My Vampire Boyfriend

Chapter 22: Possession

The standoff lasted only a few seconds before Ethan rose to apologize. Yet before the words “I’m sorry” could leave his lips, the tearful vampire lunged straight at him.

“How dare you toy with me like that! I’ll bite you to death right now!”

Ethan could never bear to see Lucien cry. Even when the vampire turned fierce, there was still something pitiful about him—something that tugged painfully at Ethan’s heart. He didn’t fight back. Knocked onto the bed, he simply tilted his head to expose his neck, waiting for Lucien to sink his fangs in.

But instead of the expected bite, a single teardrop fell—golden in the dim light—landing precisely where those fangs usually pierced his skin. Ethan shuddered as if scalded.

“You all look down on me!” Lucien clutched the front of Ethan’s shirt, his voice raw and trembling with long-suppressed frustration. “You all mock me! Think I’m useless, don’t you? Even if I am, I’m still the last pureblood of the vampire race! Not some failed experiment! I’ll become powerful—so powerful you’ll all kneel before me!”

Ethan stared at the furious vampire astride him—trembling, tear-streaked, sniffling between words of defiance. A realization flickered through his eyes.

It was his own sudden possessiveness that had wounded Lucien’s pride. The boy barely understood human ways, and Ethan had been cruel enough to strike where it hurt most.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying!” Lucien sniffed hard, hastily wiping his eyes. “I’m washing them! A powerful vampire never cries!”

“…”

Ethan sighed softly, one hand supporting himself on the bed while the other slid to Lucien’s back. He drew the vampire gently into his arms, his palm gliding over the smooth, cold skin in a soothing rhythm.

“All right, no more washing. I was only teasing. If I really looked down on you, would I have sent you all those gifts?”

At the mention of the live stream, Lucien’s fragile composure cracked again. He couldn’t forget Ethan’s earlier words.

“You do look down on me! You’re just like those disgusting old vampires!” he shouted, chin lifted high. “I’m of noble blood! You’re just a human—what gives you the right to treat me like this?”

“…”

Lucien’s tear-filled eyes glistened with anger, his pale face flushed from rage. What could Ethan do but yield? He’d already made up his mind to soothe him.

He picked up the robe from the floor and wrapped it securely around Lucien’s shoulders. “No one does anything for nothing. How else should I treat you? You’re the only one who’s ever made me spend so much money, log in on time every day, edit countless clips, and still not know whether I’m crazy or devoted.”

But the word money only reignited Lucien’s fury. He heard no tenderness in Ethan’s tone—only humiliation and mockery. His mind flashed back to Ethan’s earlier threat to hit him. How dare he!

Lucien shoved Ethan away and jumped off the bed. His eyes fell upon the maid outfit sent by fans, lying crumpled on the floor beside a doll that supposedly resembled him—cute, they had said.

Wait.

It was the humans flattering him, wasn’t it? Every day, the fan group begged “Lord War God” to start streaming. Lucien glanced at the doll near the computer, rage burning in his chest. He’d been made a fool of—by Ethan most of all.

And yet, the truth was cruel: he’d only gained fame because of his very first fan. If “The Dumb Ghost’s Keeper” hadn’t held that giveaway, his stream would have stayed deserted.

The dumb ghost… was himself. How infuriating.

Ethan bent to pick up the maid costume, his voice gentle. “Come here. Let me help you put it on.”

But Lucien only walked to the window, opened the venting pane, and let the cold night wind rush in. His soft black hair fluttered, and the loose bathrobe slid from his pale shoulders.

The sight was breathtaking. Ethan froze.

Lucien’s skin was so white it seemed to catch the light; his eyes, still rimmed red from crying, shimmered vividly against the dark night beyond the window. He looked otherworldly—like a fallen angel or a fragile piece of art too precious to touch, too delicate to harm.

If only that angel didn’t speak.

“Filthy human. How dare you say I was pleasing you?”

Ethan blinked, his soul snapping back into place. “I told you—it was just a joke. Come here and put your clothes on. Your little admirers are still waiting for you.”

“Little admirers? How stupid!” Lucien sneered. “Just wait. I’ll show you soon enough who’s pleasing whom!”

The moment the words left his lips, his form began to blur. In an instant, he dissolved into black mist—then reformed as a small bat.

The bat bared its tiny fangs, screeched sharply in challenge, and then flew out into the night, vanishing into darkness.

The room fell silent, save for the wind. Ethan stood still for a long time before finally closing the window. Then he began tidying up. Liam’s driver would come tomorrow afternoon.

Lucien’s messy habits left traces everywhere—clothes scattered, underwear thrown about. Cleaning up after him had become part of Ethan’s routine.

When the apartment was spotless again, Ethan cooked himself a bowl of noodles. He ate in silence. No childish insults, no clatter of keyboard or mouse.

No soft, teasing “Thank you, darling.”

