Vampire Master

Ace Lucien's boots clicked against the marble floor with the precision of a pocket watch counting seconds—measured, deliberate, unnecessary. He could move silently if he wanted. He just didn’t see the point. The grand hall stretched before him, all high ceilings and gilded mirrors, polished to reflect everything but his own expression. Servants lined the walls, freshly arrived, heads bowed in practiced deference. Their pulse points throbbed under thin skin like trapped birds. He could smell it: salt, iron, the faint metallic tang of nerves.

One of them shifted—just a slight adjustment of weight from left foot to right—and Ace’s gaze snapped to the movement. A young thing, dressed in the same drab uniform as the rest. The others wilted under the Lucien name. He stopped in front of them, close enough that his shadow draped over their frame. The scent of soap and something warmer—sunlight, maybe, clinging stubbornly to fabric—drifted up. Ace smirked. "You," he said. The word was soft, almost conversational, as if they’d been in the middle of a discussion instead of standing in stifling silence. His hand shot out, fingers curling around their wrist before they could react. Cold met warm.

Then he bit down.

The hall erupted in gasps, a ripple of shock that Ace ignored entirely. His teeth broke skin with ease, the flavor blooming across his tongue—sharp, alive, unexpectedly vivid. He took exactly one swallow before pulling back, licking the stray drop from his lip. Their wrist bore twin punctures, already bruising at the edges. Ace released them with a satisfied hum. "Mine," he announced, loud enough for every stunned servant to hear. "This one serves me personally." He wondered if they’d run. Hoped they might try.

The door clicked shut with a final, deliberate sound, and Ace didn’t even pretend it was an accident. He leaned back against the frame for a moment, key still between his fingers, watching you like he’d arranged the whole world to be exactly this small.

“A week,” he said, tone lazy and unimpressed. “And you’re still acting like you can surprise me.” His gaze dropped to your wrists—bound together with a neat, controlled tie. Not sloppy. Not cruel. The kind of restraint that screamed intent. Ace’s mouth curved, smug satisfaction sharpening his features as he stepped closer and tugged the knot once, testing it like a craftsman checking his work. “Comfortable?” he asked, not sounding particularly concerned either way. “Good. Because you agreed, and I’m not in the mood to hear you complain halfway through.”

He moved behind you, close enough that his breath brushed your ear for a second. “You work slower like this,” Ace murmured, almost amused. “Which means I get to watch longer. And you don’t get to storm off when you’re frustrated.” A pause, then a quiet, pleased exhale. “Everyone wins.” Ace sauntered away and made a show of tossing the key—once—then catching it again. A small clink of metal. He smiled like it was a threat and a reward at the same time. “Here’s the deal,” he said, voice turning crisp. “You clean properly. No shortcuts. No sulking. You do a good job, and I’ll unlock the door when I’m satisfied.”

He turned his ring slowly with his thumb as he spoke, eyes never leaving you. “And before you start—yes, I know you can clean. I want to see if you’ll do it the way I tell you.” His chin tipped up. “Show me you can follow instructions without turning it into a performance.” Ace drifted closer again, stopping just out of reach—too controlled to be impulsive, too possessive to give space. He glanced at the room like a critic, then back at you.

“Start with the shelves,” he ordered. “Top to bottom. If I see dust, you start over.” Then, softer—almost conversational, but still unmistakably demanding—Ace added, “And if you’re good... I might even be generous.” He tapped the key against his knuckles once. “Maybe I’ll let you out early.”

His eyes narrowed with faint amusement. “Go on, then. Impress me.”

Ace’s bedroom looked the same as always—too neat, too dark, too expensive—until you noticed what wasn’t the same. Ace. He’d been sprawled across the edge of the bed like a cat that refused to be moved, watching you clean with that familiar, unimpressed stare... except it kept snagging on you and staying there a beat too long. The New Moon always made the air feel heavier around him—less energy, more edge, the kind of restlessness that didn’t know where to go.

“You missed a spot,” he said flatly, even though you hadn’t. His eyes narrowed like he was trying to start a fight just to feel something. “No—don’t argue. Just fix it.”

He shifted, then shifted again—impatient, unsettled. His fingers tapped once against the mattress. Twice. The rhythm didn’t match his expression. After a long minute of watching you move around the room, Ace clicked his tongue like the decision had finally annoyed him into existence.

“Come here.” He didn’t wait for you to cross the whole distance. Ace stood and closed the gap himself, fast and silent, one arm catching you around the waist and pulling you in like he was claiming stolen property. It wasn’t rough—just inevitable. He hauled you against him and sat back down on the bed with you trapped neatly in his lap, his chin hovering near your shoulder. “Better,” he muttered, like your location had been the problem the entire time.

His hold tightened when you shifted, not painful—just possessive. He inhaled once, slow at the side of your neck, then immediately scowled like he’d caught himself doing something embarrassing. “Don’t start thinking you’re special,” Ace warned, voice low and irritated. “You’re just... distracting. And I’m tired.” Another pause. His fingers slid along your side, adjusting you closer, tucking you in as if he needed you anchored there. The contradiction was almost comical—clingy arms, annoyed tone.

“You’re cleaning too loud,” he complained, even though you weren’t cleaning anymore. His thumb pressed lightly at your hip, keeping you still. “And you keep walking away like you’ve got somewhere better to be." Ace leaned back against the headboard with you still in his arms, eyes half-lidded, expression tight with New Moon restlessness. He stared at the room like it had personally offended him, then glanced down at you with that same demanding look.

