Something stirred in Manny’s mind, rousing her from a dreamless sleep. Feelings that weren’t her own, but her body reacted to as if they were. Impatience, excitement, and a gentle… craving.

When she opened her eyes, she was met by the ceiling of her room cast in the same reds and violets as the day before, though much brighter. Earlier in the day? She didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to follow this thread of feelings until it inevitably led her to Vincent.

She pulled at her hair in frustration, and groaned. The bastard was probably waking her up on purpose, she thought. Like a dog whistle to her brain, taunting and tormenting her into doing his bidding, with a leash in the form of the enchanted manacle to keep her close.

Those feelings didn’t let up. They were relentless, everpresent. And the impatience was getting worse. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but she just couldn’t. She found herself tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable again, and hating him and herself for it in equal amounts.

Who was this fucking prick to wake her up like this?

Your Master, a treasonous part of her whispered. She pinched herself as soon as the word entered her mind, digging in her nails so hard it drew blood. She did not have a master. She did not have a master. She had a kidnapper. She had a tormenter. He was someone to hate, someone to defy.

If only she could figure out a way to do that.

Lying here in her fancy bed, wide awake purely because he wanted her for something, she couldn’t see much of a way to defy him without making herself miserable. She… She supposed there was one thing she could do to be free of him, and spite him in the process, but… no. She was far too much of a coward, and not nearly desperate enough for that

Reluctantly, she threw her sheets aside, and got out of the bed. She shuffled across the thick carpet, stretching and yawning, and… And something caught her eye.

Hanging from the knob to open her bedroom’s door, was a black nightgown. At a glance it was very similar to the one she was already wearing, though when she picked it up, she noticed it had a deeper neckline, and areas where the only fabric was thin lace, embroidered with the silhouettes of birds. It would be far more revealing than what she was currently wearing, arguably less decent than just strutting about naked.

Anger bubbled up in her, and she balled her fist around the fabric before she opened the door, and went looking for him, eager to give him a piece of her mind. She checked the little library first. When that was empty, she moved towards the kitchen. She found him there, waiting for her, dressed in a robe, and drinking a glass of wine. And before she could say anything, it hit her that he was so, so happy to see her.

It completely took the wind out of her sails. She’d come here, primed and prepared to yell at him for using his vampire powers to wake her up, and leaving skimpy outfits for her to find, and… he was just happy she was there.

“There you are, Little Elf,” he said. His voice was soft, but content. The impatience that had spurred her on faded, every feeling that had driven her to irritation and anger seemingly just melting off of her, replaced by a sense of value and self worth.

If it weren’t for the fact that she was holding the revealing gown, she might have forgotten her own anger. But she was holding it, and she looked down at it. She… She’d wanted to yell at him about it. But that felt so stupid, now.

“You found my gift,” he noted, pointing at the thing.

Manny nodded. “Y–yeah… I…”

“Do you like it?” He asked. It was such an earnest question, backed by a sense of genuine curiosity, and she just couldn’t bring herself to be upset about it.

“Not really, no,” she quietly said, looking down at it and at herself. “I’d prefer more clothes, not fewer.”

“For now,” he told her, then put his glass of wine down, and came closer. Again, that intimidating certainty struck her, and she came out in goosebumps from the feeling. “And… for now, I’ll accept that.”

He walked around behind Manny, and even with her eyes cast down, she caught the briefest glimpse of him untying the belt that kept his robe closed. The image sent her mind reeling, imagining him doing all manner of terrible things to her. All she could feel from him was the certainty that he was doing the right thing, and she was about to run, or hit, or kick, when she felt a weight settle on her shoulders.

“Huh?” She asked, looking up to see Vincent down to a woolen nightshirt and trousers, and his robe resting on her shoulders.

He grinned at her as he walked back to his glass of wine. “If you want more clothes, I’ll happily provide them, Magnanimity. It’ll make it all the sweeter when you change your mind.”

Manny wrapped herself up in the robe in a hurry. She was not quite grateful, but it was close. It gave her a sense of safety, that despite his arrogant certainty that she’d change her mind, he seemed to respect her decisions.

“Why don’t you make us some breakfast?” He asked, with a gesture to the fires burning in the oven and stove. “Then we’ll start your first lesson.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” snorted Manny, derisively. “Nothing that would appeal to someone who lives like this, anyways.”

“Try me,” he challenged, leaning onto the island countertop. “The turnovers were a great choice, but I want to see what you can do.”

Manny crossed her arms and huffed, “I’m not going to put on a show for you, Vincent.”

He chuckled. Manny sensed the amusement, just how entertained he was by her. She didn’t like that that made her feel good. “Suit yourself, Little Elf. I suppose your first lessons can wait until you’re feeling a little more… cooperative.”

“W–what?” Manny asked. “No! I… I don’t want to wait!”

“Neither do I,” said Vincent. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he enjoyed this. “But you don’t want to show me what you usually eat for breakfast, so why should I–”

“Fine!” She hissed, cutting him off. His smug expression hardened as soon as she did that, and the mirth left his mood. It felt a little like the floor giving way beneath her, when things like that – things that displeased him – happened. It was a very succinct reminder that he did not tolerate being interrupted. “I’m sorry,” she quietly said. “I’ll… think of something to make.”

Vincent nodded, and to her relief, that pleased him enough to make her feel like she’d landed on solid ground again. “I think that would be wise.”

