"And this is the last document, my Lord," said Willabelle as she placed a report in front of me.
I took the paper and, with the dull irritation brought on by exhaustion, began to read it. The sheet detailed multiple strange deaths that had occurred in my city. According to the report, there were no traces of blood on the corpses, but each body bore multiple puncture wounds, distinct marks of fangs.
No way...
Did this mean... some damn vampire was roaming freely through my city, killing my citizens?
This world was home to all sorts of fantastical races. Humans, elves, demons, orcs, dwarves, beastfolk and even dragons. And among these myriad creatures were also the vampires.
To give credit where it's due, one of the better aspects of the novel this world was based on was its world-building. At least, that's how it had felt to me. Perhaps there were logical inconsistencies I hadn't noticed, but overall, the races, their political systems, and the structure of their powers made sense.
Each race had its own advantages and disadvantages, designed to prevent anyone from completely dominating the rest.
For example, humans had the potential to acquire three techniques, while dragons could gain up to six. But dragons were a rare breed, as female dragons had a very low chance of becoming pregnant. That kept their numbers in check, and though they were immensely powerful, they couldn't conquer the world. Still, their kingdoms were among the mightiest on the continent.
Another example: female goblins had a one hundred percent chance of pregnancy, but goblins could only ever acquire a single technique. And those rare few who did were so uncommon that no goblin of such kind had been seen in centuries.
Vampires, on the other hand, could gain three techniques just like humans. But their true advantage came at night. When darkness fell and the moon rose, a vampire's body became unbelievably powerful. Their wounds healed faster, their senses sharpened-they could perceive a target hundreds of meters away in pitch blackness.
Their greatest weaknesses, however, were sunlight, silver, and fire. Even so, a vampire could be incredibly dangerous, especially if it was a High Vampire.
"Assemble a team immediately and have them track this vampire down," I said, turning to meet Willabelle's pale eyes.
She nodded, the seriousness in her gaze unwavering. I knew she would follow my orders without question, but there was a shadow in her expression, as if she already sensed this was no ordinary task.
"Understood, my Lord. I'll assign our best trackers and night-trained soldiers to the task."
"Good."
My finger lingered on the seal in the bottom left corner of the report. The stamp was a masterclass in bureaucratic precision, but the information it sealed... damn it. The fact that such a threat had taken root inside the walls of my city without notice. This was a personal failure.
"Is that all for today?" I asked, placing the report back on the desk as I rose to my feet.
Willabelle stood firm, scanning the remaining documents with a practiced glance. As she straightened them with delicate fingers, her expression didn't shift: calm, focused, meticulous. In that moment, in the silence between us, I didn't feel like I bore the weight of decision alone. Actually, when it came to Willabelle, this was a positive thing.
"That's all the paperwork for today, my lord."
"Then I'll take my leave now. Eliza, if anything happens, anything at all…don't hesitate to come to my room."
She inclined her head slightly. A faint, graceful smile touched her lips.
"Of course, my Lord. Also, if you need anything, please feel free to come to my room. "
I gave her one last glance before leaving the room. The stone corridors of the manor greeted me with silence. The torches on the walls flickered with uncertain light, casting a timeless atmosphere. Tonight, there was a heaviness in the air. It felt colder than usual. The stones seemed older. Or maybe... I was just tired.
My steps carried me along a familiar path to my chambers. I opened the door gently and stepped inside.
The room was dim. Only the dying flames of the hearth pushed back the darkness. I glanced out the window. The city was submerged in night. All was calm.
I removed my cloak and hung it by the door. At my desk, I picked up a book, not a prayer book, not a war memoir, but an old history text. One of the oldest surviving sources on vampires. Its author was unknown, but much of its information was still considered accurate. As I flipped through the pages, one line caught my attention:
"High Vampires are not lords of darkness. They are the darkness itself."
I closed the book. A gnawing unease stirred within me. My instincts whispered a warning: these deaths weren't part of the novel. Was this the so-called butterfly effect at work? Although, leaving aside the time period in which I found myself in the novel, there wasn't much mention of Leonardo, the original owner of my body, or rather, the body I found myself in. So I shouldn't worry about it too much.
There was a knock at the door. Three times. Slow, deliberate, rhythmic.
"Enter," I said.
The door opened, and in walked Annabel... dressed provocatively. Again. I really was going to have to fire some of the maids. They'd undo all the progress I'd made trying to mend this relationship.
When she entered, the dim light spilled over her, casting a soft glow on her golden curls, giving them the flickering warmth of flame. Her dress was deep crimson silk, hugging her form and accentuating the curve of her hips with each step. It clung to her waist, beneath the bust, in a subtle yet striking cut that emphasized her femininity. Thin straps slid from her shoulders, and her neckline dipped just far enough to flirt with impropriety without crossing it. This dress had been chosen carefully, purposefully to enhance the natural allure she already possessed.
But what truly set her apart... was the shyness behind the splendor.
