The morning fog clung to the manor's edges like a veil. Akita was in the courtyard, hanging washed linens when she heard the thunder of hooves—three sets, not just Virgil's usual stallion. Her body tensed instinctively, eyes flicking to the iron gates as the guards opened them with hesitation.
Three riders cloaked in black dismounted swiftly. Their armor bore the crest of the Tirade Council, the vampire lords who governed the ancient laws. Akita recognized one of them immediately
Lucien.
Tall, pale, with ink-black eyes and a smile that never reached them. He had visited once before—back when she was still defiant enough to bite when handled. And he had laughed as she was punished, enjoying her pain with a scholar's interest.
Virgil emerged from the manor doors just as the riders approached. The change in him was immediate—his shoulders rigid, his face unreadable, his hand resting near the blade he rarely drew.
"Lucien," he said flatly. "Didn't expect your arrogant face so soon."
Lucien grinned. "You missed me. Admit it."
Akita ducked her head and stepped back, hoping to disappear, but Lucien's eyes flicked to her in an instant. "Still keeping pets, cousin?"
Virgil's jaw ticked.
"Interesting taste," Lucien continued, walking toward her. "This one has fight in her. I remember."
Akita flinched as he reached out to touch her chin, but before he could lay a finger on her, Virgil was between them in a blur.
"Touch her again," Virgil growled, "and I'll tear your arm off."
Lucien blinked, surprised. "My, my. Protective, are we? I thought she was just a slave."
"She is," Virgil said through gritted teeth. "But she's mine. You don't touch what's mine."
The air around them went cold. Even the other two riders grew still, sensing the tension mounting into something dangerous.
Lucien smirked. "Very well. But we didn't ride all this way to flirt with your toys. We came to deliver a summons."
"A summons?"
"From the Elders," Lucien said, pulling out a rolled parchment. "They've heard rumors. About your human."
Akita's breath caught.
"Rumors that you've grown too attached so soon ," Lucien added, "and that you may be forgetting your place."
Virgil didn't take the parchment. "They're wrong."
"Then prove it," Lucien said with a smile that felt like a knife. "Come to the council. Bring her. Let them see what she really is to you."
"I don't owe them anything," Virgil said coldly.
"But you owe us obedience. Or have you grown so wild in your isolation that you've forgotten your blood oath?"
Virgil stood silent for a moment. Then, with reluctant fury, he snatched the scroll from Lucien's hand.
"You'll have your answer in three days."
Lucien bowed mockingly and turned back to his horse. "Be sure she's still breathing by then."
They left as quickly as they came.
Akita stood frozen in the courtyard, heart pounding. When she dared to speak, it came out hoarse.
"You… you have to bring me to them?"
Virgil didn't look at her. He just crushed the parchment in his fist and whispered something that made her blood chill.
"If they lay a hand on you… I'll burn the council to the ground."
The manor had never been this quiet. Not even when snow blanketed the rooftops or when storms raged in the distance. This silence was different—heavy, watchful. It sat between the walls like a ghost neither of them dared to name.
Virgil stood in his study, back to Akita as he stared into the hearth's dim flames. His coat lay draped over the armchair. His sword—one forged in old blood and darker promises—rested on the desk beside an open scroll.
Akita lingered at the threshold, unsure whether to speak.
"You're still there," Virgil said without turning.
She nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her. "Yes, Master."
He finally turned. His eyes, though red as ever, were distant—calculating. Not cruel. Just… tired.
"Come inside."
She did, quiet as snow.
Virgil gestured to the stool beside the desk. She sat without a word. He studied her for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke.
"In three days, we ride for the council."
Akita's throat tightened.
"You are mine. I don't say that lightly, nor do I mean it as a threat," he continued. "It's a statement. Simple. Unshakeable. No one touches what is mine."
She blinked. "Then why do they want to see me?"
"Because they fear what I might be turning into," he replied bluntly. "And in their eyes, letting a human this close… is betrayal."
"But I haven't—"
"You don't need to do anything," Virgil interrupted, moving closer. "Your presence alone is enough to make them sharpen their blades."
He placed something on the desk in front of her: a headband made in little threads and beads etched with beautiful colors and designs.
"This," he said, "is your protection. While you wear it, you'll be marked as mine before the council. They won't dare try to claim you, not while this glows. Now you have a collar with a bell, beaded bracelet and a headband to tie it all off. Like a good little kitten…"
Akita looked down at it, hesitant. "Why protect me at all? If I'm just a slave?"
Virgil's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because I don't share. And because I don't let the council take what they didn't earn."
There was something vulnerable in the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.
He stepped behind her, gently brushing her thick curls to the side. She stiffened when his fingers grazed her neck than her forehead. "Don't move."
The headband was light against the top of her hair as he fastened it. Once he tied it into place, the beads pulsed faintly—almost like it felt her heartbeat.
"Too tight?" he asked softly.
"No," she said, barely above a whisper.
His hands lingered for a moment longer than they should have, fingers brushing the curve of her shoulder. Then he pulled away.
"You'll wear that in front of them," he said, clearing his throat. "And speak only when I command it."
Akita turned slightly to face him. "And if they try to… take me?"
Virgil met her gaze, something dark and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. "Then I'll kill every last one of them."
A beat passed between them.
"You don't have to lie to me," Akita said suddenly. "You care more than you say."
Virgil gave a small, humorless smirk. "Care is a luxury. Ideal in survival."
Still, his eyes betrayed him—lingering too long on her face. On the headband. On what it now symbolized.
She rose slowly. "What else do I need to know before we go?"
Virgil turned back to the fire. "Everything. But we'll start small. You'll walk beside me, speak only when spoken to, and bow when I bow. Your only job… is to stay close."
Akita nodded. "Understood."
As she left the study, Virgil stood alone for a moment longer, watching the flames.
"Care is a luxury," he whispered again almost scolding himself, as if repeating it would make it true. But deep down, he knew he wasn't preparing a slave for the council.He was preparing to fight for what was his.