Zorah staggered through the damp alleys of Astoria, drunk before the sun had even fully set. She’d been drinking quite a lot lately—sneaking in the occasional sip from a flask while at work, and gulping down whatever rotgut she could persuade a suitor to buy for her. She got so… so worried, when she was sober. Manny had been gone for weeks now, without so much as a peep.

Gone to work for that fancy pants nobleman with the brown hair and strange eyes, who was apparently such a great opportunity for her. Just a shame that that hadn’t manifested in, say, a big purse of money to help her pay the rent on the little room she couldn’t afford without Manny around.

Thankfully, the money De La Cornon had given her to take care of Manny after she’d gotten so sick hadn’t quite run out. But it would soon—even sooner after she’d been told she couldn’t stay late and earn extra pay—and then the landlord would kick her out. Part of Zorah wanted her to go to The Rock, find a fella, and have some drinks and a good night.

But… she just didn’t have the stomach for it, tonight. She’d be doing it for the booze more than the company, and with such foul prospects already on the horizon, insulting Ishara by selling herself cheap just didn’t seem very wise. So, she just went home. She wove between puddles and piles of horse shit, evading the occasional pedestrian that was even more distracted than she was.

Why… Why had she left the orphanage, again?

She could have simply stayed, let them talk her ear off about Shala, and maybe even become a priestess. Sure, she’d have to swear off the little dagger she carried to protect herself—and actually find some love in her heart for Shala—but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about affording food, rent, and firewood.

Perhaps she could still do that, she mused as she opened the creaky door leading into the tenement building she called home. Perhaps she could just go there, and ask them to let her join. She could say she’d seen the light—that she’d realized tending to the sick was her calling while she was taking care of Manny.

She climbed the rickety, narrow stairs with a cautious grip on the guardrail, and briefly moved to the side to let one of her neighbors pass on his way down. She wondered whether he needed a companion in bed, tonight. It’d save on heating, and she could probably help herself to some of his—

“No,” she grumbled under her breath. She wouldn’t… Was the door to her apartment open? Gods above, it was! That damned loanshark must have gotten tired of waiting for her to give in and pay his imaginary debt, and just decided to help himself to her stuff! Instinctively, she reached into her pocket, producing the sad little knife, and holding it up like it was a talisman that would ward off evil as she approached.

When she looked inside, and saw Manny waiting for her, she could only sigh in relief. The elf was sitting on her bed, looking around at their stuff with a peculiar expression on her face—as if being here was a novelty to her.

“Do you have any idea how dearly you scared me by leaving the door open?” Zorah asked, as she dropped the little knife on her nightstand, and flopped down onto her straw-filled bed. She turned her head to look at Manny, who—frankly—looked more distracted than Zorah felt. And she had being drunk as an excuse!

“Oh,” Manny quietly said. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, I can tell!” Zorah said, then frowned as she looked at Manny. “What in the hells are you wearing?”

“Clothes,” Manny said. “I… they were a gift.”

“They look good on you,” Zorah said with a nod, and a slight smile. Then her stomach growled at her, and she was reminded of the food Manny had promised she’d steal from her boss for her. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Manny said, absently.

I guess that means you didn’t bring anything, Zorah thought, then did her best to banish the thought. “So… how’s your new arrangement working out for you? Did you…” She was going to ask lose your job, but she stopped herself. It seemed shrewd to her to let Manny volunteer whatever she felt like saying.

“It’s good,” Manny said with a smile. “A little rough today, but… good.”

“Well, if you’re going to get fired, do it now,” Zorah groaned. “Another two weeks without you around, and you won’t have this place to come home to anymore. You’ll be able to visit me in the gutter, instead.”

Manny smiled at her, rising from her bed to sit on the edge of Zorah’s, instead. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” the elf promised, rubbing Zorah’s arm in a gentle, reassuring way.

“Why?” Zorah asked with a sardonic snort. “Did you bring a lump of gold, or something?”

Manny gave her the single strangest look Zorah had ever seen at that. “Well…” The elf began, reaching into her satchel—an ornate leather one, rather than the burlap thing she used to lug around—and producing something shiny.

“Holy shit,” Zorah said, moving to sit straight. “You actually did bring a lump of gold?!”

In Manny’s hand lay an engraved golden thing. Two semicircles joined by a hinge, covered in engravings. It was beautiful, and looked tremendously heavy—worth a fortune, surely. “He has… a lot of money,” Manny said, giving the thing a shake and gesturing at herself dressed in fine clothes. “And I… stole this. For you.”

