The Reborn Blood Servant No Longer Craves Her Masters Fangs

The next few weeks passed with excruciating simplicity.

Seraphina came to the Syndicate tower every single night to flaunt their mating bond. She paraded around the executive floors, her neck constantly bruised with fresh, possessive bite marks. Julian’s mood remained perpetually foul; he was sulking, snapping at his generals, and leaving a trail of terrified employees in his wake.

And this time, I wasn't going to be the one to offer a vial of my blood or a soothing word to fix it.

A month later, a shockwave hit the supernatural underground. Seraphina announced she was pregnant. A miracle dhampir child.

Julian was over the moon. The dark, brooding Lord was suddenly throwing lavish blood-banquets, wanting to tell the entire immortal world that his legacy was secured. The Blood Mating ceremony, originally planned for the winter, was moved up immediately to the end of the month. Every vampire in the Syndicate was gossiping about the upcoming blood-rites.

In this life, the one who was carrying his child, the one who would endure the agony of a supernatural birth, was the woman he actually loved.

And I decided to let them have their perfect, cursed fairytale.

As soon as my transfer paperwork was secretly approved by the European elders, I booked a private, sun-shielded flight to Milan—scheduled to depart at the exact twilight hour of their Mating ceremony.

Two days before the flight, Julian finally cracked. He waited until Seraphina was out shopping for mortal baby clothes, then violently bypassed my electronic locks and pushed open my door.

He marched up to my desk, pulled out his obsidian tablet, opened an encrypted email from the High Council HR, and slammed it down in front of me.

"You applied for a permanent transfer to the Milan Coven?" His voice was a low, terrifying hiss, his eyes flashing dangerous shades of red. "What, you're so utterly devastated by my mating ceremony that you're running away like a coward?"

My heart gave a brief, traitorous skip at the sheer proximity of his imposing aura. But his next arrogant words extinguished any lingering anxiety.

When I didn't immediately beg for forgiveness, his tone turned freezing cold.

"Elara, are you entirely done with this childish tantrum?" he demanded, leaning his palms flat on my desk. "Ever since Seraphina became my Consort, you've been avoiding my gaze. You pull your collar up around me. You don't offer your blood anymore."

He scoffed. "But I am going to bind my soul to hers eventually. So what, you're planning to keep hiding from me in Europe even after the blood-rites are complete?"

I slowly capped my pen and shook my head. "Lord Julian, I think you severely misunderstand. I only see you as the ancient Master who mentored me in this industry. I am grateful for the mortal wealth you've provided. That is all."

He laughed. A harsh, booming sound that rattled the glass of my windows. It was as if I had just told the most absurd joke in history.

"Grateful? Elara, every blood-sucker in this building knows you've been hopelessly, desperately in love with me for half a decade. Who the hell is going to believe you're just 'grateful'? Do you even believe that pathetic lie yourself?"

He stood straight, his gaze sweeping around my office. He spotted the small, reinforced display shelf in the corner and smirked cruelly.

"All these little trinkets I gave you over the centuries—you've kept them so meticulously clean. So carefully displayed. And you have the audacity to look me in the eye and tell me you don't crave my bite?"

He walked over with a predator's grace and picked up the items one by one. A solid silver, runic-carved pen. A brooch containing a crystallized drop of his own blood. A Rolex watch engineered to withstand supernatural speeds.

He turned to me, his expression suddenly adopting a sickeningly serious, patronizing mask.

"You should put all this garbage away. I am about to take Seraphina's blood before the dark altar. You need to sever these ridiculous, romantic fantasies. We are Master and servant. Boss and employee. I will never love a creature like you. And Seraphina is carrying my heir now. If she wanders in here and smells my scent on these gifts, it might trigger her anxiety. I cannot have anything stress my mate or my unborn son."

"Mm. Understood," I said briskly. I stood up, pulled a plain cardboard shipping box from under my desk, walked over to him, and immediately started swiping everything into the box.

I was planning to incinerate it all before leaving the country anyway. Might as well pack it up now.

Seeing how ruthlessly calm I was, Julian’s smug expression vanished. He frowned darkly and his hand shot out, his ice-cold fingers wrapping around my wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Elara, can't you be more careful?" he snapped, his fangs clicking together in agitation. "Look what you just did, you dented the silver casing on this pen!"

I glanced indifferently at the luxury, rune-carved pen he had snatched back. It was the very first gift he ever gave me—on the night I survived a rogue vampire attack, passing my 'probation' to officially become his chief confidante.

For years, I had treasured it like a holy relic. I wouldn't let the cleaning staff even breathe near it.

But now, I had just tossed it carelessly onto a pile of other junk. And Julian, whose ego required absolute worship, couldn't stomach the sight of it.

"Elara, you're clearly devastated about me marrying Seraphina. You're shattered. That's why you're running away. But now you're trying to pretend you don't care?" His grip tightened slightly, a desperate need for validation bleeding into his voice.

He abruptly let me go and exhaled sharply, adjusting his cuffs. "Fine. Maybe it's actually good for you to go cool off in Italy. European vampires will put you in your place. Seraphina is in a highly delicate, volatile stage of her supernatural pregnancy. It's better if your depressive scent isn't stinking up the tower anyway."

Julian pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. A second later, my terminal beeped. He had just wired one hundred thousand dollars into my mortal bank account.

"Take this," he ordered, his tone slipping back into the arrogant CEO. "Get yourself settled in Milan. Buy some expensive blood-wine. Travel the mortal ruins a bit. Take a month to clear your delusional head. By then, Seraphina's pregnancy will be stable enough that she won't view you as a threat."

He looked at me with a dark, meaningful stare.

"Adjust your mindset while you're among the Italians, Elara. Don't miss me too much. I'm going to be a bonded man. You need to accept your place in the shadows. Otherwise, working together in the future is going to be incredibly tedious for me."

Julian gave me a few more condescending instructions about the Milan assignment, entirely convinced he was punishing a lovesick girl.

But he didn't know—I had died for him once. I had been reborn.

And this time, I was leaving the Nightshade Syndicate forever.

On the twilight of Julian's Blood Mating day, both the ancient Gothic cathedral and the Syndicate headquarters were bustling with vampires arriving from all over the globe.

While everyone was fixated on the impending blood-rites, the chanting, and the lavish displays of power, I quietly grabbed my single suitcase, slipped out the service elevator, got into a mundane human cab, and headed straight to the international airport.