NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: chapter 6
"Who is the vampire?" Samuel asked, pacing back and forth.
"I don't know," I said, leaning back and watching him with mild amusement as his agitation grew.
"You must have seen him in the orientation hall," he pressed, stopping to glare at me. "I need to find out who this vampire is."
"There's no need for that," I replied, keeping my tone casual even though my mind wasn't quite as at ease. "He's not a big deal."
Samuel's sharp gaze narrowed, his arms crossing as he stared me down. "You don't seem very convincing."
I sighed, looking away. "He's not worth the trouble, Sam. Just let it go."
But even as the words left my mouth, I wasn't entirely sure I believed them. The vampire was in Level 1, which meant he wasn't just some ordinary student. He was powerful—dangerously so.
Still, I couldn't let that show. Samuel didn't need to know about my growing unease or the potential complications this could bring.
"I just need to be careful," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
Samuel caught the words and frowned, clearly not satisfied with my lack of concern. "Careful isn't good enough, Asiya. Vampires aren't the kind of problem you ignore."
"Asiya, did you forget that vampires find sorcerers' blood far more alluring than that of humans?" Samuel's voice carried a sharp edge, his pacing stopping abruptly as he fixed me with a stern look. "He won't leave your side if he even gets a whiff of your real scent."
His words hit me harder than I expected, making me pause. He was right. The vampire had already seen that I was powerful when he couldn't break my barrier, and that alone would intrigue him. But the allure of my blood? That was a far more dangerous draw.
Vampires have always preferred to marry—or rather, to mate—with sorcerers. Our blood is irresistible to them, a delicacy laced with magic that tastes heavenly and acts as an aphrodisiac. The stronger the sorcerer, the richer the magic in their veins, and thus, the more delectable their blood becomes.
It's not just about taste, though. There's a dark, twisted symbiosis in these unions. Vampires gain power from the sorcerer's magic-infused blood, and in return, sorcerers revel in the influence and protection that come with being tied to one of the great vampire houses.
Of course, there's also the pleasure. Sorcerers who indulge in these relationships often speak in hushed tones of the euphoric rush that comes from the exchange. For them, the act isn't just a sacrifice; it's an indulgence, a hedonistic thrill.
And so, the arrangement continues—a dance of power, desire, and mutual exploitation. But not all sorcerers see it that way. Some of us understand the danger of being seen as nothing more than a delicacy, a resource to be consumed.
The chatter of students swelled around us like a rising tide, their voices hushed yet filled with excitement. I glanced at them eyes narrowing to see what has everyone's attention.
It was the prince, heads turned in unison as he walked past, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the hall.
"Are you sure about this? Gaining his attention won't be easy," Sam said, his voice low but laced with concern as he stood behind me.
I didn't respond immediately. My focus was locked on the prince, my eyes tracing every line and angle of his face, committing every detail to memory. His arrogance, his beauty—it was infuriatingly perfect. My mind danced with visions of him broken and begging, twisted fantasies of vengeance that burned with each passing moment.
But I couldn't act on those impulses. Not yet. The plan demanded restraint. He had to remain unscathed, untouched by my anger. Instead, he needed to fall—deeply, hopelessly, madly in love with me. Only then could the real work begin.
"What do you think?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me. I could feel Sam's gaze lingering, assessing me in a way only he could. His silence stretched, weighted with unspoken thoughts, before a deep sigh escaped his lips.
We both knew there was no turning back now. The path we'd chosen stretched ahead, unrelenting and irreversible. Retreat was no longer an option—only forward, no matter the cost.
"I think you can do anything," he finally said, his voice calm but resolute, carrying a weight of certainty that seemed to steady my own resolve. There was a finality in his words, one that resonated with unwavering confidence and trust.
It wasn't blind faith. Sam had seen me at my best and my worst. He knew my strengths, my flaws, my capacity to endure. His belief wasn't a platitude; it was a foundation, one that I could lean on as I prepared to face what lay ahead. And in that moment, it was enough.