"Did you find something you like?" Zyren asked, his voice dipped in sly amusement, a purr of knowing threaded through his tone that he made no attempt to hide. It slithered into Aria’s ears, making her spine lock and her throat burn. She didn’t dare say no.
Her whole body began to tremble, her hands clenched tightly at her sides as her breath hitched in her chest. Her lips parted, and when she spoke, her voice cracked, laden with disbelief and dread. "It’s my sister," she breathed, the words barely leaving her lips. The fear in her voice was undeniable, raw and thick, cutting through the space between them. "She’s on the stage."
But she’d scarcely gotten the words out when the auctioneer’s booming voice filled the theater again, sharp and callous, completely devoid of compassion.
"Another one! With enough care, she can bear as many humans as you want before she dies!" he bellowed, laughing as if it were a joke, as if the girl standing on that stage in chains was no more than livestock to be bred and discarded.
Aria’s breath caught in her throat. The full weight of the horror around her pressed in like a crushing vice. It hit her, in full, what this place truly was—not just a market for beautiful slaves, but for breeders, would be forced to mate with other humans, picked by their masters.
A fate her sister—Liora—could never endure.
Her thoughts spun wildly, tripping over one another. What happened to Mother? I thought she got you to safety! Where is she? Her heart twisted painfully at the possibility that her mother’s absence meant she had died trying to protect her.
And yet, there was no time. No room for grief or hesitation.
Without a second thought, Aria dropped to her knees beside Zyren, her hands landing on the plush carpet as she scrambled to face him, desperation bleeding through every frantic movement. The cane she’d used to walk clattered beside her, forgotten. She didn’t care about dignity, didn’t care that others might be watching. Her voice broke with raw, naked pleading.
"Please," she begged, her voice cracking, her face lifted toward him with eyes wide and glistening. "Please save her!"
Zyren turned his gaze to her slowly, lazily, like a man entertained by a pet performing a new trick. His expression was unreadable—cold, detached—though a faint smile toyed at the corners of his lips. A cruel smile. One that reveled in the helplessness radiating from her like heat.
"Her?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if baffled by the request. As though he didn’t already know exactly who Aria was referring to.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Her limbs trembled as she looked toward the stage, her vision swimming. Liora stood there, still bound, still silent, and still next in line to be sold.
"Liora!" Aria cried, her voice rising. "My sister!"
But Zyren, the king of vampires, didn’t look at the stage. He turned his red, glinting eyes instead to the right—toward Mari, the stunning woman in the revealing gown who still lingered at the edge of the royal balcony.
"Mari," he said, his voice low and commanding.
The woman instantly dropped to her knees in front of him, spine curved with practiced grace as she thrust her breasts forward, her arms outstretched like she was offering herself as a gift.
Zyren didn’t even look at her as he asked, "What does a pet do when asking for a treat from its master?"
Mari’s lips curled into a smug smile as she flicked a glance toward Aria—still kneeling beside him, her posture desperate and untrained, her anguish so palpable it was almost embarrassing. Mari’s voice rang out like a bell, sweet and sharp.
"It pleases its master first."
Zyren turned his gaze back to Aria, and she felt the chill of it slice across her skin like a blade.
Her heart thundered. She understood what he was doing. This was no longer about her sister. This was about her. About submission. About how far she was willing to go to save her sister.
But she didn’t hesitate. Before he could speak again, she crawled closer, dragging herself forward across the velvet carpet until she was at his feet, her coat hanging from her shoulders in a loose, ungraceful heap. Her voice cracked open with raw desperation.
"Please!" she cried again. "I’ll do anything!"
Down on the stage, the auctioneer was already beginning to describe Liora in that oily, calculated voice, emphasizing her "valuable" traits—her red hair, so rare; her delicate build, ideal for bearing children; her clear, unmarred skin.
The audience murmured with interest. Aria could hear the sound of rising bids, one after the other.
"Anything!" she repeated, louder this time, her voice bordering on frantic.