In the dining hall, Manny looked at her best attempt at breakfast, and felt… woefully inadequate. She'd cut some bread into thin slices, cut a hole in it, fried it in butter, then cracked an egg into the hole she'd made.

She almost didn’t dare to serve it to the man, when she looked at it. At home, this seemed like such normal, wholesome food. In this kitchen that probably cost more than she’d make in an entire lifetime, though, it just looked sad.

She did her best to disguise just how sad by adding some of the seemingly endless array of spices he had on offer, and while she was sure that would have made Zorah squeal with joy, she doubted it would help here. They were his spices, gods help her. They wouldn’t impress him.

She served it to him all the same, though. His rising curiosity and impatience was like an itch she could only scratch by doing what he wanted. He eyed the plate uncertainly, glancing up at her a few times. She could feel his initial reaction to it. He didn’t expect he was going to like this.

“D–do you need something else?” She asked. “I thought you just wanted me to–”

He silenced her with a look, then cut off a piece of the bread and egg with his knife and fork. She practically held her breath as he scrutinized it, then took a bite. Some small part of her – the same part that had pinched herself hard enough to draw blood just half an hour ago – now scolded her for caring whether he liked the breakfast she’d made. But she ignored it. As much as she loathed to admit it, it was just not possible to ignore him or his feelings.

“I actually rather like this,” he admitted after he swallowed. And she felt a tremendous weight lift off of her shoulders. “It’s… quaint,” he decided, then he fondly smiled at her. “Like you’re turning out to be, Little Elf.”

That smile and that fondness, they felt good. His approval, his affection, they rushed in to fill the vacuum left by her worrying about making him something to eat. She… She felt so much more for him in that moment, and she returned his smile eagerly, giggling like a fool. She wanted to wrap herself up in that feeling, to shed the robe he’d given her, and wear that approval instead.

She had the restraint to keep herself from pouncing on him and kissing him, but… why was that a bad thing, again? He… he was wealthy, he was powerful, he was handsome, and all the gods, did it feel good to make him happy.

It seemed like it was only a blink of an eye before Vincent had finished the simple breakfast, so captivating was it to just lose herself in his thoughts and feelings that she hardly registered he’d gotten up until he was close enough to feel his breath on her face. “Being a thrall doesn’t sound like such a bad deal now, does it?” He whispered, like raw honey in her ears. He believed – he knew that being his thrall was good, and she was already dully nodding along when it suddenly clicked what he was saying.

“What?” She asked, blinking, and backing away from him. The stab of disapproval like a bucket of icy water to snap her out of whatever stupor he’d lulled her into. “No!” She told him.

But he just smiled at her. He’d won some slight battle here, and she’d not even realized they were fighting it until right now, when she suddenly felt like congratulating him for his victory. “Come along, Manny,” he told her. “Let’s start your first reading lessons.”

Manny was torn, and confused. “But… I haven’t even eaten,” she realized, looking down at the table, and his emptied plate.

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismissively said. “The turnovers will still be good.”

She stared at him, in the doorway out of the dining room, and into the hallways beyond. “Turnovers?” She asked. “Then… Why did I make you breakfast?”

He grinned at her, and beckoned her to follow. “Why, because I told you to, of course.”

Hours later, Manny’s head was positively swimming, and her wrist was killing her. There were so, so many letters, each of them with names and several sounds they could make, and after learning to recite them by rote, she’d spent most of the lesson carving only a handful of them into a wax tablet.

First she’d written the same ones over and over again, filling entire rows of the tablet with the same symbol until she got the motions down. Then, Vincent had held up cards with single letters on them for her to name, or simply started naming letters in a random sequence, and demanded that she write them down.

“A-F-D-E-A-C-A-B-B-C-A-D-F-F-C-A…” On, and on, repeated without any pattern she could discern, forcing her to pay attention. And that way only the first fifth of the damned things, to boot. There would be days upon days of just this before she could even try to read or write something.

But… she had to admit it was rewarding. Vincent was patient and gentle, correcting her mistakes, and praising her for getting the hang of it faster than he’d expected. This was something she’d wanted for such a long time, and now that it was finally happening, she felt good about herself, despite the aches and fatigue.

Now she was slumped back on the comfortable sofa facing his library’s fireplace, staring up at the ceiling, with Vincent by her side, radiating contentment as he read a book. “Can… Can we do more of that later today?” She asked, quietly.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Do you think you can pay attention for another session?”

“Sure,” Manny said. “After I’ve had a nap for a week or two, and eat something.”

He laughed at her joke. It was sincere, and the sound and mirth within him both warmed her heart as much as the fireplace before them. “I think we’ve done plenty of this for one day, Little Elf.”

She nodded along, agreeing with him. As much as she might want to rush this, she understood she probably couldn’t. Instead, she was content to simply stay put, and rest. He returned his attention to his book, and she slipped her eyes closed, relaxing and allowing her mind to wander aimlessly, tethered to Vincent by that sense of contentment, confident that she would notice if he changed his mind about another reading lesson.

Vincent stopped reading shortly after his elf slipped her eyes closed. Centuries of living with his thralls had taught him the value of meditation as a tool to give them the peace they deserved, whenever he could.

And this one did so very much deserve peace. A lifetime of abuse, neglect, and food insecurity had taken a toll on the elf, and those scars would take another lifetime to heal. He wouldn’t undermine the trust he was earning by getting excited by a good book while she tried to rest.

He watched her, instead. The tension drained from her neck and jaw. Her heartbeat slowed, and her body cooled ever so slightly as she drifted off to sleep.

