The Vampire King's Pet-Chapter 332: Lying Low

For a split second, it was hard for her to find a response to what Zyren had just told her—directly told her—that his heart wasn’t big enough to accommodate more people. The words lingered heavily between them, unspoken emotions pressing down on her chest in a way that made it difficult to breathe properly.

Instead of fixing her gaze on him, instead of forcing herself to acknowledge the ache twisting inside her, she simply leaned forward and laid herself against him, resting her weight on his solid form. A long sigh escaped her lips, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in, as she deliberately changed the subject.

"I’ll think about it! Right now, I need to find Liora!" she told him.

Even as she spoke, Zyren’s hands moved with slow familiarity, sliding into and out of her hair in a way that felt almost instinctive. His fingers gently combed through the strands, massaging her scalp in a rhythm so soothing it made her muscles loosen despite herself. The warmth of his touch seeped into her, coaxing away tension she hadn’t known she was carrying.

It was comforting—far more than she wanted to admit.

Even more so when she heard him speak again, his voice calm and steady, carrying quiet reassurance.

"We’ll find her. It’s just a matter of time," he told her.

Aira’s lashes fluttered as her eyes slowly closed, exhaustion finally claiming its victory. The warmth of the water around them, the steady rise and fall of Zyren’s chest beneath her cheek, and the rhythmic motion of his hands all worked together to lull her into sleep.

She was already dozing off when she felt her body being lifted from the tub, strong arms effortlessly heaving her upward. The sudden change in temperature barely registered as she was quickly covered from head to toe in something soft and warm, fabric brushing gently against her damp skin.

Moments later, she felt a hard, rock-like body settle over her own. Instinctively, she shifted closer, curling into him without hesitation. Her arms wrapped around his torso, her face pressing against his chest as she let herself fully drift into sleep.

Zyren, on the other hand, simply lay there.

He barely needed sleep. Rarely saw the need for it at all, considering that simply drinking blood was more than enough to sustain his body. Rest was a luxury rather than a necessity, one he seldom indulged in.

His gaze remained fixed on Aira, who had fallen asleep against him, her breathing soft and even. A gentle expression softened his sharp features as he watched her, eyes tracing the familiar lines of her face.

He enjoyed holding her.

For a brief, dangerous moment, he wondered what a child that looked like her would look like—small hands, her eyes, her warmth.

The thought barely had time to form before he crushed it, shoving it down with ruthless efficiency before it could take root.

A frown flickered across his face as reality set in.

Having a child with his traits would be the worst thing he could ever do to her.

The problems with his blood alone were enough to damn that possibility. The risks. The consequences. The suffering it would bring.

Slowly, as if to reassure himself as much as her, he pulled Aira closer, tucking her more securely against his chest. His arms tightened slightly around her as he continued to watch her sleep, her face peaceful, unaware of the storm of thoughts he kept locked behind his eyes.

**********

Like any other city, there were places where the rich congregated—where wealth pooled and gleamed in polished streets and guarded estates. There were places where the wealthy wouldn’t so much as touch the ground with the bottom of their shoes, even by accident.

And then there were areas that even the poor avoided.

Places where the air itself felt heavy, thick with hopelessness and despair, clinging to the skin like a sickness that never faded. Streets where the smell of rot, waste, and neglect mixed together until breathing became an unpleasant necessity.

Most who stayed there were beggars or the sick—people who had completely given up on living and were simply waiting to die.

Bodies littered the sides of alleyways, some slumped against walls, others sprawled across the ground. Heads rested limply on stone and dirt. Some barely moved at all, while others trembled weakly, their breaths shallow and labored as they silently waited for death to claim them.

There were so many of them that no one paid attention to the one figure wrapped in dirty rags.

A flash of red hair peeked out from beneath the cloak used to cover her face.

Her gaze remained downcast as she lay on the street, fully covered. She had gone out of her way to smear mud across her face, ensuring her features were hidden beneath grime and filth. It was clear she was female, though in a place like this, it might as well not have mattered.

The sun shone brightly in the sky, harsh and unforgiving, and she buried her head lower against the ground, doing her best to avoid its light.

If anyone moved closer, they would hear low mumbling slipping from her lips—words spoken too quietly, too erratically, enough for anyone passing by to dismiss her as just another mad soul.

Yet if one leaned down far enough to truly listen, they would hear words that could send a shiver straight down their spine.

"I’ll break your neck... I’ll drink your blood... I’ll rip out your eyes..."

Her voice was soft, almost melodic, if not for the horrifying content of her speech.

She repeated the words over and over, a crazed glint shining in her eyes.

"I’ll break your... drink your blood... rip out your eyes..."

She scratched at her head intermittently, nails digging into her scalp as she ripped out chunks of hair without feeling any pain. Strands of red fell uselessly to the ground, mixing with the dirt beneath her.

Her mouth was stained red. Her teeth were a much darker shade of crimson, and her eyes appeared glazed, unfocused, as if reality itself struggled to hold her attention.

She remained hunched beside a bin when heavy footsteps approached from behind.

They were hard and brash, echoing against the alley walls, but Liora didn’t react. She barely seemed aware of the presence until a voice spoke.

A gruff male voice—one that would have sent most people running in fear.

"...What do we have here... a female!" he gushed.

His dirty teeth widened in a grin, many missing or blackened from rot. His face was just as unsightly, skin rough and unwashed, eyes dull yet predatory. It was clear he hadn’t been a meaningful member of society for a long time.

"...Looks beautiful... mine!" he continued, gushing with a twisted excitement.

Liora visibly shook, her mumbling growing louder as rough hands grabbed her from behind.

"Please... please let me be," she begged, her voice tired, worn thin from more than just fear.

A chuckle sounded behind her.

"...You don’t look bad! Your teeth are clean!" he said eagerly, already undoing the belt of his pants with impatient hands.

Her voice rose, desperation bleeding through.

"Please... please leave me be."

But the man only laughed louder, exposing himself as he grabbed at her, confident no one would intervene. Authorities didn’t care about the alleys or what happened in them.

His hands hiked up her skirts when she spoke again—this time her voice steady.

"Please let me go... before I rip your throat open... drink your blood... and rip out your eyes."

A wild grin stretched across her face.

And then she did exactly that.

His screams were loud and gut-wrenching, echoing through the alley. But just as he assumed, no one came. Everyone who lived there knew better than to run toward screams instead of away from them.

Liora tore into his throat, drinking his blood greedily.

She lifted her gaze to the larger man nearby—the one who had been sitting on the floor beside her.

The beggar tried to crawl away, dragging useless legs behind him, but it was pointless. Liora watched him with mirth until his body finally went still, lifeless against the ground.

This time, she didn’t return to lying down.

Instead, she dashed forward, no longer seeing any reason to restrain her thirst.