Her gaze was lowered, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She couldn't stop fidgeting with the hem of her dress, and her lips parted several times in the effort to speak only for the words to die on her tongue. Her steps were hesitant. She wasn't a seductress. Not really. Despite her appearance, she moved within the delicate, vulnerable limits of her true nature.
"Annabel," I said, her name spoken softly. Firm, but not accusing.
She lifted her head. Her blue eyes caught the firelight, glinting briefly. My voice hadn't startled her, but she remained cautious.
"Whose idea was it to dress you like this again? Tell me, so I can have them dismissed."
Her panic bloomed like a frightened deer caught in a clearing. Her pupils widened, lips parted, but she said nothing at first. Then she swallowed and replied in a voice so quiet I barely caught it:
"T-this time... it was m-my idea! S-so there's no need to dismiss anyone..."
Silence fell, heavy and unyielding. Even the fireplace seemed to hush itself, drowned out by the weight of the moment. Annabel had just realized something. Not the exposure of her body, but the vulnerability of her will. For the first time, her desire had revealed itself, and she was ashamed not of her form, but of the fact that it had come from within.
I had no idea what to say. What was I supposed to do now?
If I made a wrong move, I could ruin everything, irreparably. The woman whom I had raped, or rather, whom that bastard Leonardo had raped and treated like an animal, had finally taken a big step. A real, brave step.
I hadn't expected this. I never even imagined there could be a romantic path between us. Damn it, I didn't even have a plan.
First things first: stay calm. Keep control.
For someone as shy and gentle as Annabel, this must've taken immense courage. Even now, her trembling hands, her downcast eyes betrayed how hard it was for her. The last thing I should do is question why she came dressed like this. No, I shouldn't even ask.
I should treat it as natural. Be grateful. Make her feel safe.
I took a deep breath and stood up.
Passing the armchair, I walked to stand before her. The flickering shadows blurred the edges of her face, but I could still see the uncertainty in those blue eyes. She was ready to run but also willing to stay. And most of all, she felt safe enough for the first time to take a step forward.
I raised my hand slowly.
And touched her cheek.
My hand looked absurdly large against her delicate face. Like a soldier's calloused fingers cradling a dove. My thumb brushed gently across her cheekbone.
Annabel's eyes widened in surprise. Then, bashfully, they narrowed. But she didn't pull away. She didn't turn her face.
"Annabel..." My voice was barely a whisper. "Does this mean... you've forgiven me?"
Another silence. Her lashes quivered. Her gaze dropped, then returned to me.
When her body trembled, I thought at first she was cold. But no... it was something deeper. The unraveling of a burden she had carried for years. A quiet quake from the core of her soul.
She dipped her head, folded her hands over her chest. And when she spoke, her voice was so soft, so fragile, that even the smallest sound might've drowned it out:
"Yes, my Lord... I've forgiven you."
The words fell from her lips like a confession ripped from the depths of her being. Bare, unadorned, inescapable. A candle lit in darkness-frail, honest, trembling, but enduring.
"May I touch you?" I asked.
Annabel's lips parted with a trembling breath. Her eyes shimmered, fear and resolve tangled together.
Her voice was silk. Breakable. Intimate.
"Yes," she whispered. "You may, my Lord."
Slowly, like a hunter approaching his prey, or a lover approaching his beloved, I took a step forward. The distance between us melted away. Annabel's scent, a mixture of rose water and a hint of spice, filled my nostrils; it was a heady blend of her natural scent and the silk of her dress. My hand still rested gently on Annabel's cheek. As my fingers glided over her silky skin, I slowly lowered my other hand to her waist. Beneath the delicate fabric, the warmth of Annabel's body spread through my palm like fire.
"Annabel…" I said, my voice now more than a whisper, carrying the shadow of a deep desire. I leaned in, our faces so close that our breaths mingled. Annabel's lips, slightly parted, glowed with a tempting pinkness. Her eyes, lost in mine, neither fleeing nor fully surrendering; they simply waited, with that delicate, fragile hope.
When my lips touched Annabel's, the world fell silent. The kiss began with a soft, hesitant touch; like two souls reacquainting themselves after a long separation. But this delicate beginning quickly turned into a fire. My lips captured Annabel's more decisively, more eagerly. The kiss deepened, becoming a moment where passion took control. Annabel's lips couldn't resist my pressure; she was shy but surrendered to my rhythm.
My tongue slipped between Annabel's lips, gently but firmly exploring her. Annabel's mouth was like sweet wine-warm, slightly spicy, and addictive. My hand slid down Annabel's waist, feeling the curves and softness of her hips beneath the silk fabric of her dress. As my fingers gently squeezed the fabric, a muffled moan rose from Annabel, her voice lost within the kiss. This moan only fueled the fire within me.
Annabel's hands pressed against my chest, not to push me away, but as if to hold on to me, to not lose herself in the intensity of the moment.
And tonight might finally be the night I lose my virginity in my second life... finally!
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Note: I apologize if there are any problems in this chapter. I couldn't check it because my right shoulder is still hurting. If there are any mistakes, please point them out in the comments.