He Wants My Blood, I Want His Life Chapter 2

From then on, the way I looked at Alaric completely changed. Before, my gaze was filtered through admiration and a timid desire to please. Now, that filter had shattered, revealing the naked, sophisticated core of his self-interest beneath.

He still played the role of the attentive husband. Occasionally, when he came home early, he’d bring a bouquet of flamboyant red roses, never quite to my taste. After social events, he’d lean against my shoulder, smelling of liquor, mumbling vague, almost promises.

"Lucy, darling, once Maeve's condition stabilizes, we'll go on that belated honeymoon. Haven't you always wanted to see the Northern Lights in Iceland?"

"I know it's been hard on you lately, I appreciate everything."

"You're my wife, my closest confidante."

Before, hearing these words would fill me with a subtle sweetness, even if tinged with a slight, uncertain sourness. Now, I only found them deeply ironic. When he looked at me, did those deep, handsome eyes reflect Lucy Thorne, or merely the symbol of an RH-negative blood type?

I started to indulge him, becoming even more pliant and silent than before. When he needed blood, I never hesitated, only softly asking each time, "How much this time? I seem to be getting dizzy more easily lately."

He would gently stroke my hair. "Not much, just the usual amount. Afterwards, I'll have the kitchen make you some nourishing broth, and I'll personally oversee it."

Personally oversee it? Was he overseeing the broth, or overseeing the recovery of his "blood bag," ensuring its sustainable use? I lowered my eyes, nodding obediently. But deep inside, a cold spark began to glow quietly in a corner no one could see.

I needed time. I needed to plan. Until then, I couldn't tip my hand.