Transformative Nights

Breakfast

Settling into the velvet embrace of my office chair, I opened the drawer on my right and retrieved a crystal vial shaped like a diamond. The weight of it, cool against my palm, carried more than just blood—it held the prelude to fate. Thoughts of making a sacred eating companion surfaced, swirling with emotions long buried. In all my centuries, I had never claimed one, never needed to. But now, the thought clung stubbornly, whispering possibilities that made my heart uneasy.

The concept was simple but profound: the companion becomes the sole source of sustenance, a bond that forges an eternal link between vampire and chosen. Ariane, my lost love, had been my universe, though our connection was not bound by such rites. I remembered the cautious way I had courted her, trying desperately to keep our life normal until fate forced my hand. When the time came, I saved her by turning her, yet she could never stomach the act of feeding on humans. In her witch’s wisdom, she had brewed potions that imbued animal blood with the moon's power—a compromise she clung to with all her might. And so, the thought of creating a sacred companion had never tempted me. Until now.

I watched the rich crimson seep from my wrist and drip steadily into the vial. The magic needed to create such a bond was unlike any other—powerful, finite, and tethered to one’s very life force. The stories of old vampires, able to forge no more than three such bonds, whispered warnings to my resolve. Each death of a sacred companion siphoned a part of the master’s essence, an ultimate price that few survived.

Would the bond hold if the companion was turned later? A question I dared not linger on. Jonathan, with his stubborn defiance and fire, had sparked this strange determination in me. His resistance to my domination magic was unlike anything I had encountered. Would the standard three ounces be enough? No, better to be cautious. I bit down again, letting an additional three ounces spill into the crystal before sealing it.

A jingle of my bell summoned Asa, the oldest and most loyal of my employ.

“Mix this into whatever he chooses for breakfast,” I instructed, passing him the vial.

Asa’s brows lifted as he examined it. “Six ounces, sir? Planning on bonding a dragon?”

“Consider it precautionary,” I replied, meeting his amused stare with a raised brow.

A mock sob escaped him as he pretended to dab at imaginary tears. “Oh, how they grow! Five centuries, and already he’s making a SEC.”

“Go pester someone else,” I said with a smirk, turning away. His laughter echoed down the hallway as I shifted my attention to the globe in the corner, a memento of Ariane’s relentless pursuit of knowledge. Since I won't need to visit the hospital for food tomorrow, I may as well get a jumpstart on looking for the last two recruits for the next night class. A quick splash of potion revealed points of light—potential witches and wizards—glimmering across its surface. Three stood out, bright and promising, about 200 miles east. Shamans are the only ones that can see a person's magical potential, and I've been alive long enough to remember when it was easy to access a shaman and get a truthful reading. Assigning university shamans to the brightest and my personal shaman to test Jonathan, I noted the details and burned the pages to dispatch the orders.

With my tasks done, I drifted to my moonlit pool. I briefly considered having some of the enchanted blood-infused fruits growing by my pool, but then if I did, wouldn't last night's excursion be a waste? Pushing that thought out of my mind the silvery beams bathing my skin should have soothed me, but my mind churned with other questions. Why did Jonathan’s presence stir memories of Ariane? The way he looked, defiant yet wary, reminded me of someone who had once challenged me the same way. The sun crept into the sky before I could find an answer.

Refreshed and resolute, I made my way to Jonathan’s room. The marble stairs beneath my feet echoed in time with my racing thoughts. How should I approach him? What words could soothe a man captured against his will? A dark laugh bubbled up—I had none. "I guess I'll start with something simple," I whispered aloud as my hand wrapped around the knob. Inhale. Yes, one deep breath to keep my heart from exploding.

Pushing the door open, I found Jonathan sitting behind an oak desk, finishing a smoothie. His curly red hair caught the artificial light, shining with a familiar hue that made my breath hitch. Ariane’s shade. My fingers itched, memories pricking my mind like thorns.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, brushing my dark hair aside for a clearer view of him.

