Chapter 61: A Vampire’s Mercy

On the way, Lucian said nothing. His steps were calm, as if her humiliation held no effect on him. Yet the weight of his coat on her shoulders felt its own gravity.

Her thighs pressed tightly together as she walked, an unconscious attempt to keep any more blood from falling. Each step she carried against the polished floor felt heavier, as though it mirrored the shame, gleaming too brightly under the noon sun.

When they reached the door to his room, Ruelle watched as Lucian pushed it open and stepped inside. A hush of cool air slipped out, carrying the soft scent of old parchment and something distinctly that belonged to him.

“M–maybe I should return to the previous room,” she murmured, voice small and uncertain.

“I did not know that room offered protection from vampiresses,” he replied. There was no mockery in his words, only matter‑of‑fact observation.

Her pulse fluttered. Living with her stepmother and Caroline had afforded her enough knowledge about the situation. And Caroline was always in discomfort and complaining. Her sister, though younger, had bloomed two years ago.

“It will be messy. I—I don’t want to inconvenience you,” her words almost turned into a whisper.

Lucian turned, expression unreadable. He remarked nonchalantly, “I am a vampire, not some mindless beast. Your blood tempting me should be the least of your worries right now.”

Something in his tone was calm and unflinching, which reassured but also unsettled her at the same time.

Ruelle stepped in behind him, her steps hesitant.

She watched him walk to the tall, carved wooden divider at the far end of the room. Behind which was the bathtub nestled in shadow. He reached for the bronze tap and turned it on. Water gurgled into the bathtub, steam coiling upward like gentle tendrils.

“You should bathe. It will help,” he murmured, his tone softening unconsciously.

Ruelle nodded wordlessly, walking to the other side of the divider. She stood there, silent and feeling small, guilt rising in her chest. If he hadn’t rescued her from the river, she would have still been that spectacle. Yet here she was, guided into privacy and comfort.

Lucian stepped away before saying, “I will be back in a couple of minutes.” He left the room with the click of the door echoing in the hush he left behind.

Ruelle’s legs shook as she listened to the echo of his footsteps fade. With a trembling hand, she removed the coat from her shoulders and let it fall. Her clothing followed in a quiet heap. Naked, she slid into the warmth of the bath. The water soothed her—even as it blushed pink.

Far from Ruelle’s quiet sanctuary, Lucian walked through the infirmary wing that smelt of antiseptic, disinfectant and clean linen washing over him. White curtains stirred gently in the breeze from open windows.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, brother.”

It was Dane who sat beside a cot where a pale human girl lay unconscious. Beside him stood Gemma Gilbert. “Hunt go sideways?” he asked in a light tone, while his eyes searched for injuries but found none.

“Brought back a deer,” Lucian replied, his footsteps even.

Dane clapped softly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. He praised, “That’s my brother. The pride of Slater House.”

“What are you doing here?” Lucian asked, his eyes falling on the pale human.

“Found this one lying in a closed cupboard,” Dane answered, his voice light, but his smile no longer reached his eyes. “She’d been there over a day. Missed assignments.”

Gemma let out a soft sigh and said, “If Dane hadn’t found her, we might have had another human body to send home in a casket. The Elites would have gotten a pass in the past, but we are already low on humans after the manor’s rogue frenzy incident.”

Dane leaned forward, curiosity bright in his eyes as he enquired, “Wasn’t Mortis talking about recruiting more?” He took a deep breath and his eyebrows furrowed subtly.

“Too late now,” Gemma shook her head. Switching subjects, she then turned to Lucian and remarked, “Your brother has given wonderful ideas for first-year Seduction Technique practicals. He should have been co‑instructor.”

Lucian’s attention briefly flickered his brother’s way, cool and reserved. His brother merely shrugged with his fox-like smile.

“So? What brings the elusive Lucian Slater to the modest little infirmary?” Gemma raised a brow.

Lucian’s gaze shifted toward the shelves as if searching for something. “Napkins,” he uttered.

Dane and Gemma exchanged quizzical looks. Dane responded, “Pretty sure those are kept in the dining hall.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened before he clarified, “I need sanitary cloths. For Ruelle.”

The room went quiet and Dane blinked with a mid-frozen smile.

Gemma straightened with a quiet realisation. “Ah. Of course. It is in the second cupboard, third shelf. Let me get them—” She moved toward a cabinet, but Lucian had already reached the cabinet.

“I have got it,” Lucian said, stepping forward. A drawer squeaked, and he returned with folded cotton cloths which were soft, layered, and pale as dawn.

“It seems Ms. Belmont isn’t prepared for a lot of things,” Gemma murmured.

“It is her first time,” Lucian replied, curt but not unkind. He ignored Dane’s twitching smile.

Gemma nodded thoughtfully before saying, “She did look undernourished when she arrived. Thin wrists, tired eyes. Makes one wonder how much she got to eat before Sexton.”

“Funny how quickly fortunes turn,” Dane hummed, tapping a finger to his chin.

“Hm?” Gemma asked, not understanding what Dane meant.

But Lucian understood it quite clearly. He said nothing, didn’t even blink. Yet as he turned away, the corners of his mouth pulled taut and something unreadable passed through his wine-dark eyes.

Back in the room, Ruelle had washed herself clean, instead of stewing in the dirt, as Alanna had called it. The water had long drained from the bathtub.

Her stomach still ached faintly, but the heat of the bath had dulled it. She tore a strip from one of her oldest skirts—soft, worn cotton—and folded it tightly. A makeshift solution, just enough to keep herself from staining anything else. It would do for now, she thought to herself.

She wore a dark dress with sleeves that once belonged to Caroline. The river had broadcasted to everyone in Sexton that her body had changed and she just wanted to disappear now.