He guided her down as gently as he could, helping her lie down on the sofa with her head in his lap as she started to snore. He stroked those vibrant, orange curls of hers, savoring the feeling. Manny didn’t Adore him yet, but she did trust him. She had no choice. And now he had her head in his lap, as vulnerable as a person could be – exactly as befit a thrall.

As he sat there, and the minutes turned to hours, the thirst started to nag at him. It… was tempting to rouse her, and sink his fangs into her neck. It would be good for him, and euphoric for her. He’d slake his thirst, and get the opportunity to properly mark her neck with the scars that she’d learn to be proud of in the process.

He decided against it with a knowing smile. The bond would drive her to offer her neck to him soon enough, and he would satisfy himself with his stock until then.

Clanging knocks and a sense of urgency woke Manny up. She stretched and yawned, feeling parched and famished, and realized she wasn’t in bed. She was far too sore for that, and… well, it just wasn’t a bed. “Wha… wha’s goin’ on?” She asked, sensing Vincent was close.

“Well, someone’s knocking at my door, and you’re making it quite difficult to see who it is,” Vincent teased. He was amused and happy, and it put a smile on her face. Then it clicked. She was in his lap.

She snapped her eyes open, and she scrambled off of the sofa as quickly as she could, utterly mortified. “Oh, fucking gods, I…” She stammered. How the hell should she express how she felt? How did she even feel to begin with? Had she just fallen asleep and curled up with that man like she was a stray cat, finally given a warm body to nap on?

Judging by that infuriating, delightful smirk on his face, that was exactly what had happened. That knock came again, incessant and urgent, and he said, “don’t you think you should get that, Little Elf?”

She almost wanted to thank him for the command, if only so she could work through her embarrassment on her own. “Y–yeah,” she croaked out, then stormed towards the manor’s front doors.

The knocks kept coming regularly until she got to the front door. She opened it, and winced at how bright it was outside, despite the overcast sky. “Y–yeah?” She asked, trying to get a good look at who it was.

A familiar woman’s voice tisked at her. “Oh, my, Sunset. Your master won’t like you greeting me like that at all.”

“Sunset?” Manny repeated, taking a step back into the manor to get a better look at her. The silhouette stepped inside after her, and closed the door. “Alara?” She asked. The priestess was hard to recognize, dressed in a black blouse and riding pants, but the purple make-up and distastefully familiar nickname were dead give-aways.

“Oh, you remember me? I’m touched,” the priestess said, with such fake sweetness in her voice that Manny felt like she should gag. “Go fetch your master, Sunset. I’ve got some news for him.”

“He’s not my master,” Manny hissed.

Alara put one hand on her hip as she looked Manny up and down, then snorted. “Sure he’s not. Vampires are known for their egalitarian relationships, after all,” she teased

Manny growled at the sarcastic remark, and took a step closer to the woman, trying to look threatening. She didn’t have to worry about losing her job for speaking her mind like last time.

“Oh, and it even growls when I speak ill of its master. Delightful,” Alara said, unfazed by the threat.

Manny balled her fists, relishing the excuse to take out her impotent frustrations on this woman that had helped kidnap her, when a sharp whistle behind her drew her attention. She looked up to see Vincent. She could feel it was not her but his frustration she’d wanted to vent, and his… his eyes…

Her thoughts melted away like butter in a frying pan when she looked into them. “What do you want, Alara?” He demanded. He sounded angry, but not at Manny. No, of course not. Looking into those eyes, it was obvious she couldn’t do anything that would make him angry. “This is a sensitive time for us.”

Her head lolled to the side, and she grinned at him. “Your voice is beautiful,” she whispered to him, and she started to walk towards him, struggling to maintain her balance.

“I know,” a voice behind Manny agreed. “And I figured you might want to know about the woman running around the First University, looking for her.”

“Who?” Vincent asked.

“Fucked if I know,” the voice said. “Though she did meet a very helpful priestess of Ishara that told her they should meet in the University’s library after dusk, so they could plan how to find her together.”

When Manny got to Vincent, he handily caught her. “You’re… You’re so strong,” she mumbled.

“Helpful priestess, huh?” Vincent asked, sarcastically. He wasn’t paying attention to her, but… Manny didn’t mind. She would wait until he was done with this. “Well, deal with her, then. I’ll pay you, you know I will.”

“You don’t want to follow up on this?”

Vincent looked contemplative for a moment, then he returned his gaze to Manny, and smiled. “What do you think, Manny? Do you want to see who’s looking for you?”

Manny giggled. “You… you want me to… to… decide?”

Vincent’s smile turned into a grin, and Manny practically collapsed from the sheer wonder that was his approval. It was like a drug, addicting and enticing her to seek out more and more of it. “No, I suppose not,” he said, then reached into the breast pocket of his nightshirt, and produced a small, silver key. “This is for the wardrobe in your room. Go get dressed,” he ordered.

“Yes!” She eagerly said, grasping the key as tightly as she latched onto his command. This… this was perfect. It was a clear, unambiguous instruction. A way to earn more of his approval. She could do that, and she’d do it eagerly.

She started towards her bedroom with a big smile on her face, excited to get to do what he said. She slipped through the doors leading into the hallways, past the kitchen, and… and…

Her head cleared up. She still wanted to do what he said, but… She groaned. That damned man had used those… those eyes on her, hadn’t he? She stopped, and turned to look in his direction. She wanted and indeed intended to give him a piece of her mind about touching her mind with his magic, but it was so appealing to just do as he said. If she stormed back into the foyer with that attitude, she’d upset him, and make herself feel even worse. She’d wind up bleeding to only inflict a scratch on him. And for what? It’s not like his weird vampire powers hurt.