“Manny, this…” Zorah, began, then trailed off. She’d wanted to say it was too much, but the truth was that it wasn’t. She desperately needed money, and this would be exactly that. It looked to be at least a pound of gold. At least fifteen Dragons’ worth—it would set her up for at least a year! “I’ll fence it tomorrow,” she said, reaching out to take it. “I bet Jake knows a guy.”

Manny looked saddened by that. “I guess, but—”

“What, you don’t expect me to keep this, do you?” Zorah asked, as she took the thing. “What in the hells else am I going to do with it?”

“You could keep it,” Manny suggested. “Wear it a bit? I think it’d look good on you.”

“Wear it?” Zorah repeated, looking at the heavy thing. It was too large to be a bracelet or a bangle, and far too small to be a collar—not that she’d ever put something around her neck by choice. “How?”

Manny smiled, and tapped her own arm, just above the elbow. “It’s a Mercinian thing, I think.”

Zorah was skeptical of that. People from Mercinia weren’t that rare, and she’d certainly never seen anyone with a solid gold arm band strutting about before. But… she did think that would fit, and who the hells was she to object to something so silly? In one motion, she brought the thing up to her right arm, just above the elbow, and the inertia of all of that heavy metal meant it snapped shut on its own.

For a moment, she smiled, and wished they had a mirror she could look in to see whether it looked nice. She was about to open her mouth to thank Manny for such a kingly gift—perhaps suggest they go out for a drink to celebrate, when… the damned thing started to glow, and she felt… strange.

It was as if… as if the mugs of ale she’d drunk had decided to treat her to round two, and they were hitting her all at once. She got woozy, and dizzy, and so, so tired. “What… What is this thing?”

Manny smiled at her. “I told you, I took it from Vincent. Borrowed it.”

“You… uhm…” Gods, had she said that? No, she hadn’t, she was sure of it. “Didn’t you… didn’t you say you stole it?”

“Hardly any difference between borrowing without asking and stealing, is there?” Manny mused, as the lethargy forced Zorah to lie back down. There was something so… so wrong about the elven woman—about all of this—but… she was in no shape to find the word for it.

“Enchanted…” Zorah decided. She felt a surge of despair, but it was muffled. Manny was doing something bad, she knew that. But the exhaustion and drowsiness muffled it, dulling the sharpness of panic into quickly melting unease. “Take it… Take it off.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Manny told her. “Only my Master can do that, and it’s his decision whether he does.”

Zorah’s eyes rolled back in her head and fluttered shut, despite all of her efforts to prevent it. She wanted to thrash and rage against this—to try to talk some sense into Manny—but she just couldn’t. When she felt a hot breath on her forehead a moment later—when she heard Manny whisper, “you’re going to be so good for him”—when she felt Manny place a kiss on her forehead, she desperately wanted to be furious. But the emotions were too shallow, and the exhaustion too deep. All she could do was surrender.

She would fight back once she woke up.

Manny sighed in relief once she felt Zorah go limp in bed. Vincent’s presence in her mind was a loud, incessant thing at the moment. He wanted her by his side, and was growing increasingly anxious and displeased at her for not appearing. She desperately wanted to rush home, and beg for forgiveness for running away. But she couldn’t, yet.

She needed to get Zorah out of the city, and to the manor. She needed to present her gift to him—to prove she’d been good, and deserved his affection. “She’s out, Alara,” Manny loudly said, and the priestess came in through the little room’s sole door a moment later. Alara had been so impressed when Manny had suggested this, she’d practically lept at the chance to help her carry the plan out. And now she looked downright proud.

That pride wasn’t nearly as valuable as Vincent’s, but it still felt nice.

“Well done, Sunset. How’s your master doing?”

“He’s upset,” Manny admitted. “Angry that I left, I think. He’s going to hurt me for running, and I… I deserve it, don’t I?”

Alara softly smiled. “If you were any other vampire’s thrall, I’d agree. But Lord Borohon isn’t the type. I think he’ll be ecstatic when he sees your gift, Manny.”

Manny swallowed and nodded. The bond between them told her he was furious, and it was so very difficult to imagine him being anything else before he corrected her—and she so very badly wanted him to correct her—but on some level, she knew Alara probably had it right. Still, she did not want to delay for even a moment.

“Help me carry her,” Manny said, already standing to pick up Zorah’s feet, so Alara could take her by the arms. With some effort they lifted the limp human, and shortly after, they managed to hoist her into the saddle of Alara’s pitch-black horse. They were questioned about what they were doing once, by a nosey neighbor. Fortunately, a scowl from Manny and a mumbled excuse about taking her to a healer was enough to persuade him to back off.

