Sweet Revenge With My Billionaire Vampire-Chapter 93: No

Dacatt pushed past the doors, stepping outside into the scorching heat, and staggered toward the side of the building. He crouched down, his back against the wall, and clutched his chest as his entire body shook. His hands were trembling violently as he stared down at them, his mind reeling.

"What the fuck was that...?"

He had never felt anything like this before. He had been in life-or-death situations and had never once panicked. But all it took was one voice. Just hearing Enzo speak had sent ice flooding through his veins. It had made his body lock up like he was prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

—

Vincent flew through the hallway of Damien’s castle in his bat form, his small, dark wings slicing through the air as he moved with urgency.

Reaching the large door of Damien’s office, he transformed back into his vampire form, landing on his knees before quickly pushing himself up.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before knocking. But there was no response, only silence. His brows furrowed into a small frown as he knocked again, harder this time, but there was still no answer.

Damien had ordered him to come here, and it wasn’t like him to ignore a summon he had given himself. He was always in his office when he called for someone.

His hand hovered over the door handle, hesitating. It was not proper to enter the king’s office without permission, but at the same time, he couldn’t just stand here.

Slowly, his fingers wrapped around the metal handle, and with a firm push, he opened the door just a crack and peeked inside.

At the far end of the room, Damien’s large, high-backed chair was turned away, facing the tall window.

The only reason Vincent knew he was even in the room was because of the small sliver of his arm that poked out from the side of the chair.

He stepped inside, his hands moving to his front, and his fingers clasping together as he bowed his head respectfully. "My liege, you called?"

A pained grunt came from behind the chair, followed by a muffled, "Come here, boy."

Vincent moved quickly, approaching Damien’s chair and coming to a halt at his side. The moment his eyes landed on the deep cut running across the king’s bicep, he felt an involuntary gasp slip past his lips.

Thick, dark blood sluggishly seeped from the torn flesh, staining the half-wrapped bandage Damien had been attempting to secure. His teeth gripped one end of the bandage, while his free hand held the other. He had been struggling, trying to do it himself.

This was the injury he had sustained during his fight with Councilor Nolan, when those sharp, deadly wings had sliced through his skin. It should have been healed by now, but it hasn’t.

A vampire’s wounds would heal quickly if inflicted by a human. But when the injury came from another vampire—especially a powerful one like Nolan—it was a different story.

The stronger the attacker, the slower the healing process, and in some cases, the wound could worsen if not treated properly. If left unattended, Damien could lose the full use of that arm—or worse, he could lose it entirely.

Damien knew this, and yet, in his pride and stubbornness, he had chosen to ignore it. As king, he had always believed that showing pain or admitting weakness was unacceptable. But now, the price of his arrogance was becoming painfully clear.

With an irritated sigh, he dropped the bandage from his mouth and reached out, his bloody fingers latching onto Vincent’s small wrist in a firm grip. He yanked him forward, pulling him in front of him so suddenly that Vincent nearly lost his footing.

"What are you waiting for?" He growled. "Tend to this."

Vincent nodded, lowering himself onto one knee. He reached out carefully, his fingers ghosting over the torn flesh, inspecting the damage.

His concern deepened when he saw that it wasn’t something that could be fixed with a simple bandage—it required proper healing.

He swallowed a lump in his throat before looking up at Damien. "We need to summon Councilor Julian, my liege," he said nervously. "This can’t be fixed by just wrapping a bandage around it."

The second the words left his mouth, Damien’s hand shot forward, his fingers curling around the back of Vincent’s neck. In an instant, Vincent was pulled closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

The king’s icy breath fanned against his skin, his sharp fangs pressing against his lower lip as he whispered through gritted teeth, "Nobody is to find out about this. Do you understand?"

A look of confusion flickered across his face as he stared up at Damien. Why was he being so damn stubborn? The king’s pride was suffocating, even now, when his own well-being was at risk.

It didn’t make sense why he would go this far just to hide an injury. What did it matter if people knew Nolan had wounded him? The most they would do was gossip about the fact that the great, powerful King Damien had been injured by a councilor.

For the first time in all his years of serving Damien, Vincent found himself shaking his head. "No."

Damien’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening around Vincent’s neck, pressing against his skin with enough force to bruise. "What did you just say?"

Vincent lifted his hand, his own fingers wrapping around Damien’s wrist. His voice remained steady, despite the silent warning in the king’s glare. "My apologies, my liege, but ensuring your well-being is part of my duty. And right now, you need Julian’s healing."

Damien’s hand twitched against his skin, his fingers threatening to tighten further and strangle him, but they didn’t.

No ordinary vampire in his world would dare defy him like this. No one would say no to Damien, unless they were as strong as him or they had a death wish.

But this was Vincent. The boy he had raised for over a century. The boy he had watched grow, alongside his son and Andrei. He had spent years instilling fear into him, training him, disciplining him, and threatening him whenever necessary. And yet, despite all of that, he had never truly harmed him.