The quiet was unbearable. Ethan washed the dishes, then hand-washed the maid costume, wondering if he should buy a new one.

Lucien’s skin was absurdly sensitive—anything rough made him frown and go strutting around naked until Ethan gave in.

Yes. Better buy another.

Ethan wasn’t one to procrastinate. Once he’d decided, he spent an hour online carefully picking a more modest design—knee-length this time—and paid extra for express delivery, glancing once at the tiny short-skirted version drying on the balcony.

Then he sat at the computer, opened Lucien’s saved video archives, and watched every match. He clipped together the most thrilling scenes, adding flashy special effects and bold subtitles praising Lord War God’s unmatched brilliance.

By the time he finished, it was half past ten.

Ethan shut down the computer and lay in bed. Yet as soon as he closed his eyes, Lucien’s tearful face haunted him, leaving a dull ache in his chest.

At this hour, Lucien was usually nestled against his arm, fast asleep.

He’d truly been an i***t tonight.

He had no right to control what Lucien wore or did—because Lucien did not belong to him.

The more he reflected, the worse he felt. By human standards, Lucien was four years younger than him—still a boy, really.

So stubborn, working hard on his streams, learning to get along with humans. He only wanted attention, strength, acknowledgment. It must have hurt so much to cry like that before a human.

The next morning, Ethan woke with a dull headache. Not the stabbing agony of before—just the ache of sleeplessness.

What tormented him more was the heaviness in his chest. He didn’t know if the dumb vampire was still angry—or if he’d ever come back.

By noon, there was still no trace of the little bat at the window.

Ethan called Lucien’s phone, only to hear the muffled ringtone nearby. He searched the bed, finally finding the phone wedged between the mattress and headboard.

Of course. He’d flown off last night without a thing on him.

Ethan had believed Lucien’s “soon” meant soon. He’d thought they would still go to the hot springs together, as planned. The clingy vampire who couldn’t go a night without feeding, who loved games more than sleep—surely he’d be back by afternoon.

But Liam never called, and Lucien never returned.

From that day on, Lord War God never streamed again.

The clingy little vampire had vanished.

South City, New Year’s Eve.

When Ethan returned home alone, his mother looked surprised. “Qinghe, where’s your friend?”

“He went home for the holidays,” Ethan replied casually, trying not to think about Lucien. “I’m a bit tired from the trip. I’ll get some rest.”

His mother quickly took his suitcase. “Go on, rest. Tonight I’ll cook a big dinner. Learned a few new dishes from your aunt.”

“Don’t make too much, Mom.”

“Oh, nonsense—it’s New Year! We should celebrate!”

Ethan’s parents were both only children, with few relatives on either side. Every Spring Festival felt quiet, shadowed by the anniversary of his grandfather’s death. The house always carried a faint sadness that no laughter could dispel.

He’d never been fond of noisy gatherings anyway. As a child, he used to accompany his parents on visits; now, he preferred to visit his grandfather’s grave instead.

This year was no different—a silent New Year, without the usual bustle. Receiving his red envelope from his parents, Ethan couldn’t help but think of that dumb vampire again.

Lucien had been gone a week.

He had even prepared a red envelope for him. It was a pity Lucien never got to experience the New Year—the fireworks, the family warmth. Was he celebrating somewhere? Was he all right?

“Honey, try this pork braised with hawthorn,” his mother said brightly.

“Sweet and sour—nice,” his father replied. “Qinghe, your mom worked hard on this feast. Eat more meat.”

“…” They were at it again, feeding each other and piling food onto his plate. Ethan was used to it.

He eyed the questionable dish and thought—if Lucien were here, he’d trick him into trying a bite. The sourness would make him scrunch his nose, scowl, and throw a fit.

But a little blood and affection before bed would calm him right down—like giving a bone to a spoiled puppy.

Realizing his thoughts had wandered again, Ethan lost his appetite. He set down his chopsticks. “Dad, Mom—Happy New Year. I’m full.”

His father looked at him in surprise, about to ask, but his mother stopped him with a glance. He’s probably heartbroken, her eyes seemed to say. Let him be.

“Qinghe,” his father called after him. “Your mom and I will visit your grandfather’s grave tomorrow. You don’t have to come. Go out with your friends.”

So this was the human world—quiet, restrained, and lonely.

Meanwhile, on the other side of West City, in the vampire realm, a certain foolish fledgling clung desperately to his brother’s leg.

“Brother, please! Teach me how to control humans!”

Leo looked down at him with cool disdain. “Liam, how long has it been since Anthony last called me ‘brother’?”

Liam hesitated. “Uh… twenty-five years, my lord.”

“Really?” Leo arched a brow. “I thought he’d forgotten I was his brother entirely.”

“…” Lucien’s face darkened. He shouted “Brother!” again—laced with all the humiliation and fury he’d been holding inside.

It was all Ethan’s fault.

He’d made him lose face—utterly.