They’d only brought the one horse, unfortunately, as Manny couldn’t ride one herself. That meant that while Alara drove, she had to walk—an uncomfortable affair while wearing the corset. It would take a few hours to get back home, and with Vincent’s insistence that she return pounding at her thoughts, it promised to be a deeply exhausting trip.

Vincent stood in the threshold of his manor, anxiously waiting for Manny to appear. He knew she would, of course—the cursed elf might have run away, but she’d not found a way to suppress their bond. Every waking moment would have her miserable, assaulted by urges to return to his side, and face his judgment.

And she would face his judgment. He’d assumed this sort of defiance was past her—that she’d accepted her place wholeheartedly. Evidently, he would need to employ some of Alara’s techniques to break her. The fact that Alara was gone was noteworthy, too. Vincent assumed she’d seen Manny slip away, and had decided to follow her—though he hadn’t the faintest whether she would have done that to keep the elf safe, or because she had other motives.

Vincent did not care. Above, the stars called to him—inspired him to take to his tower and take in their splendor. Artemia was a half-full crescent in the sky, and there wasn’t so much as a cloud in the way. He could be observing and learning things. Instead, he was stuck standing here, seething.

He’d genuinely believed his elf was happy here—that between feeding, clothing, and educating her, he was earning her love. It broke his heart a little to be so… rejected.

He perked up when he heard something. Hooves in the distance, clopping on the paths of his estate, scraping along the gravel and kicking up dust. Between the trees, he could see the glow of body heat. A horse, of course, with two riders… and one tired-looking elf, running ahead, towards him.

Apprehension rose in Vincent. Who in all the hells had Manny brought to him? Why had she brought anyone at all? He… he didn’t even want to think about what he might have to do if she had betrayed him—wilfully brought enemies to his front door. Surely not, though. She wouldn’t be leading the charge if she’d rounded up a posse to dispatch him, and she just didn’t strike him as stupid enough to try such a thing.

She ran towards him as quickly as she could, crossing the distance in mere seconds. She only slowed down when she got close enough to be illuminated by the light pouring from the manor’s open door, then subserviently dropped to her knees with her eyes downcast, breathing heavily but otherwise silent. And in a fit of emotion—taken by the sheer relief of seeing her safe, and anger that she’d dared to run away—he struck her with the back of his hand.

“You had better explain yourself, Manny,” he growled.

Manny nodded, then looked up at him. Just as before, she had tears in her eyes from the sheer guilt of what she’d done—an expression that begged for forgiveness. “I—” She started, then immediately had to pause to take in another gasping breath as she recovered from her sprint. “I… I hurt you,” she said. “I wanted to make it right. So… I went to get you a gift.”

“A—” Vincent started, the wind suddenly taken from his fury’s sail. “A gift?”

Manny nodded again, then pointed back the way she’d come, where Vincent could see Alara on horseback, with a limp form in front of her. “You were hungry. I… I went to find someone you could feed on.”

Stunned, Vincent asked, “you did?”

Not once had it occurred to him that Manny’s reasons for disappearing as she had might be good. He’d assumed she’d been overwhelmed, or frightened, or angry—not that she wanted to atone for her mistake, earlier. And when Alara brought her horse to a halt, and Vincent could make out who Manny had brought him, his appreciation of her gesture only grew.

“Your friend,” he noted.

Manny smiled up at him. “I… I could feel you were hungry, and I was sure you wouldn’t want to feed on me while you were angry. So I took someone I knew you found appealing, Master.”

Vincent’s heart swelled at that. His elf—a woman he’d assumed betrayed him not two minutes prior—had brought him her best friend. After all of her struggling to keep this very woman from him, she was now served to him on a silver platter.

Well, perhaps not quite a silver platter, he thought, as the woman’s limp form started to rouse slightly. Vincent saw the golden shackle he’d once locked Manny into now wrapped around her friend’s arm, and the glow of the runes was quickly fading in his presence. “Alara, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share one of your Lord’s potions,” he asked.

“I think I can spare an ampule,” Alara said with feigned thoughtfulness. “If you’ll help me get this girl off of my horse.”

Vincent nodded, then briefly glanced down at Manny, on her knees by his feet. “Stay,” he simply ordered her, then walked over to Alara on her mount. With a single pull, Manny’s friend was tipped off of the horse’s side, and he caught her with a grunt—just in time for her to wake up.

For the briefest moment, she looked around in confusion. But that confusion quickly melted to horror as she took in her surroundings. “MANNY, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!”

