Damon kept his gaze fixed on her, absorbing each word as if it were being forcibly engraved somewhere too deep to be erased later.

“Never drink blood.”

The phrase echoed in his mind with a weight that didn’t match Elizabeth’s calm tone.

“Many bad things,” he repeated softly. “That’s a very… open warning.”

Elizabeth smiled slightly, but there was something weary behind the expression.

“It’s the best kind of warning,” she said. “Specific ones are usually ignored.”

She brought the cup to her lips again, drinking calmly, while Damon felt his own stomach clench—not from ordinary hunger, but from that strange, selective thirst that seemed to pulse in sync with his heart.

“So what do I do when this…” he made a vague gesture toward his chest, “…this starts to tighten?”

Elizabeth set the cup down on the saucer and stood up. She walked toward him slowly, her steps too silent for someone so present. She stopped beside the bed, looking down at him, not like a queen, but like someone assessing a newly forged blade.

“You use what you already have,” she replied. “You’re an incubus before you’re a vampire. That matters.”

She touched the center of his chest with two fingers.

“Emotions. Desire. Will. Lust, if you prefer the crude name,” she continued. “All of that is fuel. Much more stable for you than blood.”

Damon swallowed hard.

“And for you?” he asked. “Do you survive the same way?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a fraction of a second. Too small to go unnoticed.

“Yes,” she replied. “But in my case… it’s harder.”

He realized then. The Bloodsense was still active, even if he tried to ignore it. Her aura was controlled, dense, like an ocean held still by sheer willpower. But there were cracks. Microscopic cracks of accumulated wear and tear.

“You’ve been on edge for a long time,” he said, not realizing he was speaking aloud.

Elizabeth stared at him. Not surprise—recognition.

“For decades,” she confirmed. “Maybe centuries. Time becomes… irrelevant after a point.”

Damon looked away, feeling something uncomfortable forming in his chest. Not pity. Not exactly. Something closer to responsibility.

“Then why transform me?” he asked. “If it’s so dangerous.”

She turned and walked to the window, opening it just enough to let the night in. The night air seemed to respond to her presence, becoming denser, more alert.

“Because you were already dying,” she said simply. “And because your body reacted even before I decided.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“You absorbed my essence without collapsing. Your core didn’t reject it. On the contrary… it adapted.”

Damon frowned.

“That doesn’t sound normal.”

“It isn’t,” she agreed. “That’s why you’re dangerous.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Great. I’ve barely woken up as a vampire and I’m already an existential threat.”

Elizabeth smiled slightly.

“You always were,” she said. “You just didn’t have teeth before.”

She sat back down, crossing her legs elegantly, but now her gaze was more serious.

“Listen carefully, Damon. As long as your bond with me is unstable, you are… protected. Partly.”

“Protected from what?”

“From yourself.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy, but not hostile.

“This bond,” he began, “will it… complete itself?”

“It might,” she replied. “If you drink my blood. Or if I drink yours.”

Damon’s eyes widened slightly.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said immediately.

“I know,” she replied calmly. “That’s why he’s unstable.”

He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.

“So I’ll be walking around like an incomplete hybrid, selectively hungry, vulnerable to the sun, and blood-bound to a vampire who can destroy a city with a sneeze.”

“When you put it like that,” Elizabeth commented, “it almost sounds inconvenient.”

He snorted, despite himself.

“You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

She watched him for a few seconds, then added, more seriously:

“But you’re not alone in this. As long as you’re in this mansion, no one will touch you. Not guilds, not the underworld, not Arven.”

The name made something stir in Damon’s gaze.

“They’re still reorganizing,” she continued. “After the auction failed, they’re desperate for control. That makes them dangerous… and predictable.”

She tilted her head.

“And you, Damon, have just become something they don’t know how to classify.”

He exhaled slowly.

“So the plan is… to survive. To learn. Not to drink blood. Not to lose control.”

“Exactly.”

“And when that fails?”

Elizabeth smiled—a sharp, old smile.

“Then I’ll be here,” she said. “To stop you.”

Silence returned, but this time it wasn’t oppressive. It was firm. Structured.

Damon leaned back on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

“When you bought me,” he murmured, “that definitely wasn’t in the contract.”

Elizabeth picked up the cup again.

