CHAPTER 175: WHATEVER IT TAKES

With a look of glee on her face—which she didn’t even bother to hide—she slid to his side. Zyren knelt on the ground with his eyes closed, motionless, still drenched in blood and reeking of burnt flesh. But Lady Vivian moved as if in a daze of lust and victory. Sliding the arm of her gown off her shoulder, she bared her neck without hesitation. In a single sharp motion, she slashed her own neck open with a fingernail. Blood slowly poured out, rich and dark, trickling down her pale skin in elegant, slow-moving rivulets.

Muttering sweetly under her breath, her voice silky with invitation, her breasts half-exposed in the sheer fabric, she seemed to revel in every second. Her lips curled in pleasure as she turned her head, going as far as to glance at Aria—who stood just about a foot away—with a smug look on her face. Her eyes glittered with malice as she moved to grab Zyren’s head, intending to press his lips to her bleeding neck.

Aria felt nothing. And to her relief, that emptiness brought her comfort. No rage. No envy. No twisted longing. She was relieved—more than relieved—to see that the sight of him like this didn’t stir anything at all within her. Feeling anything at all in a moment like this would’ve pissed her off more than the act of saving his life itself.

She was already turning away, preparing to leave. Her plan was simple: wait for him to return to the room later, and then ask him her questions. She had no interest in watching this absurd display unfold. But just when she began to shift her weight to leave, everything changed.

She and Lady Vivian both froze in stunned silence as, at the very moment Vivian’s hands were just about to touch him, Zyren slowly got to his feet. No dramatic noise. No warning. He simply rose. He dusted his clothes off, casual and calm, like there was only dirt on them—and not blood and pieces of flesh. His movements were smooth, elegant, utterly in control.

"Thanks for the offer," Zyren said, his voice firm, steady, "but I’ll have to decline."

He turned immediately after, fixing his gaze on Aria. The moment his eyes locked onto hers, her heart suddenly began to pound. Hard. She froze on the spot she stood, breath catching in her throat as a dozen thoughts raced through her mind. How long had he been awake? How much had he heard? Had he listened to everything—everything—she said to Jared?

Her head thumped so heavily it might as well have been ringing. She stared into his eyes like she was searching for something—some hint of emotion, some flicker of acknowledgment—but she found absolutely nothing. His gaze was steady, piercing, but empty. Red eyes without a trace of emotion. Then, he looked away.

He turned to Lady Vivian.

Vivian scrambled up, visibly shaken, her entire body jolting as the smugness vanished from her face. What remained was a mask of panic. She mumbled and stammered, trying to piece together a sentence.

"You—Your Highness!" she gasped, almost like she had seen a ghost. Zyren leveled his gaze on her with a piercing, icy look that made her flinch back instinctively.

"You... you are injured! I—I just wanted to—to—" she struggled to finish the words. Her voice kept breaking. The stammering only got worse.

Zyren nodded his head slowly, still standing tall with his back straight and his shoulders squared—even though blood still continued to gush from the deep wounds on his back. It didn’t faze him.

Then, his voice rang out, louder than before—intentionally louder—for the lords who were already feasting, drinking from the women brought to them. His expression turned grim, eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you."

The command in his voice was sharp enough to snap Lord Virelle out of his daze. He had been fucking his partner, right on the edge of orgasm. The moans from the woman in his arms had grown desperate and loud—but he instantly pulled away from her the moment Zyren spoke, his head whipping around, breath shallow, eyes wide.

He wasn’t the only one shocked. Lord Noctare, Lord Drehk, and Lord Lythari had all been feeding—locked into the act, too deeply immersed in the bliss of healing to notice what was happening. Each one had been drinking from their designated partners, making things easier—since they were already used to the taste of their blood.

"Your Highness... we shouldn’t feed?" Lord Noctare asked, clearly confused. He wiped his bloodstained lips with the back of his hand as he spoke, brows furrowed in uncertainty.

The other lords bore the same expression—bewildered, tense—as they struggled to understand what Zyren was trying to say. Why would he tell them not to feed? Why stop the healing?

The good news was, they didn’t have to wait long.

Zyren’s voice returned, slow but weighted with caution.

"If the monster can pretend to be a human... can’t he pretend to be a vampire?"

Gasps filled the room like a cold wind sweeping through.

In an instant, the lords recoiled—jerking away from their partners like they had been burned. Panic flashed across their faces. Lord Virelle even pushed his partner to the floor with a horrified expression, backing away in revulsion.

Lady Vivian looked like she had been slapped across both cheeks. Her eyes widened as she stumbled forward, rushing to defend herself. "I—I could never be a monster!" she cried, breathless. She had already noticed the half-piece of the monster’s head still lying nearby on the ground. She had informants—she knew what was going on inside the castle better than most.

"I’m definitely me!" she swore, trembling. But it soon became obvious that even if Zyren heard her, he barely paid attention. His gaze didn’t flicker. He kept his eyes on the lords, addressing them instead.

"Your blood partners should be fine though," he said, voice calm—an indirect allowance for them to continue, though not a single one of them moved.

The memory of what had just happened—the fact that a seemingly human woman had turned into a monster before their very eyes—was too fresh. Too raw. It clung to their skin like oil. Feeding again felt like stepping into death with their eyes open.

Zyren said nothing more.

He turned and walked out of the hall.

Tall and confident, every inch of him carried the presence of a king. It didn’t matter that his back was torn open, burnt so badly that his spine and ribs could be seen. His aura—his power—remained untouched.

Aria almost smirked at Vivian, who stood stunned in place, frozen in disbelief. She scrambled down to retrieve the coat she had tossed aside earlier, fumbling with it as she slipped it back on in a rush to cover herself.

But Aria didn’t spare her another glance.

She simply headed out of the hall too—especially since the only ones left were guards, the lords, and the blood-drained people they had fed on.

Most importantly, Aria was trying to hide her fear.

The thought that anyone around her could possibly be such a monster... it made her stomach twist. Her body moved faster than she realized, feet nearly tripping over themselves as she darted toward Zyren, sticking close to him.

She wiped the sweat from her face, aware that she could do nothing about the layer of it soaking into her back.

Not yet.

But she would stay close.

For answers. For safety. For power.

Whatever it took.

As long as Zyren paid for his sins and she and her sister were safe!