With some force, Vincent held her down, pinning her to the ground as he heard Alara dismount behind him. A moment later, the priestess knelt on the gravel by his side, and she held up an ampule with clear liquid inside for him to inspect. Frankly, he wasn’t quite sure what it would do. Still, he nodded his approval, and watched as Alara broke open the ampule that was so indicative of her religion’s potions and brews.

“Open up,” Alara commanded the woman, who only thrashed and struggled. But Vincent was certain Alara had had a lot of experience with forcing potions on people. Indeed, it only took the priestess taking a hold of her quarrel’s cheeks to force her mouth open, and pour the potion in.

Manny watched the whole scene unfold with a profoundly diverse mixture of emotions rushing through her. She’d betrayed her best friend—a woman who might as well have been her big sister. And she did feel guilty about that, but…

Her Master was happy, so it was worth it.

She was still worried, of course. She was worried Zorah might not survive being fed on, or that she’d be miserable and despise Manny if she did. But those feelings kept being washed away by the joy of pleasing Vincent, and the love he radiated whenever he glanced at her. Zorah’s betrayed growls and thrashing could only barely taint her satisfaction.

When Zorah finally calmed down—when her hateful cursing melted to stunned slurs, and her struggles grew softer and softer—Vincent let her go, and approached Manny where she was still kneeling. The way he looked at her made it all worth it, Manny decided. She would throw herself into the hells and betray every friend she’d ever had for that look. It felt… gods, it felt good. She wanted to jump up and kiss him, to stretch that feeling of approval and ride it for all it was worth.

“Did I do good?” Manny asked.

Vincent smirked, and raised an eyebrow. “I think you know you did,” he said, then reached forward and ran a hand through her hair, stroking her head like a favored hound. The simple, intimate gesture sent shivers of satisfaction down her spine, and she let her eyes slip shut as she sighed in contentment.

It wasn’t a kiss, but… it was better, in a way. She’d seen Vincent kiss others before—practically everyone he fed on, when she thought about it—but he never did this. Nobody else was allowed to kneel like her—nobody else was allowed to serve like her. She was special. She was beloved.

She was his thrall.

“Tell me something, Little Elf,” he commanded, prompting her to open her eyes and meet his gaze. “Do you love this woman? This…” He trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

“Zorah,” Manny offered.

“Zorah,” Vincent repeated. “Do you love this Zorah?”

Manny nodded. “With all my heart, Master,” she said. She expected that he wouldn’t like that answer, but to her delight, she felt a pulse of happiness from Vincent.

“You love her with all your heart, and yet, you gave her to me,” Vincent knowingly summed up. Manny wasn’t sure what to say to that. Mercifully, though, he kept talking. “That, after you begged me to leave her be.”

Some distance away, Zorah let out a drawn—out groan, seemingly utterly oblivious to the things she’d been thrashing and struggling against mere moments ago.

“I’m beyond pleased, Manny. I couldn’t have chosen a better thrall,” Vincent said, then gestured at Zorah. “Tell Sean to run the baths, and prepare her for me. I’ll join you downstairs in an hour.”

In the basement bathroom, Manny had quickly prepared Zorah for Vincent—with a surprising amount of help from Alara. Indeed, as Sean and the rest of the household staff filled the baths with cold water from the kitchen spigot, and the occasional kettle of boiling water, the archdevil-worshiping priestess was nothing short of instrumental.

It was frankly a little disturbing just how effectively she was able to handle a half-conscious person, and Manny did her best not to think about how she might have honed such a skill. Instead, she focused on making Zorah as appealing as possible. She’d hijacked one of the buckets of hot water meant for the baths, and used it to clean Zorah, sponging away the stench only the truly destitute acquired and using one of the bathroom’s many razors to cautiously shave her body hair.

In a way, she felt good about this. Vincent would obviously be pleased, of course. But… if she was able to make Zorah appealing enough, perhaps Vincent would be willing to let her serve him as well. Zorah was clever and mature, and Manny was positive there was something she could do for Vincent. So… when she thought about it, this was all for Zorah’s benefit, too.

And Manny had to admit that Zorah was absolutely appealing. With a good scrubbing, Manny’s adoptive big sister cleaned up nicely.

“To think you’ve been living with this girl for years, and never hooked up with her,” Alara mused while she ran a hand along Zorah’s body.

Manny shook her head. “I could never. She… She helped raise me. She’s like a sister to me.”

Alara gave Manny an incredulous look. “I seem to recall you told me you don’t find women attractive at all, the first time we met. And that lasted… what? Half an hour of my personal attention?”