She forced the feeling down, and continued to her room to get dressed.

Manny discovered something very peculiar about herself. Despite all of her resentment of vain nobility and rich people, it turned out that she really enjoyed wearing nice clothes, and the ones that filled the dresser Vincent had indicated were beautiful indeed. They were all tailored to elven proportions ever so slightly bigger than her own. Trousers, leggings, tunics, blouses, scarves, gloves, boots, and dresses were all on offer, and all called to her with gusto.

She picked out a simple outfit for herself. Sturdy boots, gray leggings, a black skirt, a brown blouse, and a maroon tailcoat. Every single one of the articles was nicer than anything she’d owned before, and most of them even fit better, with the exception of the golden band around her ankle that had to be wrangled into the boot, and pressed at her uncomfortably.

She regarded herself in the mirror. The muted colors of the clothes made her distinctly-elven eyes and hair shine in a way they never did before. She spun around a little, examining herself from every angle she could think of.

The outfit was a far cry from the demeaning nightgown she’d woken up to. And she had to admit that, assuming Vincent had chosen these for her, he had outstanding taste.

She slipped the key he’d given her into one of the coat’s pockets, then started down the manor’s hallways, back to where Vincent would be waiting for her. When she passed the kitchen, though, her stomach growled at her.

She was still hungry.

She scanned her own mind, looking for that sense of impatience she’d learned to associate with Vincent waiting for her. It wasn’t there. She could sense he was occupied with something, perhaps getting dressed himself, and decided she had time to eat something.

She opened his panty, her eyes flitting across the shelves of foodstuffs, looking for things she could eat quickly. A little jar of jam the size of her fist stood out to her as a good start. She tucked that into another pocket, then kept looking. He had some fruit that looked off, and like it wouldn’t satisfy her.

She was hungry, but she also had a… a craving. She wanted… she wanted something firmer, like a choice cut of steak or mutton chops. He didn’t have anything like that in his pantry, of course. And she’d have to cook it, even if he did. But he did have a few links of dried sausages.

Those looked great. And they’d keep, too. She took them off of the rack they were hanging from, then tore off two, and tucked the rest out of view as a matter of instinct before she tore into the meat.

It wasn't stealing to hide food in the pantry like that, she knew. She wasn't making anything disappear. She was just… protecting it. She was making sure it wouldn't be wasted. That it would still be there later.

The sausage was salty and greasy in her mouth, and she savored it. It tasted good, really good, even. But not quite as good as she’d hoped. It would satisfy that hunger, but not the craving that loomed beyond it. She loitered in the pantry for a while, wolfing the first one down as quickly as she could.

She was about to start on the second when that sense of urgency reared its ugly head into her mind, and with a groan, she stuffed it into her pocket next to the little jar of jam, then headed back to the foyer.

Manny found Vincent and Alara waiting for her there, and demurely joined them. She kept her eyes cast down out of an instinctive worry about him using his powers, though she did take in that he’d gotten dressed, too. He was wearing a coat, gloves, a thin scarf, and a hat. Far too much for the season.

She snickered at the sight. “What, are you afraid of sunlight?” She asked.

Vincent only nodded at the jab, and Manny sensed neither amusement nor offense. “You will be too, soon enough.”

Before Manny could ask what that meant, Vincent opened the front door, and stepped out into the cloudy afternoon. That more than answered the question. She winced and grimaced, feeling Vincent’s discomfort as the sunlight stung him wherever his skin was exposed.

Ahead of him, a carriage pulled up with a chrest of a crescent moon and two stars to either side painted on the door. Like the manor itself, it had red-tinted glass for windows, and it was driven by a human man with white hair, and pale skin that was wrinkled and spotted from a lifetime in the sun.

She rushed ahead of him and opened the door, wanting that sense of discomfort he radiated to end as quickly as possible. He liked that a lot, and she couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face because of it.

“Oh you’re right, Sunset. He’s not your master at all. The hasty shuffling to open the door for him like his loyal valet really dissuaded me of the notion,” Alara teased, as Vincent climbed into the carriage. Manny couldn’t quite think of a way to retort, so she just climbed in after him, and pulled the door shut with a satisfyingly loud clunk, casting the carriage in such pure red light that she couldn’t tell colors apart anymore.

Much to Manny’s satisfaction, the carriage pulled into motion a few moments later, and she settled into the seat opposite Vincent. He eyed her, curiously. “Why did you do that, Little Elf?”

“Do what?” Manny asked. She felt his disapproval, subtle, but unmistakable.

“Don’t play dumb, Manny. Why did you slam the door in her face?”

Manny thought about it. She knew why she’d done it, of course; she didn’t like the woman, and didn’t want to endure a gods-only-knew-how-long carriage ride with her. But she didn’t think he’d want to hear that. “She… was wearing riding gear,” she eventually noted. “She was going to ride her horse back, anyways.”

He smiled at her. He was… impressed. She liked that feeling a lot. “That’s an absolutely outstanding excuse, Little Elf. Top marks.” Manny beamed under the praise. She just couldn’t force it down. She could lose herself in making him happy. He leaned forward, a fond smile on his face, and stroked her cheek with his gloved hand. She closed her eyes as she leaned into the gesture, sighing happily. “However,” he gently began. “Who we travel with is my decision, and my decision alone. Don’t do that again.”

