(THIRST FOR YOUR BLOOD 1)

CHAPTER 4: Avoiding

The sharp sound of my alarm awakened me up, and I felt like an anchor due to my grogginess. The much-awaited day had finally arrived for Sapphire's birthday celebration. People from all across the clan would congregate, the eagerness in the air tangible. Males made up the bulk of those present, and many of them were expecting to meet Sapphire. They were all excited to find their soul mates.

I used a towel to pat myself dry and brushed my wet hair behind my shoulders, glancing at my image in a nearby mirror. A furrowed brow pulled at the edges of my mouth.

My eye was swelled and hurt so much that it was radiating down to my jaw. A jumbled patchwork of little and huge scratches covered my arms and chest, and my ripped and frayed sweatshirt clung to my shoulders, a reminder of one of their deadliest attacks on me. High-ranking vampire Isabel never touched me since it would ruin her priceless reputation. But her friends enjoyed their brutality because they were driven by an unquenchable appetite for blood. I became a painting for their inner vampires to express their frustrations.

I had only ten minutes left, so I quickly covered up the pink scrapes all over my face and the black eye. Using concealer and foundation, I developed my artistic skills in a ritualistic attempt to hide the scars that defined my identity. They normally stayed away from my face, afraid of what would happen if they were found out, but sometimes their vampire abilities would break out of control of their basic desires. I felt lucky to have a little supply of makeup that my mother had given me; it was a lifesaver against their constant suffering.

Motivated by duty and resolve, I hurried into the kitchen at precisely 5:30 in the morning. There was much more to do today than just the typical breakfast duties. We had to make sure the wine buckets were overflowing with ice and the glasses shone with polish for the evening's festivities, all while preparing a sumptuous feast.

Luckily, a lot of people were preoccupied with the wine preparations, so I could concentrate on my comfortable duty in the kitchen. Later I would go to serving duties as usual, seeing to the vampire patrons' requirements. I was frequently given the responsibility of pouring glasses of blood wine by the Queen, which gave me brief breaks from my work. Luckily, most vampires seemed to prefer the wine, so I was able to escape the buzzing mayhem for a little while.

I really appreciate that you opted for black glasses since they do a fantastic job of hiding the blood wine's red color. Every now and then, though, its tantalizing scent reaches my nose, I force myself to be calm.

Red blood According to vampire folklore, wine's outrageous cost is caused by the horrible fact that it is made from human blood. I don't know where this red concoction came from, and I don't plan to taste it. Even animal blood is not an indulgence for me; I have survived without it. But the only thing I struggle with is my involuntary transformation into a horrible beast whenever I come into contact with blood. When I was just eleven years old, my non-biological mother noticed my voracious thirst for blood. She never again let any blood on our property or, in the event that it was needed, kept it well out of my reach. Her arms are deeply scarred, a horrible reminder that what she says about me is true. Ever since, I've steered clear of blood at all costs, refusing to give in to its seduction.

After a hectic breakfast, there were frantic preparations for the lavish feast that awaited. My mother was the head chef for the day, crafting salads, spaghetti dishes, loaded fries, exquisite chicken, and sizzling sausages. With an astonishing assortment of ovens, grills, and hobs that struggled to meet the always increasing demand, the kitchen was a hive of activity. Not surprisingly, twelve of us labored together in this culinary sanctuary. The rhythmic skill of preparing meat gave my hands comfort since it kept my fingers busy and my head down, protecting me from curious glances and unwanted interactions.

Over the course of the day, the throbbing pain in my eye became more intense, accompanied by a relentless headache that served as a continual reminder of the black eye I had to wear. My insistence on not eating with the other vampires made me feel even more alone and uncomfortable, but it also gave me a little window of relief.

I was drenched in sweat from cleaning the plates so hard after supper, my hands straining to get rid of the scraps. My meticulously applied makeup melted from the exertion, leaving sparkly colour trails on my hands every time I touched my face by accident. I knew that after I finished cleaning, I would have to laboriously reapply it. Amidst the flurry of action, I went mostly unnoticed, most people ignoring my existence. In search of comfort, I pulled my bangs back and used them as a makeshift barrier between me and the outside world.

