Vampire King's Pet

Chapter Two: Not As Easy To Escape

Alexei’s POV

“Are we almost there?" I grumbled from the backseat, the words slurred slightly by the burn of vodka sliding down my throat.

Another shot followed without hesitation.

The bottle was already half gone.

I didn’t bother checking how many I’d finished anymore. Numbers were for men who still cared about time passing in a meaningful way. I hadn’t been one of those men since the day my wife died.

“Distance?” I asked sharply.

“Yes, my King,” my warrior replied from the front seat without turning. “We are close. Another short stretch and we will reach the coordinates the boy provided.”

The boy. The vampire who had sent the message.

A survivor. Or a liar.

Either way, I was coming.

The window beside me showed nothing but a darkening sky and treeline rushing past in blurred streaks of green and gray. The farther we drove, the heavier the air became, like the world itself was slowing down in anticipation of something ugly waiting at the end of the road.

My jaw tightened. My father had insisted I come. The seers had insisted harder.

"Deal with it yourself," they said. As if I had anything left in me that wasn’t already sharpened into violence.

“Werewolves,” I muttered under my breath, pouring another drink. The word alone tasted like rot.

They killed my wife. My beautiful bride. The day after our anniversary.

I could still see it too clearly—too vividly—the way the world had collapsed after that moment. How silence had replaced everything that mattered. How the kingdom had looked at me afterward, like I was something cracked but still dangerous enough to avoid.

And I had given them exactly what they expected. Blood, fire, and revenge. It wasn’t healing. It was functional.

The car slowed. “We are here, sire.” I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I finished the drink, set the bottle down, and finally looked out.

Smoke.

Even from inside the vehicle, I could smell it. Thick, lingering, unnatural. It stained the horizon like a wound that refused to close. The sun was dropping behind the trees, dragging the sky into deep orange and bruised purple.

When I stepped out, the air hit differently. Heavier, older, and wrong. Very wrong.

My boots crunched against ash and shattered debris as I walked forward, my men fanning out behind me. Six vehicles' worth of trained warriors moved with practiced coordination, already shifting into recovery and containment.

Some went straight to the fires still smoldering at the edges of the forest line. Others went toward the ruins. And I—I stopped at the boundary.

A line in the ground where destruction ended and the untouched forest began.

Something was… holding it back. Not natural and damn sure not accidental.

The fire hadn’t crossed; the smoke hadn’t spread. Even the ash seemed reluctant to drift past it. “Interesting,” I murmured.

My instincts sharpened instantly. Magic. Witchcraft. I stepped over the line. The moment I did, the world changed.

The scent hit first. Death and decay. Blood so thick it coated the air like invisible smoke of its own.

My jaw clenched hard enough to ache. “Someone is still alive,” I ordered immediately. “Find them.”

My men moved without hesitation, lifting debris, rolling burned beams aside, and checking bodies with careful efficiency. Even in destruction, discipline remained. We would not dishonor the dead. We would bury them properly.

That was the law.

That was an order.

That was all we had left in places like this.

But I wasn’t listening to them anymore. Something else had caught my attention. A heartbeat. Faint, irregular, and alive. It cut through the rot like a pulse refusing to die.

So I followed it.

The closer I got, the harder it became to separate scent from destruction. Everything was layered—burnt wood, wet ash, blood, metal, and something else underneath.

Fear.

I rounded the remains of a structure that had once stood tall. Half of it was still upright, warped and blackened like a skeleton refusing to collapse.

And there—a body. A young male vampire. Dead. I crouched briefly, scanning him.

Too clean for the destruction around him. Meaning he wasn’t the source.

Which meant—I inhaled slowly. Perfume. Faint and out of place. Fresh.

I followed it.

My boots shifted into the forest line. And immediately—blood. Then a sound.

A woman’s voice. Weak. “Help me… pl-please?”

I stopped when another scent merged with hers. I recognized it instantly. Werewolf.

My hand tightened. A low growl built in my throat before I could stop it.

“If you want to live,” I said coldly, “you will not speak to me again.”

Silence.

Then—“Please… I don’t think I’ll… be out long.”

Something in her tone was wrong. Too young and too broken. My jaw flexed. I hated hesitation. I hated anything that delayed judgment.

And yet—I turned. Because ignoring a dying voice in my territory wasn’t something I allowed.

I pushed through the trees until I saw her. A young girl. Barely more than a child. Collapsed beside a dead werewolf and blood everywhere.

Her body trembled as she tried to stay conscious, her one leg bent wrong beneath her. My expression didn’t change. It never did.

But something in my chest tightened anyway.

Annoyance. Recognition of inconvenience. That was all. The wolf was dead. Meaning... she had survived it.

Interesting.

I crouched slightly, offering a hand. “Do not be afraid,” I said flatly. “He is dead.” Her eyes flicked to the body, then back to me. Unstable and disbelieving.

“Daniel called you,” she whispered. “He said… you would help.” That name meant nothing to me.

Yet, I studied her carefully. Injured, but owerful enough to survive. Terrified but still conscious.

A liability, or an asset. I offered my hand again. And this time, she slowly, she took it. Her grip was weaker than I expected, but she stood.

Barely.

A limp followed immediately. “I have a doctor,” I said.

“I’m fine,” she cut in quickly, pulling her hand away. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.” That, at least, I understood.

My gaze dropped briefly to the dead wolf. She had killed it. A child. Interesting again.

