favorite toy wasn't reacting to his torture, he repeated, "Fine. Fine. Fine. Elara, you're just perfect."

He turned and stormed out, slamming the door on his way back to his penthouse.

Whenever he repeated words like that, it meant his ancient temper was boiling over. But I wasn't going to offer my throat to soothe him anymore. Whether he was angry or not didn't matter. Because soon, I would be an ocean away.