Now, only Ouyang, Little Coal Ball, and the two maids who had retired to their rooms remained in the ancient castle.
After dealing with Anderson, the pair walked down the corridor searching for the Blood Clan’s blood reserves. The Bloodkin Prince fluttered ahead, leading the way. Ouyang watched Little Coal Ball’s relaxed back tensely, her grip tightening on the silver sword as murderous intent flickered in her eyes.
The newly absorbed Mosterian blood merged into her body. Though less intense than last time, she felt the silver sword grow noticeably lighter in her grip—her strength had undeniably increased.
Killing the Bloodkin Prince ahead should be effortless.
Seizing the moment when he wasn’t looking, Ouyang silently aimed her silver sword at his back. Just as she prepared to strike, his muttering ahead froze her mid-motion.
"You may not know this, but Bloodkin possess not only clairvoyance—we share sight."
The Bloodkin Prince had long sensed Ouyang’s movements. Unsurprised by her naive plan, he spoke calmly, "I see everything you see. Like how you’re holding that silver sword, ready to kill me now."
Halting abruptly, the Bloodkin Prince’s voice turned stern with authority. "You’re asking for punishment again, aren’t you?"
*Clatter!*
His words echoed as the silver sword slipped from Ouyang’s hand and hit the floor.
Though she hadn’t met his eyes, she couldn’t move an inch. A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over her—this was exactly how she’d felt upon first meeting the Bloodkin Prince. His overwhelming aura pinned her to the spot.
"Humans treat you as a weapon to exterminate Mosterians. They’d rather abandon you here to rot in this living hell," he said, his tone laced with weary resignation, "yet you still stand with them, seeing me as your enemy."
A trace of sadness colored his voice.
No matter how much he gave, he received nothing in return. The Bloodkin Prince murmured to himself, heart heavy:
"What more must I do to make you truly submit to me?"
Frustration sharpened his features. His eyes narrowed slightly as he transformed before her into a tall, strikingly handsome young man. Leaning close to Ouyang’s left ear, his low, furious whisper carried a threat:
"Must I destroy everyone you care about? Brother Long... your beloved Xiaomo? Only then—"
"If you dare," Ouyang cut in sharply, her voice icy with warning, "what you desire—I’ll ensure you never obtain it."
His words cut deep because they were true. Ouyang refused to be humanity’s weapon—or the Bloodkin’s broodmare.
A soft, warm chuckle broke the tension. The Bloodkin Prince seemed to be joking—though the joke held no humor.
"I’ve said I’d give you time. But my patience has limits."
He nipped lightly at the delicate curve of Ouyang’s left ear. Seeing her glare—fierce despite the pain—he refused to yield.
"Don’t test my boundaries."
Ouyang dared not lift her gaze. She’d wanted to see his true face, but his presence radiated terror far surpassing even Brother Long’s fiercest rage.
No wonder he hid his identity. If she couldn’t even look at him directly, how could she possibly kill him?
The gap in their power was simply too vast.
Yet abandoning the assassination wasn’t an option.
"For example...?"
"You’ve just devoured my birthday cake and Mosterian blood. You must be full," the Bloodkin Prince hinted, his throat bobbing with suppressed thirst. A hopeful smile played on his lips. "After all, I’m the guest of honor tonight. Isn’t it my turn to be satisfied?"
His soft, eager words sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his sharp nose trace a path from her ear to her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of earth. Without hesitation, four razor-sharp fangs sank deep.
The sting was familiar—like needles piercing skin. Ouyang stood silently. It was just bloodletting; the pain meant nothing.
But as her lifeblood seeped away, her legs weakened. Panic flared as she tried to push the greedy leech away.
"You’re... taking too much..."
It felt like regurgitating the undigested Mosterian blood straight back into his stomach—leaving her with nothing.
"You’re far more endearing when you’re weak."
Denying her any chance to fight back, exhaustion flooded her limbs. Her vision blurred as the Bloodkin Prince lifted her effortlessly into a bridal carry, carrying her toward an unknown destination.
He chose a guest room, laying her gently onto a plush bed.
Drained from the day’s chaos—and having lost nearly a third of her blood—Ouyang could barely keep her eyes open. Through the haze, she heard his tender murmur:
"Already asleep?"
"I’m tired..."
[600 words omitted]
Today’s events would haunt Ouyang forever.
Though the handcuffs worn all day were finally gone, the phantom clink of chains still echoed in her ears. Even her gait felt foreign under the memory of ankle restraints.
Her body was changing, piece by piece. Only her stubborn heart remained unchanged.
Trapped in that container, her only thought had been to save Subject No. 2 at any cost. The Mosterians’ cruelty surpassed humanity’s.
Now, recalling her body reduced to chunks of meat—Anderson’s cunning face flashing in her mind—dread coiled deep within her.
She’d never adjusted to this female form. Now, stripped of even her humanity, the wounds ran bone-deep.
All she wanted was to bury herself under the covers and sob until her throat bled. But tears wouldn’t restore her old life.
Everything happening now forced one truth upon her: there was no going back.
A cool weight settled over her. An icy, firm hand stroked her hair, soothing her turmoil.
The Bloodkin Prince wasn’t evil. Just... strange.
She’d rejected him countless times, yet he clung like sticky candy.
Without his help, she might still be buried under that rubble.
"Thank you..." Ouyang whispered, nestled against him.
"And... h-happy birthday..."
His arms tightened around her—a warmth blooming in his chest. Today’s small victory felt sweeter than any before.
"You’re welcome. Just give me a child in return."
All gratitude vanished. Ouyang shoved him away, her voice glacial:
"Piss off."