“That’s different!” Manny insisted. “You’re so aggressive, and persistent. Zorah would never—”

“Ah, but your master might,” Alara reminded her. “You can say she would never, and you’re probably right. But you thralls are so good at rationalizing away everything that happens to you, that I’m sure Lord Borohon’s whims would blunt that never into something far more malleable with ease. I bet you’ll be positively dripping at the thought once your master bends you to his will. Feeling that surge of approval will surely have you trailing kisses down dear Zorah’s body until you are lapping away between her legs.”

Manny swallowed. “I… I really hope he doesn’t.”

Alara grinned at her. “I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you don’t secretly crave to have your mind changed,” she teased.

They waited there for Vincent—Alara now sprawled out in the large sunken bath, and Manny kneeling next to it, tending to Zorah. Occasionally she said something or asked where they were, and Manny would give a non-answer, never quite lying, but never admitting what she’d done, either.

Not that there was anything to admit. She knew she’d done good.

Indeed, when Vincent finally found his way down to the bathroom—his hunger flared at the sight of Zorah, and Manny felt as if it was the best decision she’d ever made. As was his habit, he’d already undressed upstairs, letting Manny relish the sight of him. He was broad, and tall, and awe—inspiring, and when he stepped closer, Manny wanted to thank him for the privilege of seeing him. He stopped by her side and again ran his hand through her hair, petting her.

“Would you sober her up, Alara?” He half asked, half ordered the priestess.

Alara nodded, casually incanting, “purifiez la drogue.” At the words, a wave of yellow-purple-ish light washed across Zorah’s body, and the woman almost immediately gasped. Manny looked on as her eyes widened, and she looked around in mounting fear.

“W—what the fuck?!” Zorah demanded as she moved to sit straight, then started to scamper away. She looked at everyone in the room, then down at herself. “Why are you all… Why am I naked, Manny?!”

Manny felt Vincent’s predatory thrill flare up, fanned on by the fear in Zorah’s voice. Part of her hoped he’d make short work of this—that he’d do the thing with his eyes, and render her nice and pliable. Another part—the part that was more closely in tune with Vincent’s wants and needs—knew it would be so much more fun to let her be afraid for a while.

“Tell her why she’s naked, Little Elf,” Vincent commanded. “The truth.”

Manny swallowed, unsure whether she wanted to, but galvanized by the knowledge that that wouldn’t matter as long as Vincent wanted it. “I… betrayed you, Zorah,” Manny confessed. The first few words were hard to get out—weighed down by shame. But when she felt Vincent’s approval surge at her for obeying, it became so much easier to say the rest. “My Master is a vampire, and I knew he found you attractive, so I gave you to him so he can feed on you.”

Zorah looked at her and Vincent with an expression of disgust. “You’ve lost your mind,” she said, dumbly. But as Vincent scratched Manny’s scalp, and she leaned against the side of his muscular leg, she just… didn’t care.

“I haven’t lost anything, Zorah,” Manny said, looking away from her best friend, and up into the approving gaze of her Master. “But I’ve gained so much.”

“I—I—I’m not going to be… I’m not going to let him bite me, Manny,” Zorah stammered out, and in her peripheral vision, Manny could see her get to her feet. “I’m going to leave, and… I’ll go get…”

Manny interrupted Zorah with a giggle from a sudden surge of amusement she felt from Vincent.

“W—What’s so funny?!” Zorah demanded.

“He thinks you’re entertaining,” Manny explained, looking at Zorah again. “You can’t run, you goof—you’re his now. Even if you tried, you’d just wake up in this house again.”

“Well, I’m not going to… Going…” Zorah trailed off, and Manny felt a wave of satisfaction from Vincent. She guessed he’d put an end to her defiance with his hypnotic gaze, and indeed, Zorah’s eyelids drooped and her jaw slackened as she stared at him, swaying where she stood.

Vincent stepped away from Manny and towards his prey, his mind thick with arousal and hunger. He embraced Zorah, and—unlike with Manny—he towered over her. He started to lead her to the large bath, and she followed him as easily as a lamb to the slaughter. “You, too,” he said with a glance at Manny, and a gesture towards the bath.

She obeyed immediately, slipping into the bath while Vincent and Zorah stepped down into it. The water was comfortably warm, and made for a pleasing arena for Vincent. Though, as Vincent and Zorah settled into the water, guilt—and if Manny was honest with herself, jealousy—bubbled up, urging her to speak.

“Master?” She asked.

Vincent looked away from Zorah, curiously meeting her gaze. “Yes?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t you… Wouldn’t you rather have…” She paused and swallowed. That defiant part of her—the part that even now was opposed to this—was kicking and screaming at what she was saying. “Wouldn’t you rather feed on… me?”