When the dinner service eventually ended, we had an hour to unload the dishwashers, which was our sole remaining chore. The time reached 4 p.m., and the much-awaited celebration was scheduled to start at 6:30 p.m. I had a whole hour to compose myself, do my makeup again, and get my act together before helping out with the dishwashing.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I shut the door to my bedroom, protecting my hideaway. The familiar constraints offered a momentary comfort. I walked to the en suite shower room and turned the knobs so that the two taps could run freely. I was tired and suffering from a splitting headache, but I knew I couldn't give in to laziness. After taking a few painkillers, I washed my face with water to remove the remnants of the exhausting day. Showering seemed pointless because I needed to get back in the kitchen right away.

Fifteen minutes went by quickly as I carefully reapplied my makeup, with a fresh sense of assurance guiding my last few strokes. A light dusting of eyeshadow gave an additional dimension of attraction, well aware that I wouldn't get another chance before the celebrations kicked up. A quick tap on my door startled me as I was ready to leave my haven, and my lips quivered with apprehensive expectation.

Who is it, W? I managed to say, my voice quivering with nervousness.

"Kyler," was the response.

Panicked, my eyes grew wide, and my breath caught in my throat. He wanted to see me, but why? My uneasiness increased as the unknown tore at my thoughts.

"May I please have a word?" His voice carrying a tinge of desperation, he asked.

"Uh-uh-I-I'm not decent," I stumbled out, urgently trying to think of a way to back out of the meeting.

"Veryln, please let me in," he groaned, sounding urgent yet concerned at the same time.

I was at a loss for words, torn between the weight of his request and the commanding aura that a Royal vampire exuded. No matter how uncomfortable that made me, I couldn't defy a Royal vampire's request because of the inherent hierarchy. Unwillingly, I opened my

door and retreated a step to let him in.

His form loomed into the room as the door softly closed behind him, and the doorknob turned. As his eyes scanned over me, evaluating my condition, my heart raced. I swallowed nervously, feeling vulnerable in his piercing gaze.

Hey, I'm worried about you, Veryln. Are you alright?" With a look of genuine concern on his face, he asked.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine," My speech came out in a tangle as I stammered.

I detested my stammer inwardly since it was a coping technique that consistently let me down when I was under stress or discomfort. People enjoyed making fun of it, which made me feel more self-conscious.

Sighing, with a hint of empathy mixed with annoyance, "I can sense you," he said. He does, of course; he is the son of the Royal Clan's most formidable vampire. In the meantime, I'm not even sure if their intentions are sincere.

I didn't know how to respond, so I clenched my arms over my elbows more tightly out of habit. I was exposed and left vulnerable as the words escaped me. Squeezing out a word, "Thank you for the concern," was the best I could manage. "But unlike me, you don't have to look after someone of a lower rank."

What? For what reason? Verlyn, I'm your friend. When they discovered you, my forefathers had great affection for you." He hesitated, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "Right now, I'm not sure. I noticed that you didn't look well downstairs.

"It's okay, just go," I snapped back, my eyes darting from his piercing stare.

"Veryln, what are you doing?" His soft hands swept the hair off my face, causing me to make an uncontrollable grimace that astonished and unnerved me at the same time.

He went on, a little more determined now, "Veryln, you don't have to go through this alone. There are people in our world who are prepared to shield you and assist you."

My gaze flitted to his, a glimmer of optimism penetrating the barriers I'd erected around myself. Could I rely on him? Could I tell you about the pain I endured and the lies I kept? My anxiety of being vulnerable and my need for relief were at odds.

"Y-you are a Royal vampire," I murmured, shaky but determined, "and your concern piques my interest greatly. But I'm unable to... I am unable to convey the magnitude of my difficulties. It's just too risky."

With a look of sadness, he removed his hands. "Veryln, I can appreciate your fear, but sometimes the only way to get over our worries is to face them head-on. You have pals that actually care about your well-being, so you don't have to do this alone."