“However, my lady,”Julia continued, her tone soft. “I chose to be here of my own accord. I understand whom I cater to, and you have no need for worry.”

Azalie opened her eyes as Julia took her hands back and pulled her soft black curls off to the side, exposing her bare olive-toned neck, smooth and completely unmarked.

Azalie pressed her lips together, her fangs aching as they dug into her bottom lip. She touched the girl’s neck with the tips of her fingers. Julia didn’t flinch or move away, but she could feel the rhythmic race of her heartbeat pulsing just beneath her skin.

“Is there wine?” Azalie whispered.

Julia turned to face her, confusion flickering in her eyes. “There is not, my lady.”

Azalie pulled back, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “I would very much like some.”

Julia gave her an inquiring look. “I did not know your kind could drink such beverages, my lady.”

Azalie chuckled softly, finding amusement in her innocence. “Most do not bother. Fermented beverages do not intoxicate us as they do humans. To feel its effects, we would have to drink the blood of someone already intoxicated. I simply find the act of drinking relaxing.”

A flicker of worry crossed Julia’s face. She was silent for a long moment, then she spoke. “My lady, forgive me for asking, but you wouldn’t try to inebriate me if I fetched you a pitcher, would you?”

Azalie startled for a moment. “An odd question to ask. No, I would never force you to do anything. Though, I wouldn’t deny you, should you want some.”

Julia sat there another moment, pondering something in her mind. Then she abruptly stood up. “I shall return momentarily, my lady.”

Azalie sighed as Julia left. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable. She couldn’t help but wonder how Azazel felt when he first drank Live. After all the decades of being told it was forbidden, dangerous, and taboo, she still felt as though she would get in trouble. 

But wine wasn’t what she truly wanted. She wanted solitude—to think. Yet, the throbbing pain in her head made reflection difficult. She lay down on the bed, noticing it lacked the comfort of the one at home, and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax.

Her thoughts swirled with confusion. Something about the blood crisis vexed her. How could some blood be tainted while others were not? Why didn’t the bad blood taste different? And why did it only pertain to bottled blood, not Live Blood? If feeding Live never caused the illness, then wouldn’t that mean that the person’s blood was already safe? Julia had never given blood before, so how could they be sure she was unaffected?

If it was a true plague, surely La Madre would have known, but then why keep the information hidden? Azalie had lived through plagues before and knew the blood of a plagued human was dangerous to drink. Still, none of the women she’d seen since coming back appeared sick, except for that mage boy…

Father and Azazel had only mentioned the symptoms of the bad blood and how to help it. What caused it or why it was still getting into the bottled blood was still unknown, and that was the confusing part.

The estate received blood bottles from ten different dens. Each den housed hundreds of donors, carefully rotated to ensure their health. If the illness came from a few sickly donors, finding the source should have been simple, given the strict regulations. So why was the issue unresolved? Unless...

“My Lady?”

Julia’s soft voice broke through her thoughts. Azalie’s golden yellow eyes fluttered open to see Julia standing over her, holding a wooden tray with a pitcher of wine and a glass chalice. She placed the tray on the nightstand.

“Julia, could you humor me for a moment? I am merely curious, but could you tell me how long you have been here? This place I mean.”

Julia filled the glass and handed it to Azalie, who took a deep drink before replying. “Twelve months, my lady.”

Only a year? Azalie thought. Most of the women had been here much longer. “Where were you before coming here, If you don’t mind my asking.”

Julia didn’t seem bothered by the question. “Not at all, my lady,” she said, refilling the glass. “Before I came here, I was a slave to the Thaddious family.”

Azalie choked on her wine.

The Thaddious family. The name sent a shockwave through her system. That family of vampyres had been the subject of many rumors—ruthless, violent, and bloodthirsty. They often quarreled with them or so the rumors went. Her father, Molch, has gone to great lengths to erase their existence from public knowledge, but that never stopped Azalie from hearing about them. They are known for pillaging towns throughout Europe, leaving no human survivors. You either died or were turned, and if they didn’t want you, they left you chained outside to burn in the sun. 

The only humans they wouldn’t kill immediately or turn were the women from whichever village or town they had just conquered. They paraded them like trophies, treated them as slaves, but never fed from them. They enjoyed watching them slowly waste away from starvation and exhaustion. 

Azalie had encountered someone claiming to be from the Thaddious family about forty-seven years ago, three years after her clan had moved to Rome.

“My lady, are you certain you can drink this?” Julia asked, concerned as she gently patted Azalie’s back. Azalie waved away the rest of Julia’s attempts to help, settling herself once she stopped coughing.

Azalie turned to face her. “I don’t understand. If the Thaddious family had captured you, how are you here now?” 

Julia’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as a shy smile spread across her face. “A brave young man. A vampyre from your family’s clan saved me.”

A vampyre from her family? Impossible. No one would dare confront the Thaddious family alone and she certainly didn’t remember anyone boasting about such an event a year ago. Then again, a lot had been happening during that time.

This was either an absurdly far-fetched lie or someone from her family was keeping a significant secret.

