Chapter 7
Max
The slave was different.
The thought circled in my mind like a ghost I could not shake. I sat in my private study, staring at the wall, but my mind was elsewhere. Why did this one resist so much? Every slave before him had broken the same way. They all eventually lowered their eyes. Their voices always trembled, and their bodies folded into obedience the moment I showed my fangs. They begged for mercy. They pleaded for their lives. They did anything—absolutely anything—just to survive one more night in this mansion.
But Ethan was not like that. He begged for the opposite. He did not want mercy; he demanded death. He did it loudly and with a look of pure defiance in his eyes. It was as if living in this world offended him personally.
The door to my chambers opened with a soft creak. My personal servant stepped inside. He was pale and silent, always careful not to make a sound. He bowed so low that his forehead nearly touched the ground.
"Master," the servant said. His voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with a hint of nerves. "The slave named Ethan has been… misbehaving again. It is becoming a problem."
I did not look up immediately. "Tell me everything," I commanded.
"He insulted the Third Prince, Desmond," the servant reported. "Then he went after the Second Prince, Mick. He even spoke back to the youngest, Felix. He refuses to kneel for anyone. He mocks your brothers openly in front of the guards. The other princes are furious, Master. They have never seen a slave act with such arrogance."
I closed the book in my hands. It was an ancient thing with a leather binding and pages that had seen centuries of history. I set it aside slowly. "Ethan," I repeated the name. It felt strange on my tongue. It felt heavy and interesting at the same time.
The servant nodded quickly. "Before this, he was different. He was scared. He used to beg us not to kill him. He was always trying to please the guards and stay out of trouble. But now? Now he asks for death every single hour. He asks for it repeatedly, like he wants it more than he wants his next meal."
A slow smile pulled at my mouth. "Interesting" did not cover it. The boy was becoming a fascination.
"Where is he now?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.
"He is at the auction house, Master. Your brothers—Felix, Desmond, and Mick—decided they had enough. They are trying to sell him right now. They say he is too dangerous to keep in the house."
My eyes bled red in an instant. I felt the power coiling tight in my chest, making the air in the room feel heavy. "Who gave them permission to sell what belongs to me?" I asked. I kept my voice calm, but it was the kind of calm that promised violence. The servant flinched as if I had struck him.
I stood up from my chair. The wood scraped loudly against the stone floor. I walked past the servant without another word. My long coat swept the ground behind me as I marched toward the auction house.
The auction house was a place filled with the scent of fear. Torches flickered along the stone walls, lighting the room in a dull orange glow. Slaves were lined up on a wooden platform. Most of them had their heads bowed, and their chains rattled softly as they shook with fright. Buyers stood in the crowd, murmuring bids like they were discussing the price of common wine.
But I found him immediately. Ethan stood apart from the rest. His chin was up. His shoulders were straight. He did not tremble. He did not look afraid. In fact, he looked bored. He looked like none of this mattered to him. He looked like death was just a small inconvenience that he wanted to get over with.
The entire room went still the moment I stepped inside. Every vampire in the building bowed low. The buyers dropped to their knees on the ground. My brothers—Felix, Desmond, and Mick—stiffened when they saw me. They lowered their heads, and no one dared to meet my gaze.
The crowd felt amazed and terrified all at once.
Except for Ethan. He looked straight at me. He did not bow. He did not flinch. He just watched me with those burning, challenging eyes. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like someone was truly looking at me, not as a prince, but as a man.
I walked forward, and the crowd parted like water. When I got close to him, I saw it—a dark, ugly bruise circling his throat. There were clear finger marks on his pale skin. Someone had tried to strangle him.
I let out a low growl. The sound was deep and vibrated through the stone floor beneath our feet. "Who did this?" I asked.
The silence in the room was thick. No one spoke. No one moved. My gaze swept across the room until it landed on one of my own enforcers. He was a killer I kept for the most difficult jobs. His face turned pale. He knew he was in trouble.
I moved faster than any human eye could follow. One second I was standing by Ethan, and the next, my hand was wrapped around the enforcer's throat. I lifted him into the air, twisted my wrist, and felt the snap of his neck.
The body hit the ground with a thud. He was dead before he even realized I had moved.
Ethan's voice cut through the shock of the room. "Kill me instead!" he shouted at me. He sounded desperate. "Do it! I am the one who deserves it! Not him! Why are you killing the guard? Kill me!"
I turned back to him. I ignored his pleas. I ignored the stares of the buyers and my brothers. I reached down and wrapped one arm around his waist. I lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all.
He started to thrash around in my grip. "Put me down! Kill me, damn it! Just kill me!"
I did not answer him. I didn't say a single word. I simply carried him out of the auction house. I walked past the bowing crowd and my brothers' stunned faces. I carried him all the way to my private wing and into my chambers. I shut the door behind us with a heavy thud.
I set him down on the edge of my bed. He scrambled back immediately, glaring up at me with pure fury in his eyes.
"If you do not kill me today," he snarled, his voice trembling with rage, "I will kill you. I swear it. I will find a way to end you."
He lunged for a small silver knife that sat on my bedside table. He grabbed it and held it out toward me. His hand was shaking, but the tip of the blade was pointed right at my heart.
"Kill me now," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Or I will be the one to end you. It is your choice."
I watched him for a long moment. I did not move. I did not reach for my own weapon. I simply looked at him.
Then, I turned my back on him and walked toward the door. My servant was already waiting in the threshold, bowing instantly.
"Clean him up," I ordered the servant. "Take him to the baths. Wash the dirt and the blood away. Dress him in proper clothes. I want him to smell of something other than fear and blood. When you are finished, bring him to the meeting room."
The servant nodded. "Yes, Master. Right away."
I glanced back at Ethan one last time. He was still sitting on the bed, the knife clutched in his hand. His eyes were blazing with hate, but there was something else there, too—something I could not name yet.
Then, I walked away and left him there.