Once dressed, she moved to the tub again. She turned the faucet on to clean the bathtub to remove any possible stain of hers.

“What are you doing?”

The sudden male voice startled Ruelle. She turned away from the bathtub, her eyes slightly wide as they met his cold, brooding gaze. She hadn’t heard him get in.

“I…” She swallowed. “I’m cleaning the tub.” So you can use the bathtub, too, she wanted to finish.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed but not with annoyance. His lips pursed and he then said, “There’s no need to do that with your current state.”

“It’s alright. I should prepare myself for these things anyway,” the words slipped out of Ruelle’s lips before she could hold it in.

His gaze darkened. For a second, Ruelle feared she had offended him. But then he exhaled quietly. Less a sigh, more a subtle release of restraint.

“I have already instructed the maid to come and clean the room and bathtub. You aren’t a slave yet, so stick to acting like the human you are,” Lucian’s words were firm, leaving no room for argument. He then crossed the space between them and held out a bundle in his palm. “Take these.”

Ruelle blinked. She stared at his offered hand and then at the folded cotton layered cloths. When realisation dawned, she quickly snatched them, cheeks flaming brighter than an apple.

“Th–thank you,” her voice cracked. “You didn’t have to.” She moved her hands behind, awkward in her gratitude as much as her need. In a situation where men often turned disturbed and ashamed to hold something that a woman wore during the time of the month, this vampire wore a blank expression as if barely fazed by it, she thought to herself.

“Clearly, you do. Especially for your first time,” Lucian stated with not a hint of hesitance and Ruelle lowered her gaze.

With Lucian turning his back and moving to his desk, she went behind the wooden divider, clutching the soft bundle he had given her. She replaced the earlier cloth with the new one, her cheeks burning.

After a minute, a knock interrupted her thoughts. Lucian turned and opened the door to reveal a middle-aged Halfling maid carrying two plates of food. She set it gently on the small table before moving off to clean the floor and bathtub.

“I guessed you didn’t eat, with all that splashing in the river,” Lucian spoke to Ruelle, sliding into his chair and offering her a look that was more command than invitation. “Come, sit.”

“I don’t think that would be right…” Ruelle hesitated.

Lucian held her gaze without blinking. He then said,

“It would be foolish not to. Unless you wish to be the subject of more whispers in the dining hall. Besides, unlike the Elites, the cook won’t prepare food for a Groundling who has missed her lunch.” He swept his gaze across to the empty chair. “Sit. Eat. Rest. I don’t need distractions from whatever pain your body might be harbouring.”

His words stung. They were sharp and cold, though there was something more beneath it. She could be wrong, she thought to herself. She lowered her gaze and nodded stiffly. She slid into the chair, eyes tracing the steam rising from the food. Everything on the plate smelt rich and nourishing, making her mouth water.

The maid was long gone while Ruelle sat at the table, most of her meal almost finished. Across from her, Lucian had eaten no more than four bites. However, he occasionally brought the glass filled with blood to his lips for a sip before setting it back on the table’s surface.

Her gaze lingered on him. His hair still tousled from the hunt, and his fingers moved with an effortless grace as he held the glass.

“You would finish faster if you paid more attention to your plate,” Lucian remarked dryly, his gaze flicking up to meet hers for a brief second.

Ruelle’s cheeks flushed by his remark, which only ended with her coughing. An exasperated sigh slipped from his lips.

She hadn’t meant to stare. Her throat tickled, the cough refusing to subside, until a glass of water appeared before her. She blinked, eyes slightly watering, and looked up—only to find Lucian already looking away, his hand withdrawn.

She drank the water while not knowing how to thank him. Or if he even wanted her to.

Because that was the thing about Lucian.

One moment he seemed like he wanted to watch her fall. The next, he was offering her his shoes and then his coat. Everything about him felt like a cliff edge—just when she thought he had pushed her over, he pulled her back.

“Thank you for everything you have done today… even after what happened yesterday…” Ruelle’s words were soft, her hand tightening on the spoon she held.

Silence lingered between them, soft but heavy. Ruelle lowered her eyes, gathering courage before she asked quietly, “Why did you do it?”

“Would you have rather preferred I left you to continue floating in the river and have vampires join you later?” Lucian asked nonchalantly.

“No,” Ruelle replied, “That’s not what I meant. Why did you want me to fail?”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her before responding, “I thought you already got your answer last night?”

“I thought I did,” she admitted, “but… you still helped me today. And you didn’t flinch. Not like the others.”

Lucian took another sip from his drink, taking his time before he said,

“Is that what’s bothering you? That I didn’t run at the sight of blood or frown?” He then answered, “Running at the sight of blood is pathetic for a vampire. Disgustingly weak,” and those were for the people who were at the river earlier today. He then added, “You should stop getting into things you cannot control.”

“Mm,” Ruelle murmured, shrinking a little in her seat. Not even in her nightmares had she imagined her first time would be so public. So… humiliating.

“The river isn’t safe for women,” Lucian said with a straight face.

“It’s not?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “But no one said anything about it being dangerous.”

“Clearly,” he muttered under his breath.

When Ruelle finished her meal, she rose quietly, the ache in her lower body pressing her toward her couch. She reached for the soft blanket and turned toward the cushions. But before she could settle, Lucian’s voice cut through the silence.

“Take the bed.”

The blanket slipped an inch in her grasp and she turned to look at him.

She turned, her breath catching.

“What?” she whispered, unsure whether she had misheard. Maybe he asked her to take another piece of bread.

Lucian had just gotten up from the chair, his features composed, and his dark gaze met hers.

“You heard me.”

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