Vincent grinned, a surge of approval that smothered that defiant part—possibly for good. “Oh, would I ever,” he said. “But not today, my love. I’m saving our first proper feeding for a special occasion.”

Manny swallowed again, and nodded. “Yes, Master,” she quietly said, finding it impossible to be disappointed by that answer.

Unlike with his trained feeding stock, Vincent didn’t turn this into an opportunity to have sex. Oh, he wanted to—Manny could feel the arousal clouding his mind, and could see it just as plainly by just glancing between his legs—but he restrained himself. Instead, he simply tilted the still-stunned Zorah’s head to one side, leaned in close, and sank his fangs into her artery in one brilliantly satisfying bite.

Manny let out a sigh as soon he tasted the woman’s blood, her mind flooded with gratification and contentment. Who had she been to be ashamed of herself for turning Zorah over to Vincent? How could she ever have been opposed to this—been willing to shove and defy her Master, when what he wanted was so… good?

Blood ran down Zorah’s neck in a trickle, a crimson line that trailed down her shoulders until it met the water and dissolved away. Like with Ebra and the others since then, Vincent was gentle with Zorah, which gave the act an intimate, even loving air. Sure, he’d forced Zorah, but…

Manny let her head lull back, grinning at the ceiling as she heard Zorah start to giggle. To give your blood to a vampire was an honor—not a burden. And in Manny’s mind, Zorah was more than worthy of it. To her side, she felt Alara disturb the water—heard her shift closer. “You look happy, Sunset,” the priestess whispered into one ear.

“Oh, I am,” Manny mumbled, without so much as meeting the priestess’ gaze. When she came even closer, and placed a hand on Manny’s lap, the elf didn’t even bother to react. If Alara wanted to touch her, she was plenty willing to let her.

“Just imagine how good you’ll feel once he gives you his bite, again,” Alara purred, as her fingers started to tease up her torso, and eventually came to run along her collarbone in a pleasant, gentle gesture. “I’ve had the privilege of training so many to the bite, even got to experience it myself, once.”

“D’ya like it?” Manny asked, only half-interested in the answer—half-interested in anything except for the cocktail of fuzzy feelings she was swimming around in.

“Oh, I loved it,” Alara said. “I envy you, Manny—I truly do. If it wouldn’t interfere with my service to Lord Darishi, I would beg to be in your shoes.”

Manny chuckled slightly at that, turning her head to the side to meet Alara’s gaze. “I don’t blame you,” she sighed, then closed her eyes, and let herself drift.

“Wake up, Little Elf,” Vincent’s gruff voice pierced through the veil of her nap. Manny’s eyes snapped open and she darted to sit upright in the bath, only to find she had to tilt her head back to meet her Master’s gaze, who was standing upright on the bath’s floor.

The water had turned tepid—even a little chilly, and she was left wondering how long she’d been asleep. Alara was gone, she saw, and Zorah had been moved to one of the smaller baths, which were still hot enough to steam. They looked very, very inviting.

“Was she… good?” Manny asked, glancing at Zorah as she spoke, only for Vincent to put a hand on her chin and guide her eyes back to his. He applied the faintest bit of pressure, just enough to communicate that he wanted her to stand up.

She did so, and Vincent stepped onto the bench that ran around the bath’s rim, then out entirely to walk to the other of the two free-standing tubs. Manny followed him, then waited demurely as he settled into the hot water, and gestured for her to join him. She settled into the tub, and the water poured over the sides as they both displaced it. She settled against her Master’s chest, and closed her eyes as he started to wash her hair.

“She was excellent,” Vincent promised. “And you did well to give her to me.”

Pride swelled in Manny’s chest at that. As much as her and Vincent’s relationship was built on the idea that she implicitly understood him, explicit praise still felt delightful. Despite the heat of the bath, she shivered against him, and when she turned her head to glance at Zorah—who lay unconscious in the other bath—she felt another surge of approval from him, which only reinforced how good Manny felt about her actions.

“Will you keep her?” Manny asked, as Vincent rinsed the frothy soap from her hair.

“I believe I will, yes,” he said. “I’ll pay Alara to train her—help her accept her new place in life, and… well, I don’t know yet what I’ll do with her. But I could never let go of her. Not after you gave her to me.”

Once Vincent finished with her hair, she rolled over in the bath—her chest to his, like the first time they’d bathed together. He was such a handsome man, perhaps the most attractive she’d ever seen, and she eagerly pressed her lips to his, kissing him. She’d never felt anything like how she felt about him, before—he’d taken her as his own, uplifting her from poverty and educating her. And even though she’d found a way to repay him beyond her own loyalty in the form of Zorah, she felt it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he softly instructed.