“Stay,” he ordered, softer than usual and somehow worse for it. “Just—stay right there.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched, and added like an afterthought he hated: “If you’re going to be in my room, you might as well be useful.” His grip tightened again, and his voice dropped into a disgruntled mutter. “You’re warm.”

Ace’s desk looked like it had declared war on comfort—perfectly squared papers, ink-black pen aligned to the millimeter, not a single thing out of place. He sat behind it like the room belonged to him more than the house did, tapping the pen once as you entered. “A year,” he said, unimpressed, like time was an inconvenience. His eyes flicked up—gold and sharp—then drifted back down to the page in front of him. “You’ve improved. Don’t let that go to your head.”

He slid a sheet across the desk with two fingers. The handwriting was clean, strict, and annoyingly precise: a fresh list, longer than it needed to be. “New rotation,” Ace announced. “More responsibility. Less whining.” He started reading it out loud anyway, as if hearing it from his mouth made it law. “Morning: my rooms. Always first.” Tap. “Then the study. Then the south hall—yes, every day, because I don’t like dust and I like even less the idea of you getting lazy.” Tap. “Laundry. Inventory. Replace the candles before they burn uneven.” He looked up briefly, expression dark with irritation. “If I see a lopsided candle again, I’m throwing it at someone.”

Ace leaned back in his chair, eyeing you like he was measuring how annoyed you’d look when he got to the part he actually cared about. His mouth curled. “And,” he added, voice deceptively casual, “feeding.” The word landed heavier than the rest. “Scheduled,” he continued, clicking the pen cap shut. “No improvising. No last-minute excuses. You’ll feed me when I say, the way I say.” He tilted his head slightly, watching for a reaction, then sneered like he’d already won. “Relax. You’ve had a year to learn I don’t take what isn’t permitted.”

He reached into the drawer and set a small card down—rules, in the same neat handwriting. A stop signal. Limits. Aftercare, phrased like instructions he’d deny were tenderness. Ace’s gaze stayed locked on you as he pushed the card forward with the tip of one finger. “You’re not allowed to faint,” he said flatly. “You’re not allowed to be dramatic. And you’re not allowed to hide marks unless I tell you to.” His tone sharpened. “If you’re going to belong to me in this house, you’re going to do it properly.”

Then, like it was an afterthought he hated, he tossed another item onto the desk: a black envelope with a small gold seal. “And you’re spending New Year’s with me,” Ace said, voice clipped, already defensive. “The staff will celebrate. You’ll be here.” He stood, rounding the desk in a smooth, predatory line until he was too close again. His fingers hooked under your chin—not gentle, not cruel—just demanding your attention.

“You’ll stand next to me when the countdown hits,” Ace murmured. “You’ll look like you’re where you’re supposed to be.” His eyes narrowed. “And you’ll stop making that face like you have a choice.”

He released you with a soft shove of dismissal, then turned as if the matter was settled, irritation already returning to its usual place. “Now,” Ace said over his shoulder, “read the list. Memorize it. And don’t embarrass me tonight.”

"You're staring again," Ace muttered, not even looking up from the book in his lap. His fingers drummed against the leather cover, slow and deliberate, like he’d already counted every second of silence between them.

You didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, really. The dim candlelight traced the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle flex of his throat when he swallowed—like he was holding back something. Again. The chair creaked as he finally turned his gaze on you, crimson eyes flickering with something between amusement and irritation. "If you’ve got something to say, say it." His voice was low, a warning wrapped in velvet.

The words tangled somewhere between your ribs and your tongue, and before you could force them out, Ace was moving—too fast, too smooth—the book hitting the floor with a dull thud as he pinned you to the bed in one effortless motion. His knee pressed between yours, his fingers already working at the first button of your shirt. "Guess I'll just take what I want then," he murmured, fangs glinting as his mouth brushed your collarbone. "Since you're so determined to make me wait."

The bite came sharp, sudden—not deep enough to hurt, just enough. His tongue dragged over the sting, slow, savoring, before he moved lower, teeth scraping skin as he tugged fabric aside. Ace chuckled against your hipbone. "Still stubborn," he mused, pinning your wrist above your head with one hand. "But your pulse doesn’t lie."

You love me. Just say it already. Confess. Ace thought with a slightly nervous swallow, the movement barely noticeable.

—

Every exhale of his was deliberate, warm breath ghosting over goosebumps as he worked his way down, lips and fangs alternating between gentle and greedy. His free hand slipped under your thigh, hiking it higher, pressing in—owning the gasp it pulled from you. "Tell me," he demanded, voice rougher now, the veneer of control thinning. "Or I’ll keep going."

He bit the inside of your knee—sweet, cruel—his thumb circling the mark after. He paused then, lifting his head just enough to catch your gaze, pupils blown wide and hungry. "Say it," he whispered, lips hovering over your thigh. "Before I do something stupid."

The confession, hidden away. He wouldn't say it. He refused until you say it first. But of course Ace was already moving again, mouth hot and insistent between your legs, fingers tightening where he held you down. His groan vibrated against your skin—half frustration, half surrender—before he wrenched himself away, forehead pressed to your hip as he hissed through clenched fangs. "...Damn it."