He pushed his chair back, clutching the smoothie as if it were armor. “I slept fine for a kidnappee,” he replied, sarcasm coating his voice as he drained the last of his drink. The irony made me chuckle softly. A coy smile played on my lips.

“Did you enjoy the smoothie and the rest of your breakfast?” I nodded at the empty cup, watching his eyes widen before he coughed.

“Uh, yeah. It was good,” he muttered, eyeing me warily. “Thanks... uh, mister.”

“My name is Li Chai-Hao. You can call me Chai-Hao,,” I said, seating myself before him. “Now, what does my breakfast call itself?”

His eyes met mine, sparking with defiance. “I don’t know. You tell me when you catch it,” he said, leaning back. “But I call myself Jonathan. Friends call me Johnny, so, naturally, you can’t.”

I pressed a finger to my lips, a smile curving them as I considered him. Letting out a small laugh, I responded “Jonathan, it is. Now tell me, Jonathan, what did that young man do to deserve being attacked?” I sat back and searched his eyes for the answers to questions I couldn't reasonably ask yet. He had a presence about him that was strong yet kind. His scent already filled this room. He smelled of Coriander, cinnamon, nutmeg, and rainy days. At these levels, his aroma shifted from comforting to sensual.

His gaze darkened, and he crossed his arms. “Why the hell should I tell you?”

Before I realized it, I had closed the space between us, me between his legs, hands on his thighs, and to keep myself from crossing any lines, I pressed down, leaning in close whispering. “Because I asked nicely.” The shiver that rippled through him was palpable. He pushed against my chest, but it was like moving stone. I sat back anyways to humor him. “I manage debts,” he spat, his voice quieter.

Oh, how interesting I didn't take this man to be a gangster. Maybe he has more fighting skills than his medium build suggests, I thought.

"And, I don't know about deserve, But he failed to repay his debt" Jonathan continued.

“ My system works, but some people still think they can game it.”

My curiosity was piqued. Not a typical thug, then.

"Do you enjoy being a low-level gangster?" I questioned.

"I prefer mid-level enforcer. I have minions, ya know. And yes, I do. It keeps things... organized. My guys are softer than I’d like, but I try to keep things civil"

I wondered what he meant by repayment schedule, raising my eyebrow. “A system? What is this system that you keep referring to? Arent you just collecting a debt?" I asked aloud. "Yes," He nodded. "But the reason most don't pay back debts is the same reason they got into debt. They can't manage money." He sighed "I make sure debtors know exactly what they owe. I balance their books, track their spending, set up a schedule they can follow. If they fail, then it becomes what you saw last night. But that doesn’t happen often.” So he doesn't just beat them and take the money? Is that not the system for gangsters?

It's stunning to see someone in a shitty profession and environment that managed to stay true to his kind and strong aura. I love that since good hearts and intentions stew in the body affecting the blood.

"How very civilized." I mused aloud "I appreciate it when my meals have a good heart. It makes them all the sweeter."

Jonathan’s face paled. “Why do you keep calling me food? Am I going to die here?”

Once again, I gripped his firm thighs while whispering into his ear, voice low and teasing. “I’m going to eat you, Jonathan. And you’ll enjoy it.”

His scream rang out, sharp and sudden. In a blur, he ducked past me, putting the desk between us.

My patience thinned; testing the bond would be wise.

“SIT ON THE BED.”

I watched as he took two shaky steps forward. He staggered, legs faltering struggle, and defiance was written all over his face as he looked at me. He shouldn't be able to resist like this. I’d underestimated him. I wonder whether Asa gave him all of the blood. Eyes narrowing, I summoned my power, voice layered with compulsion due to using duel-tone. Will I have to use dual-tone to control him every time, though? That's usually reserved for when you have to command your SEC to do something that endangers their own life and goes against instinct. “I SAID Sit. On. The. Bed.”