Manny nodded. “Oh… okay,” she said. If he wanted to travel with assholes and creepy priestesses, she would be just fine with that as long as it made him happy to do so.

A moment later, he took his gloves off, and patted the bench next to him. Again, she noted the ring on his finger. She realized it wasn’t just a simple gold band like she’d assumed, but decorated with dozens of little gems. “Wouldn’t you prefer to sit here?” He asked.

Manny nodded, and took the seat next to him. Then, she pointed at the ring. “What’s that?”

For the briefest moment, pain and sheer grief flashed across him just like when she’d asked about the door in his room, and she gasped at the sudden surge. It receded as quickly as it had come, seemingly by the strength of his will alone. It was like a river suddenly drying up after a dam was erected. He remained silent for a long time, and she’d already resolved not to ask again when he spoke up. “They’re my thralls, Manny,” he softly said.

“What?” She quietly asked. “I thought I was–”

“You’re my twenty-fourth thrall, Manny,” Vincent quietly said. “These are the others.”

“I don’t understand.”

Vincent sighed softly, and took off the ring, handing it to Manny to examine. She could feel how dear it was to him, and didn’t dare to do anything but treat it with the utmost reverence. She counted the gems in the cluster. There were twenty-three of them, each of them no bigger than a grain of sand, sparkling in the red light.

“When I… lose… a thrall,” he quietly began, “I put most of their ashes in an urn in that room you asked me about yesterday. But some of the ashes, I take aside, and I magically crush them into a little diamond. That way all of you are always close to me.”

“You… You must really have loved them,” Manny whispered.

“More than you could possibly understand,” Vincent said with a crack in his voice. She gave him the ring back, and she felt a pulse of gratitude and relief when he slipped it back on. His grief and the trinkets he used to cope all made him seem so… human, for a seemingly ageless monster.

“Adrian,” Vincent told the carriage’s driver as they got out, just past the gate through the city’s walls. “Fetch one of my stock by the time we return, if you please.”

The sun had set in the two hours it had taken to ride from his hilltop villa to the city’s edge, leaving only the pink and purple clouds of twilight as well as the occasional torch, lantern, or brazier for light. It would probably be completely dark by the time they’d crossed the city.

“Yessir,” the old man said with a voice that seemed to quiver at the effort. “Preference?”

Vincent paused for a moment as he considered it. She felt his mind flare up with naked desire as he weighed the upsides and downsides, arousal and hunger both drawn to the forefront of their connection. “Ebra should be close by,” he said after a while. “She should do, nicely.”

The man nodded, and coerced the four horses that drew the carriage into motion with a lurch. Much to Manny’s dismay, that only revealed Alara already waiting for them, still dressed in her riding attire.

“Your… stock. They’re the people you feed on, right?” Manny asked, as Vincent started to lead them towards Alara.

Vincent nodded at her.

“Is that… all you do with them?” She added, eyeing him with some amount of suspicion. She hadn’t imagined his feelings about them, had she?

“Did I miss something?” Alara asked, when they got close enough. She pushed off from against the wall she was leaning against, and started to lead them through the city.

“Oh, just Manny dancing around asking me whether I like to sleep with my food,” Vincent said.

Manny blushed. “That… that is not...” She trailed off. What was the damned point? If she got too upset, he’d just use some kind of magic to make her settle down.

“Well, he does,” Alara said, matter-of-factly. “It’s always such a treat to train them to it, too.” Manny swallowed, and despite the undercurrent of Vincent’s muted amusement, didn’t dare to ask what that meant, lest she actually get an answer. “You’d be amazed how… eager you can make a person with just a few cracks of a whip, and some dollops of my Lord’s power.”

Lord? Aren’t you supposed to worship Ishara?

“Quit trying to scare her,” Vincent scolded Alara with a glare. He didn’t quite dislike the woman, she could feel that much. But he wasn’t overly fond of her, either; a little like how Manny felt about the kids she’d shared the orphanage with. He tolerated her, like she was just hard enough to replace that it wasn’t worth the effort, and useful enough that just getting rid of her wasn’t really an option.

As they walked, Manny noticed some eyes were upon her. People tended to notice her wherever she went, being as tall as she was, and with such bright hair, and she’d come to terms with that years ago.

Vincent, however, had not. The people watching them were all watching her personally, but he felt like he was part of that scrutiny as well, and it made him uncomfortable.

She leaned in close, and tugged at the dark scarf he was wearing. She understood now that it had been a necessity in the sunlight, but it was dark enough that she couldn’t feel the tingle on his skin anymore. “Let me borrow this,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

Manny smiled and rolled her eyes. “Just trust me. You’ll be happy you did.”

He was skeptical, but humored her. He took it off and handed it to her, then curiously eyed her. Manny took it and held it up. It was a thin, dark fabric, cut in a large square. Perfect for what she wanted to do. Years of cleaning the filth of the university had taught her that sometimes it was best to not just tie her hair back but cover it completely, and with a series of folds and tugs, she replicated the feat with his scarf.

She suspected the orange would still show a little, but it would be muted. She wouldn’t be this big shock of orange that made people look up when they caught a glance of her. She explained her reasoning to him, and pointed out that far fewer people were looking up when they passed now than they had a few moments ago.

