They left the shop in silence.
The girl walked behind the vampire, instinctively keeping a small distance between them—only as much as the leash he held loosely in one hand allowed. In his other hand he carried a bag with the items bought from the shop, and the way he walked—calm, assured, unhurried—made her seem even smaller and more insignificant beside him.
The night air struck her immediately when they stepped outside.
The moon was high in the sky, large and cold, and its pale light fell over the streets of the vampire city.
She was barefoot.
The cold asphalt stung the soles of her feet, and every step reminded her of the open wound on her thigh. The blood continued to flow slowly, leaving behind her a thin, dark trail across the pavement.
She tried not to limp.
She tried not to show how much it hurt.
As they walked, she dared to steal a glance at the man who had become her master.
She did not look at him directly—she knew too well that some masters did not tolerate their animals meeting their eyes—but she lifted her gaze just enough to study his silhouette.
He was tall.
Much taller than she had realized in the shop.
His black hair fell over the collar of his coat, and the way he moved was so confident and composed that it felt as though the entire world belonged to him.
The girl swallowed hard, feeling the reality of her situation begin to settle over her like a crushing weight, harder and harder to ignore.
She had a master now, and the thought made her stomach twist painfully, because it meant her life depended entirely on his will. The vampire had the power to do absolutely anything he wished with her—to punish her, to use her, or, if he wanted, simply kill her and drink her blood without anyone stopping him.
And yet, in her mind, one question kept repeating obsessively.
Azarie.
Cato had spoken that name, and the girl felt a cold shiver run up her spine at the mere memory of it.
She prayed silently, for the first time in a long time, that he would not be that Azarie—not Lord Azarie, the one people whispered about with fear in their hidden enclaves, not the vampire said to rule this city with a power no one could challenge.
At that moment, the vampire stopped abruptly.
The girl failed to react in time and collided with his solid back, the impact making her flinch violently.
"I—I'm sorry, Master…"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She immediately covered her mouth with her hand, realizing with horror that she had spoken without being given permission.
She braced herself for the blow.
But it never came.
Instead, the vampire turned slightly toward her, and before she could say anything he caught her wrist in his cold fingers.
The grip wasn't painful.
Just firm.
He guided her a few steps farther, toward a black limousine waiting at the edge of the street.
Another vampire sat behind the wheel, dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform.
Azarie—because in her mind she had already begun to call him that—pushed her gently inside.
The interior was dark and cold.
She sat as close to the corner of the seat as possible, keeping her head lowered.
The vampire sat down beside her.
He wasn't looking at her, but he wrinkled his nose slightly, and the girl immediately realized that the smell of her blood had probably become unbearable.
The car started moving, and she dared to look out the window.
For the first time, she was seeing the city of the vampires.
The streets were wide and almost empty, the buildings tall and dark, and the light of the streetlamps was cold, bluish. From time to time she saw silhouettes of vampires passing along the sidewalks, and the few humans who appeared on the street walked with their heads lowered and hurried steps.
In this world, vampires ruled everything.
They were few.
But powerful enough that humanity no longer had any hope.
A few human enclaves had still managed to survive outside the cities—hidden and isolated in places difficult to find—where people lived under the constant fear of being discovered and fought every day simply to stay alive.
Others, however, had made pacts with the vampires, choosing to survive in a different, crueler way.
They hunted people like her—lost, weak, or isolated people—and captured them only to sell them to the vampires, turning them into merchandise.
The journey continued in a heavy silence, and the girl struggled to control her breathing, though the air entered her chest with difficulty because of the tight collar pressing against her throat with every breath. The harder she tried to breathe quietly, the louder her breathing became, and that ragged sound filled the interior of the car.
The vampire noticed.
Without saying anything, he reached a hand toward her, and his cold fingers touched the metal of the collar. A short click sounded in the silence of the car, and the collar opened, after which he removed it completely with surprisingly gentle movements.
For the first time in many hours, the girl drew a breath without it being blocked by the cold metal. The air filled her lungs all at once, and her breathing grew deeper, though her throat—irritated and wounded by the friction of the collar—still burned.
Even so, the sense of relief was almost dizzying.
The vampire watched her closely, and his eyes lingered especially on her throat, staying there for a few seconds too long for the girl to feel comfortable.
She didn't know whether he was examining the wounds left by the metal or imagining what it would be like to bite her.
"What is your name?"
His voice was low and deep, and the way it rolled through the interior of the car sent a shiver down Beatrice's spine.
"B-Beatrice."
The vampire tilted his head slightly.
"Beatrice."
Her name rolled slowly over his lips, as if he were tasting it for the first time.
Then he smiled faintly, only at the corner of his mouth.
"A beautiful name for a girl with so little luck."
He paused for a moment, his gaze still resting on her.
"What a tragedy."
The car gradually slowed, and after a few moments it came to a complete stop, the engine purring softly in the silence of the night. Beatrice lifted her gaze toward the window and, the moment she saw what stood before them, she felt her breath catch for a moment.
Beyond the tall black iron fence surrounding the property rose an immense estate, dominated by the silhouette of a massive, dark building—far larger than anything she had ever seen in her life.
The heavy gates opened slowly, and the car moved forward between them. Another vampire in uniform stood guard near the entrance and bowed his head respectfully as the limousine passed him.
In that moment, Beatrice understood.
A cold wave ran through her entire body, and she felt herself begin to tremble, unable to control the reaction.
Because she suddenly became certain of one thing.
Her master was exactly who she had feared he might be.
Lord Azarie.
The car stopped at the base of a wide set of stone stairs. The vampire stepped out first, moving with the same calm assurance he had carried throughout the journey.
Beatrice, however, remained where she was.
She did not move at all.
"Get out."
She didn't react, and after a moment his voice grew slightly colder.
"Don't make me put the collar back on you."
He paused briefly, his gaze fixed on her throat.
"You won't enjoy it."
Beatrice climbed out of the car immediately. Her legs trembled as she followed him up the stairs, trying to keep her balance.
The enormous doors of the building opened before them, and the cold air from inside made her flinch.
The hall was vast, dark, and silent.
The moment she stepped inside, Beatrice understood with painful clarity that the life she had lived until then was over.