“That I can’t repay you,” Manny whispered. “Zorah was all I had, and I’ve already given her up.”

Vincent smiled, and she felt that dominant thrill surge within him slightly, accompanied by his cock swelling slightly against her. “Well, that’s perfect then,” he growled. “Because that’s precisely what I want you to give me, Little Elf—everything.”

Manny settled her head against his chest, savoring it rising and falling underneath her to the cadence of his breath. She idly stared out in Zorah’s direction, without really looking at anything in specific.

Until her eyes landed on the straight razor they had used to shave Zorah’s body hair for him, and an idea occurred to her. She reached up with one hand, feeling the stubble on Vincent’s neck and on his face. It was coarse and rough—so delightfully masculine. “Master?” She asked, softly.

“Yes?”

“May I shave you, now?”

Vincent considered that for a moment—a long enough one that Manny was certain he’d say no again—letting Manny percolate in that sense of approval he radiated. Then, he reached out toward the razor where it still lay on the floor, and intoned, “rarraing,” which prompted the blade to leap into motion as if pulled by an invisible string. He deftly caught it, dipped it into the water of their bath, then offered it to her. “Against the grain, if you can,” he said.

Manny nodded as she accepted it. The razor was a substantial thing, with differently colored steel marbling the blade. It wasn’t lost on her how much trust he was showing her by allowing this, and she resolved to show him she was worthy of that trust.

So, she lathered his face up with the soap, and very carefully got to work.

Vincent laid Manny down on his bed, satisfied that he’d been able to carry her all the way here without waking her up with only a little spellwork involved. He sat down by her side for a while, rubbing his freshly-shaven chin as he watched her. Part of him was disappointed that she was asleep—he’d been trying to teach her to rest via meditation, after all—but after a day with as many trials and tribulations as she’d dealt with, he supposed she deserved to simply sleep.

The fact that she’d fallen asleep twice in the baths was certainly testimony to her exhaustion.

And that exhaustion thrilled him. She’d run herself ragged for him, worked to please him until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She’d betrayed her best friend for him and dragged her all the way home, all to atone for what was—in the end—a minor accident. She seemed to be so caught up in their bond that nothing else mattered to her—that she obsessed over him—exactly as a thrall should be.

She was devoted, loyal, and trusting to a fault, and it thrilled him to see that. A vampire needed someone like her—someone with practically no will of her own, who would simply serve, obey, and Adore. And she did Adore him—he’d seen it in her eyes today, while scratching her head like the favored pet she’d become.

He wondered whether she knew that—whether it had dawned on her yet that she loved him more than she loved anyone, even more than herself. He doubted it, frankly—she wasn’t nearly stubborn or proud enough to hide something like that from him. In fact, she was probably the least prideful thrall he’d ever had. She was modest, downright demure compared to the likes of Darahn and Florian, and she’d taken to his guidance like varnish to wood.

Vincent reached forward, weaving his fingers through the still damp curls of her hair, and scratching at her scalp. She rewarded the gesture with a contented sigh, and a shiver that would give even a beastkin a run for their money. Her eyes fluttered open a moment, looking around in faint interest until they met his, and she roused slightly.

“This isn’t my room,” she mumbled.

Vincent smiled, and shook his head. “A thrall belongs in her master’s bed,” he whispered.

She returned his smile with one of her own, and nodded. “Yeah…” She dreamily said

He resolved to reward Manny, somehow. He knew she was already far enough along that his approval was probable all she truly cared about, and she’d already earned that in droves. But he wanted to do more—he wanted to give her something she could treasure, and that he himself would keep as a memento, long after their time together was over.

“You’re sad,” Manny mumbled.

“Not quite sad, Little Elf—wistful. Go back to sleep,” Vincent instructed, only for Manny to move and scoot to the other side of the bed, patting the spot she’d just occupied in invitation.

“A thrall belongs in bed with her Master,” Manny told him. “Please?”

Vincent thought about it for a moment. He’d planned on talking to Alara about training Zorah, and Sean about what food he wanted to order for the dinner that was—after all—the reason Manny had been tasked with those etiquette lessons, earlier today. But that could wait, he supposed.

With an indulging smile, he settled into the bed beside her—the fact that his pillow was slightly damp from her wet hair was entirely moot compared to the eagerness with which she stared at him. Her orange-irised eyes were full of Adoration, and her warm body was soft against his own. She leaned in close, placing a single, tender kiss on his neck—exactly where he liked to bite while feeding. She’d been so pliant, so malleable. The woman he’d taken from the street was a frightened and abused thing, with no prospects for the future.