“Outstanding!” He praised her. The anxiety he felt at being seen faded substantially, replaced by a surge of rewarding approval. “Good girl,” he added, and she beamed a smile at him.

He really isn’t so bad, she thought. True, the man had terrified her something fierce at first, and he still did scare her a little, but… Gods, did that just pale before how good he made her feel. Dream Syrup, dazeweed smoke, wine spiked with a few Abanian currants… they all got her high when she tried them, and that had always been a lot of fun. But… none of that was ever as good as how she felt when he was happy.

Hells, she’d gotten most of those here, in the alleys close to home. She shuddered a little when she thought about these alleys, and the one she’d nearly died in, and– “Wait,” she said, stopping in her tracks. Vincent and Alara both stopped as well, eyeing her with mixtures of curiosity and impatience. “I…” She looked at Vincent. “Are you how I wound up in a puddle of my own blood?”

“I doubt it was a puddle,” Vincent said, casually.

“It was you. You almost killed me,” Manny whispered. But she wasn’t able to muster rancor, wasn’t able to charge the words with any hate, or betrayal, because she didn’t really feel any. It made so much sense that it was him; she’d woken up with blood loss but no wounds.

“I did,” he said. An acknowledgement of fact, not a remorseful confession. He stepped closer and ran a finger along Manny’s neck. “I… was depressed, crushed by grief and melancholy, lost in a dark place. But then I saw you, Manny. Your blood helped me recenter myself, and when I heard you, giggling and content with my fangs buried deeply within your neck, I decided I wanted more of you.”

“I… I don’t remember that,” Manny admitted. She couldn’t really challenge him, though. She could feel he meant every word he said, and besides that, he’d promised to be honest. “I liked it?”

He smiled at her. “Oh, yes. I had your life in my hands, and you were happy, Manny. You were docile and content to let me take it if I wanted it. You even tried to follow me, once I left to prepare the manor to welcome you.”

Manny felt a smile creep onto her face as he spoke. He’d enjoyed feeding on her a great deal, and just remembering it made him happy. Just think of how happy he’ll be when you offer your neck to him, that treasonous part of her whispered in the back of her mind. The intensity of the thought made her shudder.

It excited her, thrilled her to picture herself leaning into his bite. It made her want to drag him to her room and let him have his way with her, despite the objections the rest of her mind conjured up.

She decided to split the difference. In one motion, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The surge of approval she’d been hoping for hit her almost immediately. It made her feel elated, like she was a winner. The inside of his mouth tasted funny, making her mouth numb when her tongue brushed past his slick fangs, but she didn’t care.

Kissing him felt good. Pleasing him felt amazing. She could feel him getting excited, too, turned on by the intimacy of the kiss, and felt her own body react in kind. That excitement, pleasure, and arousal all came together as a wonderful haze. She was able to tune out the entire world, able to ignore everything except him.

And that felt so, so right.

When the kiss broke, Vincent smiled at her. It was an expression full of understanding, desire, and love. “You are truly exquisite, Little Elf,” he told her.

“Yeah,” Manny whispered. The rush of feelings left her unsteady on her feet. “Y–you too.”

The library of the First University was calmer than Manny had ever seen it before. She’d known it stayed open at all hours, but had always suspected that was out of vanity rather than necessity, and she’d never cared to stay late enough to see for herself.

She’d been right. Only the occasional half-drunk student or staffer flitted about the campus outside, and as they climbed the stairs to the reading hall, she could see not even the monitor’s desk was staffed.

“Wait here,” Alara whispered as she slipped into the hall, off to do gods-only-know what.

Vincent abided by the request, and fixed Manny with a look that told her he expected her to do the same. Manny obeyed, and instead of following the priestess, stayed behind with him, listening intently.

“Are you in here, child?” Alara asked, her voice shifted to a noticeably softer register. “I’m very sorry I’m late, but my Lady’s demands of me can get rather involved.”

Now it’s her Lady again.

A few moments passed, and Alara’s voice echoed on and on for several seconds, slowly getting quieter. It was almost perfectly silent when a dreadfully familiar voice asked, “Alara?”

Zorah.

Manny’s heart sank when she heard that voice, and she chastised herself for not assuming it would be Zorah. Vincent had distracted her with his sorcery when he’d talked about coming here with Alara. If she’d given it even a second’s thought, she would have known it could only be Zorah.

The clatter of heeled boots and spurs on the floor echoed from the reading hall beyond, as one of the two women approached the other. “I… I haven’t been able to find her yet,” Zorah said, mournfully. “I tried to talk her out of going to work, I really did! She was attacked, and she didn’t even finish healing before she went out, and obviously got into even more trouble with them.”

Oh, Zorah, how right you are, Manny thought. Vincent was eyeing her, suspicion and scrutiny writ large on his face and in his thoughts.

“You know who she is, don’t you, Little Elf?” Vincent asked. Manny could only nod.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alara promised Zorah. “By my Lady’s grace, we’ll find her hale and well, I’m sure of it.”

“But how?!” Asked Zorah. The concern in her voice broke Manny’s heart. “I bet it was that creep Darim. I asked; and he hasn’t been to work either! His apartment on the campus is empty, too.”

“So you’ve said,” Alara said, and the sounds of footsteps picked up again. “Come along, child. Part of what delayed me was inquiring about him with the magistrates. Their records speak of a small plot of land just beyond the city walls.”

The footsteps were joined by a second pair, louder and faster. Manny could see their shadows coming closer. “Wait, really?” Zorah asked. “Then what the hells are we waiting for?! Let’s go get the guards, and get her!”