“No worthwhile contract comes with clear fine print,” she said. “Rest. Tomorrow… we’ll start teaching you how not to accidentally destroy everything.”

Damon closed his eyes as she walked away.

“So… what do you really want?” he questioned the wind, but it was something in front of him… that system screen…

The floating screen remained there, motionless, cruelly simple.

[Drink Elizabeth Wykes’ Blood]

No further warnings. No success fee. No fine print.

Damon slowly opened his eyes and stared at it as if it were an old enemy finally showing its face.

“Of course…,” he murmured. “The system completely ignores emotional context. What a surprise.”

He sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair, still damp with cold sweat. The room was too quiet now that Elizabeth was gone. The tea still exuded a faint, sweet aroma, mixed with the scent of the night that streamed in through the half-open window.

The thirst throbbed again.

It wasn’t strong. It wasn’t desperate.

But it was persistent.

Like a bad idea that refuses to go away.

Damon slammed the system window shut with a brusque gesture—or tried to. The screen only trembled slightly… and remained.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said aloud.

[System Warning] Ideal condition detected. Unstable bond. High genetic compatibility. Calculated risk: acceptable.

“Oh, great,” Damon laughed humorlessly. “Now you calculate risks.”

He got out of bed and walked around the room, feeling his own body respond with a new, almost predatory lightness. Every movement was too silent. Every breath seemed deeper than it needed to be.

The Blood Sense activated again.

Even without Elizabeth there, he could feel her trail. Not physical—energetic. A thin thread ran through the mansion like an invisible line gently pulling his chest in that direction.

“This isn’t hunger,” he thought. “It’s… a calling.”

The system seemed to agree.

[Link Detected] Passive synchronization in progress.

Slight imbalance.

Damon gritted his teeth.

“I’m not going to do it,” he told himself. “Not now. Not because a screen told me to.”

He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to focus on the Cultivation Technique. The Crimson Night Devourer responded immediately. Cold mana coursed through his body, devouring the excess stimulation, transforming desire into stability.

The thirst lessened.

But it didn’t disappear.

The system blinked once.

[Drink Elizabeth Wykes’ Blood] Recommendation maintained.

Damon let out a slow sigh.

“You know what’s most irritating?” he murmured. “It’s that you’re probably right.” He leaned against the stone wall, closing his eyes for a moment. Images flashed through his mind: the red mist, the kiss forced by necessity, the sudden aging of Elizabeth’s hand… and then, the dry sound of her teeth on his neck.

It hadn’t just been healing.

It had been an exchange.

“She’s draining herself because of me,” he thought. “And the system… wants balance.”

Damon’s eyes snapped open suddenly.

“But balance isn’t blind obedience.”

He called the screen again, this time with intent.

“Detailed bond status,” he ordered.

The interface changed, more complex lines appearing.

[Blood Bond: Elizabeth Wykes]

Type: Temporary (Unstable)

Current Flow: Asymmetrical

Origin: Elizabeth → Damon

Consequence: Continuous passive drain

Primary Bearer State: Weakened (Hidden)

Damon’s heart clenched.

“Hidden…,” he whispered.

So that was it.

Elizabeth wasn’t just weak by choice. The incomplete bond was slowly draining her, fueling what he had become—even without him drinking a single drop.

“Damn system…”

He clenched his fist tightly.

“If I drink her blood now,” he thought, “the bond stabilizes. The drain stops. She recovers.”

But her words echoed again, too clear to ignore.

Never drink blood.

Damon ran a hand over his face, the conflict evident.

“You trust me,” he murmured, thinking of her. “Even without saying it.”

The system blinked again, almost impatiently.

[Drink Elizabeth Wykes’ Blood] Recommended action. Ideal window: active.

He chuckled softly, wearily.

“You’re a terrible moral advisor.”

But he didn’t close the screen this time.

Instead, Damon walked to the bedroom door. He opened it slowly, letting the silent mansion hallway stretch out before him, illuminated by soft, arcane lights.

The invisible thread in his chest pulled harder.

Elizabeth was awake.

Alone.

Exhausted.

Damon took a step forward… and stopped.

“I’m not going to do it because you told me to,” he said quietly, to the system, to himself, to the void. “If I do it… it will be by choice.”

The screen remained.

Silent.

Waiting.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep