Sweet Revenge With My Billionaire Vampire-Chapter 83: Bat
His gaze drifted back to the unconscious bodies sprawled on the floor. His eyes traced the cuts and bruises on their skin, the scent of blood teasing his senses.
His fangs ached, elongating instinctively, and he licked his lips without thinking. It had been a while since he last fed properly. And after all this exertion, he needed something to replenish his strength.
His lips parted slightly as he took a step forward, but then he halted. He forced his eyes shut, yanking himself out of his hunger-driven daze.
"Get a hold of yourself, Vincent," he murmured, shaking his head violently. He clenched his fists and turned his back on the bodies, his shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths.
Emerging from the alley, he lifted his gaze to the hotel across the road—the one Enzo and Adeline had entered—and his shoulders slumped. "This is so exhausting..."
He wouldn’t even be in this mess if he had just told Damien the truth.
He wouldn’t be here right now, stalking Enzo, if he had just told Damien the truth. If he had just opened his mouth and told him that Adeline was Enzo’s fiancée, none of this would be happening.
But he couldn’t do that. If Damien found out the truth, Adeline would be dead before the next sunset. And despite how much he hated having to trail Enzo like this, Vincent didn’t want her to die.
He let out a frustrated sigh and facepalmed before finally deciding he needed to find somewhere else to be. He transformed, his body shrinking, twisting, and reshaping itself into the form of a bat. He flapped his wings, hovering in place as he pondered where to go next.
That’s when he felt a presence. His small bat head turned to the left, his tiny ears twitching. There, standing a few feet away, was a little kid, no older than six, clutching an ice cream cone in his small hands. His round, innocent eyes were wide as saucers, locked onto Vincent.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then—
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" The boy screamed. His ice cream slipped from the cone, splattering pathetically onto the pavement.
Vincent screamed too. Out of sheer panic, he transformed back—mid-air, which meant he immediately dropped straight down, landing face-first on the ground with a loud thud.
"Ow..." he groaned.
Pushing himself up onto his knees, he looked up to see the kid still screaming at the top of his lungs, his face red and eyes filled with fear.
His gaze darted around, noticing a few people had already turned to look, their expressions shifting from curiosity to concern. Some of them were starting to approach.
"Oh, for goodness sake—"
Scrambling to his feet, he bolted back into the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows. Just before the humans reached the scene, he shifted forms again, his bat wings beating furiously as he took off into the sky.
—
A black car pulled up in front of a large, gated estate. The home of Councilor Petrov.
Unlike the grand, towering buildings or castles many high-ranking vampires preferred, Petrov’s residence was surprisingly simple. A one-story building, encased within elegant stone walls and a towering iron gate. It lacked the extravagance of nobility, but it was still refined. It was still fitting for a council member.
The backseat door opened, and Damien stepped out.
A long, black cape draped over his frame, covering his form from shoulders to feet. His presence alone was suffocating, his thick and oppressive aura wrapping around the air.
Without sparing the driver a glance, he waved a dismissive hand. "Leave. I will summon you when I am ready to return."
The driver—already keeping his head bowed out of respect—lowered it even further, backing away without turning his back on Damien. Only when he reached the car did he dare to look away before quickly driving off.
Damien’s pupils darted to the entrance ahead, where two guards stood on either side of the gate. As he approached, he didn’t need to say a word. His gaze alone was enough to send a ripple of terror through them. Their hands moved quickly, pushing the gate open before he even reached it.
Stepping inside, he didn’t stop walking, but in a quiet tone, he asked, "Where is Petrov?"
One of the guards lifted a trembling hand and pointed toward the house. "H-He was in the foyer last I saw him, my Lord," he stammered. "Councilor Argilia arrived about twenty minutes ago to see him."
Damien paused mid-step, cocking an eyebrow.
Argilia? That was unusual.
What was she doing here? She never visited anyone. Not unless she had no choice. Argilia was a woman who hated inconvenience. She detested the idea of going out of her way for others.
She had no patience for unnecessary travel, and even if she wanted to see someone, she would much rather summon them to her estate than step foot outside her own home. Whether it was out of laziness or some deeply ingrained sense of superiority, nobody really knew.
The Council itself and summons from Damien was an exception she barely tolerated. If she had actually chosen to come here, then whatever she came for was important.
A flicker of curiosity sparked in Damien’s mind. He resumed walking, his footsteps eerily silent as he approached the entrance.
As he stepped into the building’s foyer, he raised a hand over his face, his gaze sweeping over the space. The light in the room was too bright, almost blinding, and he hated it.
His eyes landed on a young servant passing by—a boy barely past his teenage years, dragging a mop behind him. He hadn’t noticed Damien and was heading toward a door at the end of the hall, too focused on whatever menial task he was about to perform.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Damien was standing right in front of him.
The boy let out a startled scream, dropping the mop as he stumbled back, landing hard on his backside.
The king merely raised an eyebrow, a look of mild disgust flickering across his face. Leaning down, he grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt and effortlessly lifted him to eye level, as though he weighed nothing more than a feather.
"What a clumsy little thing you are," he said, his tone dripping with disapproval.
