“Who laid a hand on you?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, his piercing gaze pinned on her. When she failed to respond, the room trembled with the weight of his roar, “WHO?!”
From the corner, the butler’s hesitant voice broke the silence. “S-Sir… it was Mr. Reverale.”
Damien’s expression darkened instantly. The muscles in his jaw flexed, and his eyes turned ice cold. Without taking his eyes off the woman standing before him, he gave a sharp command, “Bring him. Now.”
The butler flinched, uncertain. “A-at this hour?”
One hand shot out and landed beside the girl’s head, boxing her in against the wall as Damien slowly turned to the stammering servant. His voice was soft—dangerously so. “Would you prefer I find time after I break your neck?”
The butler didn’t need to be told twice. He disappeared like a gust of wind and returned nearly half an hour later, dragging a confused Mr. Reverale behind him.
“Damien! What’s this? Midnight gathering?” Reverale said with a laugh, clueless to the storm brewing.
Without a word, Damien’s hand reached for the apple on the nearby table. Or rather, the blade embedded in it. When Reverale extended his arm for a handshake, Damien seized it—pressing it flat against the wooden surface.
With a single swift slice, like a chef preparing a quick meal, he severed four of Reverale’s fingers. Blood spattered. Reverale screamed, collapsing in agony.
“No one lays a hand on what’s mine,” Damien said, wiping the blade on a napkin as though disgusted by the mess. “Let this be a lesson. Next time, think twice before reaching.”
******************************
Introducing Damien Quinn: an aristocratic vampire with a vicious temper, a twisted sense of ownership, and a fondness for bargaining—even at the black market while buying a ‘guest.’
Now meet Penelope, the very guest in question—naive enough to think she’s just staying temporarily, and determined to escape her brooding host who clearly skipped therapy for centuries.