Vincent took Manny by the hand, and pulled her away from the doorway and into a shadowy alcove, out of sight. She could feel a strange anticipation from him, a sensation he’d never shared with her. It… it made her eager to… to do something, though she didn’t know what.

“Don’t be so hasty, Zorah,” Alara preached, as the pair walked past. “We’ll investigate first, then decide whether–”

Vincent pounced on Zorah in the middle of Alara’s sentence. It was such a sudden thing, one moment he was hiding with her, and the next he’d tackled Zorah to the ground. Manny could feel his satisfaction, his hunter’s thrill, and his hunger; and watched Zorah try to kick and get out of his grasp. “HEY, WHAT THE–” She began, hatefully, but her voice very quickly calmed down. “What the… f–fuck…” She mumbled.

Manny watched in horror as her friend was subdued, and for just a moment, she remembered the truth of the situation – Vincent was a monster, a murderer at that, and he was threatening her best friend. That hunter’s instinct of his fuelled her, helped her give agency to her instincts, and she ran towards them, shoving him with all of her strength.

Vincent grunted and landed painfully on his shoulder. For the briefest moment she felt triumphant, as she looked down at her friend, who quickly scrambled to her feet as she recovered from his attack. “Manny?!” The confused human asked.

Before she could answer, though, it hit her – a wave of crushing disappointment and anger. Vincent glared at her, eyes wide with fury as he rose from the stone floor. “Hold the friend,” he growled to Alara, and Manny was vaguely aware of the priestess casting a few spells to do as he said, but she was utterly unable to focus on them.

His eyes were glowing red pools, impossible to look away from. He was so, so displeased with her, and it was crushing. The sheer weight of that disappointment and anger was so much, so overwhelming, that Manny’s eyes started to water and her lips started to quiver as she dropped to her knees before him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. But it barely helped. He was furious, and she deserved it. She wanted him to punish her, to teach her this lesson with the crack of a whip or the tip of his boot, if only it would make him like her again. She made herself as small as she could before him, waiting in terrible silence, under that onslaught of displeasure.

“You’re sorry?” He eventually asked.

The question offered a ray of hope that lit a possible path to forgiveness, and Manny nodded feverishly. She didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare say anything that might make things worse.

“Stay where you are,” he ordered, and Manny again nodded furiously as Vincent turned his attention away from her, and towards Zorah. “Let’s bring her,” he said, his mind briefly tinted by hunger, and Manny felt a new kind of shame join the turmoil of despair as it dawned on her that she’d drawn her best friend to his attention.

He started to walk towards where Alara was tending to a slumped-over Zorah, and in a fit of desperation, she wrapped her arms around one of his legs. “No!” She blurted out. “Please just leave her be!”

“Leave her be?” He asked her, slowly and indignantly. “What in all the hells do you think I’m going to do to her?”

“Involve her,” Manny quietly said. “She’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve this. Please, please just leave her alone, Master,” Manny begged.

That anger and displeasure ebbed slightly. “Say that again,” he ordered.

Manny blinked at him. “Please… please leave her alone?” She tried. She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she could feel it wasn’t that. After a few moments, she realized what she’d done. “Master,” she whispered. She felt a surge of satisfaction from him at that.

And as much as she hated to admit it, that treasonous part of her had been right. Here she was, on her knees, desperate for him to like her and begging him to leave her friend alone. If that didn’t make him her Master, the word meant nothing.

“Do you really want me to let her go?” He asked her.

“Yes,” she quietly said.

“Yes, what?” He asked.

“Yes, Master,” Manny whispered. “Please let her go.”

“Oh, if you insist,” he said, a little dismissively. It was infuriating. He knew she was in no position or shape to demand anything. What she had done – all she could have done – was beg. “But,” he continued, “I did warn you about something yesterday, didn’t I?”

Manny nodded, meekly. “You said you’d punish me if I attacked you,” she whispered.

“And I have just the thing in mind,” he said. “You attacked me, and you wound up dropping to the floor in despair because of it. So I think staying there for a while seems appropriate.” He was a little proud of himself for that, and Manny infuriatingly found herself being proud of him for it, too, despite not fully understanding what he meant.

She watched as he stepped over to Alara and Zorah, the former obviously amused to see Manny humbled, and the latter barely conscious. “Lord Borohon?” The priestess asked, clearly expecting a command.

“Let her up,” he said, before he gestured at Manny to rise. She promptly obeyed, watching as the priestess wove a few spells together, and Zorah seemed to recover from the deluge of magic that had subdued her so thoroughly. She stared at both Manny and Vincent with wide eyes.

“Manny?” Zorah asked. Alara was gripping her arms tightly, keeping her in place. “What the hell is going on, here?” Manny didn’t dare answer her questions, instead waiting for her Master to speak.

“You’ve been worried about your friend, yes?” He asked. Before Zorah could answer, he continued, “well, you don’t need to. She’s quite safe with me.”

“Manny, who the fuck are these people?!” Zorah demanded. Manny was fatigued, stressed, and struggling to think after the long day’s trials, but she was trying her very best to come up with an answer. “Manny?!” She asked again, insistently.

“He saved my life,” Manny whispered. There was so, so much more to all of this than that, of course. But a white lie would do more for Zorah’s sanity than the whole truth. “He saw Darim kicking me halfway to death, and he saved me. Now I’m staying with him, and he’s teaching me to read so I can get a better job.”