Jonathan obeyed, eyes wide with confusion as he fell to the mattress. I studied him, cold fingers tracing his jaw. “You are full of surprises,” I whispered. "That was interesting. I dislike interesting." I said softly c*****g my head to the side.

Let me tell you a brief tale,” I began, my voice dropping into a smooth, almost teasing cadence. “There was once a vampire, restless and hungry. He ventured into the night in search of a meal and discovered a most tantalizing scent. To his surprise, it belonged not to the victim but the aggressor. Yet, compelled by curiosity and hunger, he chose him anyway. Imagine the vampire’s intrigue when he discovered that this so-called gangster had fists of silk and a heart heart softer than expected.”

A smile played on my lips as I traced the line of Jonathan’s neck with a cold, deliberate touch. The muscles beneath my fingers tensed, but he held still. His eyes widened, the realization dawning. “Wait—did you just say vampire?”

A laugh bubbled up, dark and resonant. “Yes, Jonathan. And that soft-hearted gangster discovered that vampires are as real as witches. We walk in the shadows, shielded from the sun—though clever witches have brewed spells that let us bypass even that. Garlic? Useless. Wooden stakes? Mere splinters. And most of us? well, we’ve grown accustomed to hospital blood bags.”

Jonathan’s gaze dropped, refusing to meet mine, a defiance I couldn’t allow. My fingers tightened on his chin, guiding his eyes back to mine. “Ah, not quite the reaction I expected, but it will do,” I said, a sly smile tugging at my lips.

“So, tell me, how did you enjoy my story?” I asked, leaning close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the scent that had ensnared me since the night before.

“It was... riveting,” he replied, voice flat, barely concealing his disdain.

Not good enough. I moved closer, letting my breath ghost against his ear. “You should treat me to a meal for such an enthralling tale,” I whispered. A shiver traveled down his spine, a reaction that sent a spark of anticipation through me. Yet, to my disappointment, he didn’t flush; instead, the glint in his eyes suggested a plan forming.

“Sure. Where do you want to go eat?” His voice was dry, a thin veneer of bravado.

He still didn’t understand. I smothered a laugh, twisted and low, watching him tense at the sound. “I’ll let you choose,” I said, voice lilting with mock courtesy. My hand drifted to brush against his neck, trailing slowly down. “Here,” I murmured, Letting my fingers fall lower to trace beneath his collarbone. “or here,” I murmured, lifting his hand grazing the inside of his wrist with my teeth, I felt the flutter of his heartbeat accelerate, a contrast to the steady mask of his expression.

My grin widened as I adjusted in my seat, spreading his knees with my right leg to make space between us. “One of my favorite spots is down south” I said, eyes locking with his, my hand finding the inside of his thigh, firm and possessive. “Now, Jonathan, where shall I be dining today?” I asked, leaning back slightly to observe him.

Jonathan’s eyes sparked with fury. “"f**k off. You better look for a whole new restaurant.” he snapped, the anger in his voice edged with fear.

The defiance stirred something deep within me. He didn’t know yet, but his resistance was a song I intended to silence in time. Still, voicing my claim now would make it feel theatrical. Instead, I leaned back fully, studying him.

“After all the effort I've invested in you? I think not,” I reached for his wrist, holding his gaze as I lowered my mouth to his skin. The moment my fangs pierced, his pulse spiked, and the taste of his blood—rich, spiced with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg—washed over my senses. It was like nothing I had experienced in centuries. Feeding was already an intimate act, but I deepened the connection, running my nails lightly along his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Each second stretched, the world narrowing to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth spreading through my veins.

Five minutes passed in a haze before I drew back, licking the small wounds closed. The astonishment in Jonathan’s eyes as they healed fascinated me.

“That’s enough for today,” I said, my voice husky as I stood. His gaze followed my every movement, wide with confusion and something I dared not name. I patted his shoulder gently. “We’ll speak more later. I have something special planned after lunch.”

Without waiting for his reply, I turned and left, the echo of his heartbeat still drumming through my mind.