The perfume of lust clung to everything.
Maryna moved through the ballroom in a daze, trying not to stare too long at the bodies on display—half-dressed humans moaning beneath the teeth and hands of their captors. The air shimmered with erotic heat, as if the room itself was exhaling desire.
But it wasn't just sex.
It was ownership.
Power made flesh.
And Maryna… Maryna didn't belong here.
She was too alert, too tense, too aware of every hungry glance that landed on her.
She should have been flattered.
She was not.
She was terrified.
And fascinated.
Because some of the humans didn't look afraid.
They looked… content.
Drugged. Drifting.
Eyes glazed in pleasure. Laughter on bloodstained lips.
It was impossible to tell where consent ended and submission began.
If they even knew the difference anymore.
Maryna's stomach twisted.
The scent in the air changed.
Subtle. Sweet. Something pulling at her, like invisible fingers tugging gently at her senses.
She turned to Vasilios, who stood still as a statue, watching the room like he owned it. Which, she supposed, he did.
"I need the bathroom," she said, keeping her voice even.
His eyes slid toward her, sharp and knowing.
"They've seen you with me," he said. "No one will touch you."
He turned back toward the revelry. "Don't prove me wrong."
Maryna nodded once and slipped away.
The corridors outside the ballroom were quieter. Cooler. The scent of sex and wine faded, replaced by the hum of candlelight and the distant murmur of music.
She ducked into a bathroom tucked behind a velvet curtain and splashed cold water on her face, trying to shake off the strange dizziness crawling along her spine.
But it didn't leave.
If anything, it grew.
When she stepped back into the hall, the air was thicker.
And she wasn't alone.
A tall man in a gold-trimmed coat leaned casually against the wall, waiting. His mask was pulled away, revealing a face carved in sin—full lips, high cheekbones, dark eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked, his voice pure silk and shadows.
Maryna stiffened. "Excuse me."
He stepped in front of her, blocking the corridor.
"I couldn't help but notice you," he said, voice low and honeyed. "Your scent… it's unlike anything I've ever tasted."
Her breath hitched.
"I belong to Vasilios," she said quickly.
He smiled.
"Yes. And that's the only reason I haven't devoured you yet."
His hand moved slowly, tracing the air just inches from her waist. "But he can't guard you forever."
Maryna backed up.
He advanced.
One step. Two. Until her spine met the wall, cool stone against trembling flesh.
He leaned in, mouth inches from hers.
"You smell like innocence," he whispered. "It's intoxicating."
His fingers brushed her shoulder, trailing down her arm, slipping across the swell of her chest—barely grazing, but enough to make her gasp.
And still, his voice worked on her. Like a spell.
Her fear warred with heat pooling low in her belly.
She hated the sensation. Hated her body's betrayal.
But she couldn't stop it.
She was trembling. His hand slid up to her throat, not choking—just holding.
Just claiming.
"And when he tires of you," the vampire purred, "I'll be there. Waiting. To taste every inch."
Her vision swam.
A haze.
Her limbs wouldn't obey her.
She wanted to scream.
To claw.
But she was melting—
Until the air snapped like a whip.
Vasilios was there.
No words. No movement.
Just presence.
The vampire in gold recoiled immediately, hands dropping, head bowing.
"My lord," he said quickly. "Forgive me. I didn't know she had wandered."
"She did not wander," Vasilios said, voice like thunder barely leashed.
"She belongs to me."
And in those five words, the vampire in gold flinched—actually flinched—and melted into the shadows, vanishing without another sound.
Maryna slid down the wall, chest heaving, heart racing.
Vasilios knelt beside her, a rare flicker of concern in his crimson eyes.
"Did he touch you?"
She couldn't speak. She only nodded once.
His jaw tensed. "He will not again."
In the carriage ride home, she was silent.
She should've hated him. Feared him.
But instead, all she could feel was relief.
He had saved her. Again.
First from Rick.
Now from whatever that golden demon would have done.
So far, Vasilios had not touched her inappropriately. Had not taken what he could've easily claimed.
That, at least, gave her something to cling to.
But the question remained:
Why?
What did he want?
What game was he playing—and why was she the prize?
She didn't know the rules of this world.
But she would learn.
She would master them.
And she would never be that helpless again.
Back in her room, she opened the heavy history book with trembling fingers.
Her voice was quiet but sharp as she whispered to herself:
"Only knowledge can free me now."
To be continued…