“When he saved me, he brought me here for La Madre to care for. I’ve been kept safe ever since.” Julia’s eyes softened. “That young man restored my belief that not all vampyres are cruel. He showed me true kindness. Because of him, I know you also hold that same kindness. It is why I have no fear of you and wish to offer my blood to you.”

Julia moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair away from her neck again. She slid her sleeve down to expose her shoulder, revealing a long scar slashing across her chest and wrapping behind her shoulder—evidence of some terrible past abuse. It looked as if something had been tied tightly around her body, repeatedly digging and cutting into her skin.

Azalie felt a pang of sympathy. Julia’s outrageous story seemed a bit more credible now. She understood the desire to repay a debt, but offering oneself as payment wasn’t free will.

She touched the woman’s scar, her voice soft. “Julia, you cannot repay a debt through someone else.” 

Julia frowned slightly, startled by Azalie’s words.

“Continue to save yourself for the one who saved you,” Azalie added gently.

“But, my lady!” Julia pleaded. “I cannot, you need blood, and I am the only one who can giv—”

Azalie raised her hand, cutting her off. “You are un-diseased, are you not?”

Julia nodded. “I am healthy. I hold no illnesses, my lady.”

“Then you may offer me your blood another way,” Azalie said, a theory forming in her head that she wanted to test. “Give me your wrist.”

Julia did as Azalie requested. Taking the girl’s hand in one of her own, Azalie created one of her ice daggers in her other hand. She pressed the flat of the blade against Julia’s wrist, numbing the area, then carefully made a long, shallow cut.

Azalie grabbed the chalice of wine and held it under Julia’s wrist, catching the spilling blood as it trickled down. When the cup was filled to the brim, she placed it carefully aside and grabbed a dry cloth from beside the water basin. She pressed it to Julia’s wrist and grabbed her folded scarf from beside her, securing it in place with a cute butterfly bow.

“There,” Azalie said, admiring her handy work.

“My lady?” Julia said in a confused voice as she fiddled with the bow loops. “Are you sure about this? Will you not feed from me? I was told that is what you needed to heal.”

Azalie nodded slowly. “I was also told the same thing, that only Live Blood is safe. But if what you say is true, and you are healthy, then taking your blood this way should also be safe.”

Julia thought about it for a moment. “That makes sense. You’re quite clever, my lady. I wouldn’t have thought of such a method.”

Azalie gave a small smile as she picked up the chalice. She stirred the mixture with her finger, about to find out how clever or reckless she really was. Placing the brim of the glass to her lips, she took a slow sip, letting the warm blood-wine blend wash over her tongue. Its sweet berry flavoring exploded her senses. She closed her eyes, savoring the wonderful sensation.

After draining the chalice, she set it aside. That was about the equivalent of one bottle, she thought. Now she would have to wait and see. She laid back against the pillows, letting herself relax.

“My lady…” Julia began, but Azalie silenced her with a gesture.

Julia fell quiet, letting the room fill with peaceful silence.

Azalie waited, counting each minute in silence. Ten minutes passed, then a few more. Still, she felt no signs of sickness. Instead, the wound on her head was knitting itself back together, and her body grew lighter, shedding the weight of her exhaustion. She knew she would need much more to compensate for her time not feeding in China, but for now, this was enough.

Azalie sat up and opened her eyes to see Julia nervously toying with the bow around her wrist. As soon as Julia noticed her movement, she looked up and beamed. "You've healed, my lady!"

Azalie smiled softly. “Indeed, I feel much better.”

“Are you sure you do not need more?” Julia asked.

Azalie shook her head. “What I’ve taken is enough for now. You have my gratitude, Julia.”

Julia blushed. Azalie swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, turning to face her. “As a token of my thanks, I shall leave you with a parting gift.” Leaning down, Azalie pressed a gentle kiss to Julia’s forehead. 

Julia blinked, momentarily dazed as Azalie turned to leave. “Wait, my lady, your silk!” She held out her bow tied wrist. 

Azalie giggled, a playful light in her eyes. “Keep it. Let it be a reminder of the debt you owe to the one who saved you. Keep yourself pure for him.”

Julia’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her smile was bright as she nodded. Azalie gave her one last glance before sweeping through the portiere and into the hallway beyond.

She strolled down the empty hallway, lost in her own thoughts. Julia was a sweet girl. Azalie wouldn’t mind keeping her as a personal donor, not that such a request was likely to be granted. If she mentioned it to La Madre, something might be arranged, but it seemed too much to ask. La Madre was partial and doting to her and Azazel, but the idea of asking for a personal donor felt indulgent, even for her.

With a sigh, she conceded to her own musings as she followed the curve of the wall back to the main lounge area. A sudden sharp, searing pain sliced through her. Azalie’s body reacted instantly, her hand reaching out to steady herself against a nearby column. She clenched her teeth, to keep from crying out.

The blood? She thought immediately. No—this was different. She sensed something, a gathering of great power causing a power surge. But why? She’d sensed power shifts before, but none had ever hurt like this.

I’ve never been starved and sickened before either, she thought to herself. 

“Azazel,” she whispered to herself. She had to find him. Ignoring the lingering ache, Azalie pushed off the column and took off down the hall.