Zorah visibly relaxed at that, though she was still deeply suspicious, and trying to pull her arms free from Alara’s grip. “And who are you?” She asked, eyeing her Master with only a fraction of the suspicion he deserved.

Can you not remember he tackled you just a few seconds ago? Manny wondered, privately.

“Vincent Borohon,” he said with a little bow, before he looked up at Alara and quietly said, “I think you can let her go, now.”

As soon as the vice grip on her arms was gone, Zorah darted towards Manny, and wrapped her up in a hug. “Come on,” she whispered, already tugging on her coat. “Let’s go home.”

Manny didn’t quite know what to say to Zorah. Gods, she didn’t even know how to explain any of this to herself. She was confused, and tired, and as much as part of her wanted to try and run home with Zorah, she knew she couldn’t. So she lied, instead. “Not yet,” she said. “I should stick it out with him for a while. He’s teaching me to read and write, and…”

She trailed off, and reached into her pocket, offering Zorah the little jar of jam. “What the hell is this?” Zorah asked.

“Jam,” Manny said, sheepishly. She knew Zorah was just as used to not having enough to eat as her, so this should help mollify her. “He’s got so much extra food. I’ll bring baskets when I get home.”

Predictably, Zorah smiled at that, and stuffed the little jar into a pocket of her own, then looked back at Vincent with an expression Manny couldn’t see, but could feel it amused her Master greatly. “And where does he live?” She asked.

“On a hill outside of the city,” Manny said. “But don’t come out there, Zorah. Not ever. You’ll make things difficult. I… I’m fine, and this could be really good for us.” As she kept talking, she could feel Vincent’s approval growing. He liked how she was handling this.

“Okay…” Zorah started, uncertainly. “But you be careful, okay? I don’t trust that guy.” Manny nodded, and a few moments later, Zorah placed a kiss on her cheek before she made her way down the stairs, occasionally looking back at them.

“Keep an eye on her for me,” Vincent ordered Alara, once Zorah was gone. “Keep her from betraying Manny’s wishes. I’ll pay you for the trouble, of course.”

Wishes seemed like a big word for them, but then, did Manny even know what she wanted anymore? Just a few minutes ago she’d gone from willing to fight Vincent to protect Zorah, to dropping to her knees in despair when he was angry, and feeding her whatever lies she thought would get her to go away.

“Look but don’t touch?” Alara asked, mischievously. “That kind of restraint won’t come cheap, but I know you can afford it.” A few seconds later, she too slipped away, leaving just the two of them to make their way home, alone.

“What did you think I was going to do to her, Little Elf?” Vincent asked once they were within sight of the carriage, which was waiting for them where they’d gotten out, at the city’s edge. He’d been unsettlingly quiet up until then, and Manny was thankful to him for breaking the ice. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him what she was thinking.

He expected an answer, though. That soft anticipation was like a finger poking her mind repeatedly, prodding her until she gave in and told him what he wanted. “I thought you were going to take her,” Manny quietly said. “That you’d feed on her, and kill her.”

She could feel his amusement at that. “Manny, I don’t habitually kill the people I feed on,” he said.

“But… You said you had my life in your hands. That I was content to let you take it!”

“You were,” he easily retorted. “But I wasn’t going to take it just because of that. Too many vampires are like that, careless killers who leave only corpses behind.”

“And you don’t?” Manny asked.

Vincent shook his head. When they got close to the carriage, Manny jogged ahead of him to open the door, and was rewarded with a rush of gratitude and satisfaction that made her grin. His anger at her seemed to have completely gone away.

She was momentarily surprised to see a young woman in an elegant dress already waiting for them in the carriage. Vincent settled into the bench next to her, and once Manny sat down on the other bench, he raised his voice and said, “let’s go, Adrian.”

The carriage set into motion almost immediately, causing the lantern that hung from the ceiling to rattle. Manny eyed the young woman, suspiciously. She was a human with dark skin, brown curly hair, and two scars on her neck. She looked just as curious about her. “Who is this, my Lord? She asked Vincent.

“Ebra, meet Manny. She’s… my new thrall,” Vincent said, cautiously.

The young woman looked puzzled, before her face twisted into one of grief. “Oh… oh, no,” she softly said. “Florian?”

Manny felt another pang of grief from him at the name’s mention. “Was that your last thrall’s name?” She asked.

Ebra took in a pained gasp. “Last thrall? He… He’s dead?”

Vincent nodded, solemnly. “I’m afraid so. But… let’s not dwell on that, please. I’d like you to meet Manny.”

Ebra seemed to close her heart to it, because the look of mourning vanished in moments, replaced by an eager smile. “You’re a lucky girl to attract his eye like that, madam,” she said.

Manny blinked and cocked her head. Doing her best not to sound derisive, she asked “madam?”

“Of course,” Ebra said, smiling. “As his thrall, you are his most treasured servant. You manage his needs, and–” she trailed off, then looked at Vincent. “–and she didn’t know about that yet, did she?” She sheepishly asked.

Vincent fondly smiled at her, and shook his head. “No, we haven’t quite gotten to that yet. In fact, I was planning on using you to demonstrate some of it to her.”

Bizarrely, the woman blushed and looked elated. “R–really?” She asked.

“So, tonight, I’d like to invite her to join us while I feed, if you don’t mind. I want to show her it’s not the terrible act of violence she seems to think it is.”

Ebra beamed at them both. “Oh, yes, my lord! I would be honored to help her get to know her master.”