The one who shared his bed now was his. He owned her, and he thought she didn’t just know it, but agreed with it and loved it. The smile on her face and the sparkle in her eyes told him she was thriving, just as surely as the gesture of giving up Zorah told him he’d smothered the defiance in her. The Manny he’d taken was gone, and he was building a better one.

Already, he knew how he would do that—he’d give her responsibilities to meet, and expectations to live up to. He’d involve her in planning and preparing for his dinner, and let his demands of her be the trellis she can grow around and improve herself.

That could wait, though. Tonight, he wanted to savor her—use her—love her. He reached up, touching her lip where he’d deliberately wounded and scarred her—his proof to everyone, from the gods to other vampires, of his ownership. His brand and mark. He felt himself get excited, arousal and vampiric urges both swelling within him. He’d sated his hunger on Zorah, but not his lust. And judging by the anxious smile on her face, and the nervous way she swallowed, she was getting swept away in the feeling.

She leaned in again, pressing her lips to his as she rubbed his bare chest with one hand. “I…” She gasped, then paused. “Do you still want me to go back to sleep, Master?” She asked.

That word, master, had practically replaced his name. She still—very occasionally—called him Vincent, but it was becoming rarer by the day. Vincent shook his head. She needed to rest, and he would let her—but not until they’d done this. He rolled onto his back, and his engorged cock tented the sheets as his elf shifted closer, then moved to straddle him.

She sat upright on his lap for a moment, moving the sheet away and letting him take in the sight of her—bare and vulnerable before him. Then he rose slightly, shifted forward a few inches, and guided himself inside of her. She was slick and ready with anticipation, and she moaned from what was surely a symphony of feelings rushing through her mind.

Their first night together a week prior had been lovely, but he could immediately feel this one would be special. Their bond had grown—her respect for him had grown into reverence. Those orange eyes looked down into his without so much as a hint of the mixed feelings that had tormented her before.

Part of him yearned to take—to betray her trust in him, and hurt her. It would feel good, it would make him feel strong, and make her feel weak. But… he knew the trust he saw in her eyes was better than any depraved gratification he might gain from betraying it. So, he was gentle. He placed his hands on her hips, savoring the feelings of her curves under his palms almost as much as the feeling of her sex.

He guided her, as much by their bond as with his hands, helping both of them coax as much joy and pleasure out of this as he knew how. And judging by her gasping and clenching, she must have been enjoying it a great deal.

In fact, it gave him an idea.

He knew he’d give her something material as a token of his appreciation, but there was something he knew he could do now—something that would give her a fantastic night. He paced himself as well as he could, stretching this out for her benefit more than his own. He savored the joy on her face and the passion in her cries, though he made himself a stone to his own body’s need for release.

Only when she got close to her climax did he fully engage, and allow himself to enjoy this simple act. He had a spell in mind—one that would outshine the simple sorceries that came with vampirism—though he had to time its use just right. He sat upright, one hand behind him for support, another hooked behind her neck, scratching at the base of her skull.

He knew that was quickly becoming a quirk of hers. Her reaction to being scratched had to be something between a fetish and a fascination—and he was more than eager to exploit it. “You’re a good girl,” he growled into her ear. “So… devoted, so obedient—a good Little Elf.”

She gasped and clenched around him, delightfully easy to please.

When he had his release a few moments later, when his mind was briefly awash with delight and satisfaction, she was short on his heels. She shrieked in ecstasy worthy of Ishara herself, and before she finished, he spoke his spell.

“Bruadar.”

Immediately, the lethargy of sleep seemed to settle over her. She slackened in his grip, and he had to guide her back down onto the bed—her skin now damp with sweat more than the lingering wetness of their bath. His spell had been one of magical sleep, though not the common, dreamless variety.

Indeed, she was fitful as he laid her down on her side, the muscles in her arms and legs occasionally twitching, and her eyelids fluttering with rapid activity. She gasped or moaned every few seconds, even as he himself took deep breaths, and settled down into a blissful afterglow. He became lethargic in his own right—his hunger was sated, and his lust was satisfied. He’d drift off to sleep soon enough, and perhaps he’d even have pleasant dreams.

He knew his best dreams would pale before where his spell would take Manny, though. He laid on his side as his eyes slipped shut, watching his elf smile, even in sleep. He leaned in, and gave her one last kiss for the day—one of tender love, rather than heated passion or base dominance.

“Sleep well, Little Elf. Have pleasant dreams, for your master.”