Drained by My Vampire Mate

When twisted steel tore through my stomach in a horrific helicopter crash, I was pushed to the absolute brink of death.

In my darkest moment, Alaric, the Vampire High Lord, saved me.

He healed my shattered body, bound me as his fiercely protected mate, and spoiled me with what I thought was endless devotion.

Until tonight. My blood amulet unexpectedly resonated with our pact's magic, intercepting his encrypted call with his private physician.

"I orchestrated that crash. Maiming her was the only way to justify the continuous blood draws."

"But My Lord, drawing any more will cross the lethal threshold..."

"So what? She has a congenital immunity to pain. As long as she doesn't die, it's an honor for her to bleed to suppress Elena's werewolf venom."

The salvation I worshipped was nothing but a meticulously designed trap to harvest my veins.

If that's the case, I will tear this blood pact to shreds.

.....

The revelation of that call struck me like a frost-covered claw, taking a savage swipe straight through my organs.

I stumbled back two steps, a sheen of cold sweat breaking out across my spine.

All this time, I had been sleeping in the arms of the executioner who was slowly pushing me toward my grave.

Just moments ago, the encrypted call had come in. Alaric quickly excused himself to take it out of earshot.

But he had forgotten the amulet he'd just fastened around my neck. It triggered the magical resonance between us, piping his cold, ruthless voice directly into my mind, word for word.

"My Lord, this is the seventh time we've tapped the Madam's heart-blood this month. If we keep draining her like this, she's going to go into rapid organ failure."

"As long as Elena's werewolf venom remains uncleared, the blood draws do not stop. She has suffered for a century because she saved my life. I swore I would keep her safe."

"But... What if Madam realizes the truth..."

"She won't. I drape her in luxury and provide a life of power second only to my own; I've done right by her. Furthermore, she's congenitally immune to pain. Siphoning a couple of extra liters won't kill her."

I didn't feel physical pain.

When the rusted rebar skewered me in the crash, I felt nothing.

Over the past month, as they repeatedly shoved thick IV needles into my chest to drain vial after vial of my heart-blood, I felt nothing.

But in this exact moment, a visceral, soul-shredding agony gripped my insides.

Just because I lacked a pain response, did that make it perfectly acceptable to repeatedly puncture my chest and siphon me dry?

Alaric had lied to my face. He told me my hematopoietic function was severely damaged and required routine "deep filtration."

Overflowing with gratitude, I had obediently laid on those freezing medical tables, silently enduring the near-death vertigo that followed every session.

I never imagined that the so-called detoxification cure was just him bleeding out my life source to fill the bottomless void in another woman's veins.

All those "healing" treatments wrapped in lies were simply maintenance—keeping his blood vessel from collapsing altogether.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Alaric was coming back.

I sucked in a harsh breath and bit down ruthlessly on my tongue.

The metallic tang of blood forced me to swallow the breakdown rising in my throat.

I shoved open the en-suite bathroom door and locked it behind me.

I turned the dial, letting the freezing shower water pour over me, soaking straight through my clothes. The rushing noise perfectly masked my muffled gasps.

"Alya?" Alaric's voice drifted through the door, restored to its nauseatingly affectionate tone. "Did the pact just resonate briefly? Did you feel it?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the cold water pound my cheeks.

"No," I called out, forcing my pitch to stay impeccably even. "I was getting in the shower. I wasn't paying attention."

Fifteen minutes later, I sat on the edge of the bed in the dim lighting.

Alaric sat beside me, gently drying my wet hair with a towel.

Just as he leaned in, moving to claim his usual kiss, instinct took over. I turned my head away and snatched the towel from his grip.

"I can do it myself."

Alaric's hand hovered in midair, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Before tonight, I had always desperately craved his touch.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his crimson gaze locking onto me.

"I just don't want you exhausting yourself." I met his stare, forcing my lips into a convincing smile. "Don't you have that patrol in the Southern territory early tomorrow? You should get some rest."

The suspicion flushed from his eyes, naturally replaced by his arrogant assumption of my devotion. "Alright. Tomorrow at noon, I'll take you to that French place you like, and we'll finalize our itinerary for the island getaway."

"Sounds perfect."

The next day at noon, my phone rang.

"I'm sorry, Alya. There's an uprising in the South. I won't be able to accompany you today. We'll raincheck the island for next time..."

"It's fine," I replied, my tone entirely placid.

Because between us, there would be no next time.

Countless eager promises, countless ice-cold cancellations. He was an expert at pacifying me with cheap lies, only to turn around and weaponize me as a feeding trough for someone else.

I was finally cured of hoping he would ever keep his word.

I had taken his deceit for salvation, happily swallowing the blood-stained bait. Now that the illusion had violently shattered, it was time to wake up and walk away from this absurd nightmare.

I hung up and dialed Caleb, an arcane physician I had met during an early hospital visit.

He had previously displayed an intense clinical interest in my unique physiology.

"Dr. Caleb," I cut straight to the chase. "That medical research retreat you mentioned last week—is there still an open spot?"

A beat of absolute silence hung over the line. "I assumed your frighteningly powerful High Lord husband would never let you off his leash."

"He doesn't need to know." I stared out the window into the blinding, piercing sunlight.

Caleb paused for a few seconds.

"The retreat leaves in three days. Be ready."

I ended the call, flipped open my laptop, and began drafting the legal termination of our blood pact.