The King's Pet

Chapter 10

. ..𓂃 ྐ❤︎ 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 ´ཀ'

"What's wrong, Lucas?" Bruce asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. "You look unwell."

He tried to lift his head, but the effort was too much. Bruce knew exactly what the silver did to him, how it sapped his strength and left him in a state of perpetual torment. And yet, here he was, feigning ignorance.

"Please... Master Bruce," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It hurts."

Bruce leaned in closer, his face inches from Lucas's. "Oh, does it now? I hadn't noticed." The lie was blatant, but it didn't matter. The power dynamic was clear, and he reveled in it.

For a moment, Bruce let the silence hang between them, savoring his suffering. But then, with a sigh, Bruce reached for the key to the chains. "I suppose you've had enough for now," Bruce said, almost reluctantly. "Consider this a lesson in obedience."

Bruce held up the key, letting it dangle in front of Lucas's face before slowly unlocking the cuffs on his wrists.

"Look at me, damn it," Bruce muttered to himself, his temper beginning to flair.

He roughly grabbed Lucas's head and yanked it back, forcing him to meet his gaze.

A small smirk formed on Bruce's face as he saw the look Lucas was giving him, one of pure hatred and anger.

"Oh hoh..." Bruce said, shaking his head. "That's no way to be looking at your King." Bruce tuttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

He let go of Lucas's head, allowing his head to drop forward, his blonde hair falling forward in a curtain, obscuring the faint, red glow emanating from his eyes.

A pang of-guilt-perhaps, made Bruce's heart ache. It was almost pathetic watching Lucas reduced to this form. Weak. Vulnerable...And there was one thing, Bruce hated most in the world besides liars was weakness.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his black hair, ruffling it up a bit as he tried to get the memory of Lucas's fangs, sinking into his flesh, out of his mind. He could almost feel the sting, the rush of adrenaline, and the subsequent weakness that followed. It wasn't the first time either and it surely wouldn't be the last.

Bruce turned his head away, clicking his tongue.

Bloody hell...He's like a Goddamn child.

He debated whether or not to let Lucas feed on him again. The logical part of his mind screamed no. He had taken from him before, and each time it left Bruce weaker, more vulnerable. But then, Bruce looked at him again. He was barely holding on, his breaths shallow and labored.

Bruce had enough blood to spare. He knew that. And despite everything, there was a part of him that couldn't stand to see him like this. Maybe it was guilt, or perhaps a twisted sense of responsibility. Whatever it was, it pushed him to make a decision.

"Lucas," Bruce called out, his voice surprisingly gentle this time. He rolled up his sleeve and extended his wrist towards him. "You need to feed."

Lucas hesitated, his gaze shifting between his wrist and his face. Bruce forced a smile, trying to appear friendly. "Go on," He urged, injecting a note of faux innocence into his tone. "It's okay."

For a moment, he just stared at Bruce, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Then, slowly, he took his wrist in his hands. Bruce braced himself as his fangs pierced his skin, the familiar pain mingling with a strange sense of relief. As he drank, Bruce kept his eyes on him, watching the color return to his cheeks, the strength to his limbs...

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