Her hands gripped the hem of Zyren’s coat, her eyes locked on his. In this moment, nothing else mattered. Not her hatred for him. Not her need for vengeance. Only Liora. Her sister was alive, and this man—this monster—was the only one who could stop what was about to happen.
Zyren studied her with unnerving calm, then leaned slightly forward. His fingers came up and traced her jawline, cold and smooth and deliberate.
"Then show me," he said, voice dropping into something husky and dark, like a storm brewing just under the surface. "Prove it."
His fingers lingered for a breath longer, then dropped, his hand gesturing lazily toward his crotch.
"Use your mouth and please me," he commanded, the words landing like iron shackles around her neck.
A flash of disgust rippled across her face—raw, unfiltered revulsion. Her stomach twisted. Rage stirred beneath her skin like acid. She wanted to spit in his face, to scream, to claw her way out of this nightmare. But the sound of the auctioneer counting bids—higher and higher—rang in her ears, driving nails into her resolve.
Zyren watched her without blinking, his gaze now sharp, glacial. Dangerous.
If she said no, if she pushed him too far... he might order Liora’s execution just to make a point.
Aria swallowed back a sob and reached for his belt with trembling fingers. She fumbled with the clasp, her hands shaking so badly that it took her a moment to undo it. When she finally tugged his trousers down, she gasped softly.
Heat flushed up her neck, her breath catching. She remembered how it had felt the first time she’d seen him—how inhumanly large he was, how impossibly thick—and now, confronted with that reality again, she struggled to believe it could even fit inside her mouth.
"It won’t—" she began to protest, her voice barely above a whisper, but she was silenced by a single look.
Zyren’s eyes were like frozen embers—dark red and deadly. One wrong word, and Liora would be gone.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she bent her head and touched him, the heat of his skin shocking against her cold fingers. She forced her lips to part, pressing them against him as she opened her mouth, letting the thick weight of him slide in, her jaw already aching from the stretch.
The taste of him—salt and steel—coated her tongue. Her whole body shook with humiliation and fury. Her mind screamed to stop, to run, to bite him. But her sister’s face was still on that stage, chained and helpless.
And Zyren... Zyren watched her with unflinching attention, his gaze anchored to her face, his chest rising and falling with restrained hunger.
To him, she wasn’t just proving her loyalty. She was showing her weakness and in that moment, he knew he had her.
But Aria had barely taken the thick tip of him into her mouth when she jerked back with a soft, wet gasp, pulling him out. Her hands trembled at her sides, her chest heaving. She didn’t dare meet his eyes, but she could feel the shift in the air—the sharp, immediate crackle of fury radiating off of him.
She wasn’t surprised. Zyren didn’t need to speak for her to sense the storm blazing behind those blood-red eyes.
"I’ll do it!" she cried out, her voice breaking as she looked up at him, lips trembling, shame burning hot across her cheeks. "But she’s being sold now!" Her words came out in a breathless rush, pleading, urgent, as she pointed out the obvious—if he didn’t act now, Liora would be gone before Aria could even finish.
Zyren’s jaw twitched. His expression darkened, his irritation obvious in the subtle narrowing of his eyes. Still, he didn’t explode. He didn’t lash out.
Instead, he shifted his gaze toward Mari, who still lingered nearby. Though she had lowered her head slightly in a posture of decorum, her attention had clearly been elsewhere—drawn to Zyren’s exposed lower half with a hunger of her own.
"Inform the auctioneer that he should reserve her," Zyren said coolly, voice clipped and devoid of warmth, pointing at the stage.
Mari didn’t hesitate. She bowed deeply, the neckline of her gown dipping scandalously low as she turned with swift, fluid grace and strode from the balcony without a word, leaving Aria alone with Zyren and the two guards stationed behind him—stoic figures whose gazes remained forward, impassive and unmoved.
Aria let out a trembling breath, her body sagging slightly in relief. But the moment was short-lived.
Zyren turned back toward her. His red eyes bore into hers, a flicker of warning behind their depthless glow.
His voice low and sharp as a dagger, and far colder than it had been moments ago.
"If you fail to please me" he said, enunciating every word with chilling precision, "...you’ll wish you had simply allowed her to be sold."