Chapter 9
1232 Words
Theo’s POV:
I moved quietly along the level beneath Lord Lucas’s quarters—the floor where he kept what he considered his possessions.
At least, I hoped he still did.
I really didn’t want to resort to a backup plan if the servant I was looking for wasn’t here.
My grip tightened around the plastic bag in my hand as I drew a careful breath through my mouth. Breathing through my nose was out of the question. One accidental scent from what I was carrying would burn and linger far longer than I could afford.
I’d made sure of that.
Inside the bag was one of my towels, soaked in a specific mixture of chemicals—strong enough to distort a vampire’s sense of smell. If anyone tried to track the human I intended to take, they’d lose the trail quickly.
I slowed before turning into the next corridor, glancing behind me to be certain no one was nearby. It was still early. Early enough that Lucas’s incompetent guards hadn’t begun their rounds yet.
Good.
I continued forward.
This section of the floor was reserved for Lucas’s personal servants—the ones he kept close. Including the ones he punished.
Those, however, were given their own space.
A room Lucas had designed himself.
I spotted it immediately. The chrome door stood out starkly against the others, polished and unmistakable. That door was never used for mercy.
I stopped in front of it, silently hoping the person I needed was inside.
My hand closed around the handle. Locked—of course. Not to keep anyone out, but to ensure whoever was inside couldn’t leave.
I twisted harder. Metal groaned, then snapped, and the door swung open into darkness.
I froze.
The first thing that hit me was the smell—blood, salt, chemicals—all colliding at once. I forced myself not to inhale too deeply.
A figure hung inside.
Blue eyes snapped toward the sudden light, squinting painfully, fear flooding them instantly. His wrists were bound in iron cuffs, chained high above his head to the stone ceiling. His breathing was uneven, his body trembling with the effort of simply staying upright.
Standing was clearly all he could manage.
Bruises marred nearly every inch of visible skin. He wore only torn, stained shorts, and dried streaks of blood and saltwater traced down his back and legs, pooling faintly at his feet.
Saltwater—meant to clean wounds, but cruel enough to make every injury burn.
Lucas rarely bothered with it. Infection was usually his preferred method of punishment.
Which meant this servant was being kept alive on purpose.
Unfortunate for Lucas.
Because this was exactly who I was looking for.
The boy flinched when I stepped inside.
“P-please,” he begged, panic breaking through his voice. “I—I can’t take anymore.”
I didn’t respond. I moved closer.
Stopping a few feet away, I assessed him carefully. Multiple bite marks littered his neck and chest, long since dried. His heart beat fast but steady—no internal damage. His face, surprisingly, was unharmed.
That alone told me Lucas intended to keep him functioning.
His eyes adjusted to the light as recognition slowly replaced some of the fear.
“S-Sir Theo?” he whispered, disbelief clear in his tone.
I followed his gaze upward, noting how tightly the cuffs bit into his wrists.
“Marcus,” I said evenly. “That’s your name, right?”
His eyes flicked away, unsure whether he was allowed to meet mine.
“Y-yes, sir.”
I studied the chain above him. Whatever it was made of, it wouldn’t hold long.
I let the bag fall to the floor.
“Sir… if I may ask,” Marcus began nervously, “what are you do—”
The chain snapped.
Marcus dropped instantly, landing hard on his hands and knees with a sharp hiss. I watched as he dragged in a shaky breath, uncertain whether to relax or brace for worse.
I crouched in front of him.
Hope flickered faintly in his eyes.
“Can you drive?” I asked, lifting one of his arms to inspect the cuff.
“I—uh—”
He fell silent as I examined the metal. Too tight to tear off cleanly.
I glanced at him. He was staring at the cuff too.
I raised my brows.
“Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes, I can. I was supposed to get my license approved by the Lord but—” His voice faltered.
That was enough.
“Good,” I said.
I snapped the connecting link. The cuff hit the stone floor with a dull clatter. His confusion deepened as I removed the other.
“Then you’re coming with me. I’m getting you out.”
“What?!” he gasped.
I clamped a hand over his mouth immediately, silencing him.
The guards might be stupid—but they weren’t deaf.
I leaned in, voice low and edged with warning.
“I’m not forcing you. If you want, I’ll put those cuffs back on and leave you exactly where you were. You can live out however long you have left like this.” My eyes held his. “Or—you come with me. You get protection. A second chance. But you follow my instructions.”
I waited.
Slowly, he nodded.
“I want that,” he said hoarsely once I removed my hand. “But… my records. If the Lord still has them—”
“They’re gone,” I interrupted calmly. “The moment you angered him. He never planned to release you.”
Marcus swallowed hard, staring at the floor.
“Oh.”
“I’ll get you new ones,” I continued. “And I’ll raise your status once we reach my castle.”
He looked up sharply.
“Your… castle?”
I paused.
“…Yes. Mine.”
Technically.
“Drive for us,” I said, “and you’ll have the protection of the Prince—and the highest position a servant can earn there.”
His eyes widened as the word Prince sank in.
“I’ll go,” he said after a moment. “I’ll do whatever you need. But… why me?”
I pulled the towel from the bag and draped it carefully over his shoulders.
“Because you looked after Aurora when I couldn’t,” I said simply. “And I won’t let you suffer for it.”
He stiffened as the chemicals reacted to his injuries but didn’t pull away.
“She trusts you. You’re one of the few humans she’s connected with. I’m not taking that away from her.”
He didn’t expect that answer.
But he accepted it.
“Can you stand?” I asked, rising.
He hesitated, then tried.
It took effort—but he managed.
“Can you walk?”
“I… think so.”
He took one unsteady step as I checked the corridor, scenting the air. Still clear.
I turned back to him. Every step clearly hurt, exhaustion dragging at him—but his determination outweighed it.
Still, we didn’t have time.
“Would it wound your pride if I carried you?” I asked bluntly.
We could be gone in seconds.
He hesitated, then sighed.
“No,” he said reluctantly. “Go ahead… Sir Nicolas.”
I smiled faintly.
“Call me Theo.”
- Writer