I signaled one of my younger warriors. “Take her to the vehicles.” She didn’t resist and didn’t speak again. But she looked like something had already broken inside her that couldn’t be repaired with bandages or time. And I didn’t care.

Or at least, I told myself I didn’t.

---

"Sir, I think we found the leaders of the coven. One of them had photographs." The voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I had been standing near one of the surviving vehicles, taking a rare moment to rest after hours of searching through ruins and bodies. Rainwater dripped from the ends of my dark hair as I twisted the cap back onto a bottle of water.

The alcohol from earlier had long since worn off, replaced by exhaustion and the lingering scent of death that seemed determined to cling to everything.

The warrior held out a scorched leather wallet. I took it without much interest.

Opening it carefully, I found a photograph tucked inside. A man and a woman. Both smiling. Both witches, if the ceremonial robes they wore were anything to judge by.

A family photo. Nothing unusual. I pulled out another. The same couple stood beside two children—a boy and a girl. Twins.

My eyes automatically drifted toward the black sedan where the survivor sat. The girl. The resemblance was unmistakable.

The grey eyes, the shape of her face, and the dark hair. A younger version of her stared back from the photograph. I sighed heavily.

At least we had identified the coven leaders. I reached for the final photograph. The moment I looked at it, every muscle in my body locked.

Silence swallowed everything around me. Rain, voices, and the crackling remains of dying fires. Allone.

All I could see was the face staring back at me. A werewolf standing beside the witch family. His arm draped casually around the father like they were brothers. Like they trusted one another. Like they belonged together.

My jaw clenched so hard pain shot through it. I knew that face. I knew it.

For years I had hunted rumors, names, pack affiliations, and alliances trying to find the monsters responsible for destroying my life.

And there he was. The wolf who had helped orchestrate the attack that killed my wife. The wolf whose actions had ultimately cost me both my queen and the unborn child she carried. The wolf whose existence had fueled every ounce of hatred festering inside me for the last several years.

The photograph crumpled slightly beneath my grip. "My King..." the warrior began carefully. "You know better than I do that she isn't a werewolf."

"No." The word came out sharper than intended. "No, she isn't." I looked toward the girl. She sat completely motionless inside her small magical barrier she built around her and the dead vampire beside her. Like a ghost occupying her own body.

"But he is." My voice darkened. The rage I had spent years feeding began clawing its way to the surface. "Therefore she has his blood around her. His influence. His connection."

The logic wasn't entirely fair. Part of me knew that. But grief had never been fair either. I tossed the water bottle aside. It bounced once against the muddy ground before disappearing into the darkness.

Then I started walking. Fast.

My boots sank into wet earth and ash as I crossed the ruined settlement. Warriors moved out of my path instinctively. No one attempted to stop me.

They could feel my mood. By the time I reached the barrier she'd created, my patience was already gone. The magical shield shimmered faintly in the rain, nearly invisible except when droplets struck its surface and rolled away.

I slammed my palm against it.bThe barrier pulsed.v"Come here."

Inside, she didn't move. Didn't even flinch. She remained seated beside the boy's body, staring downward. Not at me. Not at anything. Just... existing and shutting the world out.

I knew that look. I had worn it myself after my wife died. The difference was that nobody had let me hide behind it.

"Who is this?" I demanded, holding the photograph up against the barrier. Her cloudy grey eyes lifted slightly but failed to focus.

She saw me. But she wasn't really looking. She had retreated somewhere grief had dragged her.

"Answer me." Still nothing. The rain continued falling around us.

A cold wind swept through the ruins carrying the scent of smoke and wet ash.

Behind me, workers continued preparing bodies for burial. Life moved forward and she remained frozen.

My irritation flared. "Fine." I knocked against the barrier again. Harder this time. The magic rippled beneath my hand. "I have friends who can break this spell with little effort."vFinally, a reaction.

Not from her expression. From the ground. A subtle tremor rolled beneath my feet. Small and yet noticeable. Raw and emotional power.

Interesting.

Avery's hand immediately moved to the talisman hanging around her neck. She gripped it tightly. Desperately. Like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

Her lips moved silently. A prayer. A spell. Or perhaps simply a desperate attempt not to fall apart.

I smirked despite myself.v"I'm not as easy to escape from as your previous attacker, kitten."

That got a reaction. Her eyes narrowed instantly.bNot much, but just enough. But it was there.

Anger.

Good. Anger was better than emptiness.

The ground vibrated again. A little stronger this time. I folded my arms. "There she is." Her jaw clenched. The storm clouds overhead rumbled softly in the distance.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I pointed at the barrier. "You have one hour to remove this willingly." My voice hardened. "Or it comes down by force."

Silence.

Then—"Avery."

I blinked. "What?"

Slowly, she turned her head toward me. For the first time since I'd approached, her eyes actually focused. Not completely. But enough.

"My name." Her voice was quiet and hoarse from crying. Broken in places. Yet somehow still proud. "My name is Avery."

A pause. "Avery Suzanne Remington."

Then she looked away again. Back toward the body beside her. Back toward her grief. Back toward whatever pieces of her life remained.

I stood there staring after her.

Remington.

The name rolled through my thoughts. It matched the witch couple in the photographs.

The coven leaders. Her parents.

But it didn't explain the wolf. It didn't explain why the man responsible for so much death had photographs with this family.

Why he looked comfortable standing beside them. Why he looked welcomed. Why Avery and her twin were smiling beside him.

The picture in my hand suddenly felt heavier. Because either the wolf I hated had once been their friend... Or there was far more to this m******e than anyone realized.