No Longer Her Blood Bag

No Longer Her Blood Bag

Gavin

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My name is Ethan, and for seven years, I was a vampire's blood thrall, a living blood bag for Victoria, my supposed mistress. Every day was pure agony, battling the "Pact Strain" – a searing pain that only her blood could ease, blood she rarely offered. I endured her extreme neglect, her casual cruelty, feeling my spirit erode away, piece by painful piece. Then, Liam arrived – a human she rescued, immediately wrapped in her obsessive affection. My suffering became unbearable, my very existence dismissed as she doted on him. The ultimate betrayal came when she literally offered my throat to a newly turned, rabid Liam, commanding him to feed on me to stabilize his transformation. I was just a disposable sacrifice. Through a haze of pain and fading vision, I saw the truth: I was nothing but a living convenience, a mere self-service blood bank. How could I have been so blind, so endlessly devoted to someone who saw me as less than an object? The agonizing bite paled in comparison to the sting of her absolute disregard. But in that moment of dying despair, a desperate, cunning spark ignited. I feigned unconsciousness, using my self-inflicted wounds as a cover. I would escape. I would find my chance to destroy the pact's binding artifact, and finally sever these chains of torment. What happens when your enslaver tries to reclaim you, threatening the one kind soul who ever helped you?

Introduction

My name is Ethan, and for seven years, I was a vampire's blood thrall, a living blood bag for Victoria, my supposed mistress.

Every day was pure agony, battling the "Pact Strain" – a searing pain that only her blood could ease, blood she rarely offered.

I endured her extreme neglect, her casual cruelty, feeling my spirit erode away, piece by painful piece.

Then, Liam arrived – a human she rescued, immediately wrapped in her obsessive affection.

My suffering became unbearable, my very existence dismissed as she doted on him.

The ultimate betrayal came when she literally offered my throat to a newly turned, rabid Liam, commanding him to feed on me to stabilize his transformation.

I was just a disposable sacrifice.

Through a haze of pain and fading vision, I saw the truth: I was nothing but a living convenience, a mere self-service blood bank.

How could I have been so blind, so endlessly devoted to someone who saw me as less than an object?

The agonizing bite paled in comparison to the sting of her absolute disregard.

But in that moment of dying despair, a desperate, cunning spark ignited.

I feigned unconsciousness, using my self-inflicted wounds as a cover.

I would escape.

I would find my chance to destroy the pact's binding artifact, and finally sever these chains of torment.

What happens when your enslaver tries to reclaim you, threatening the one kind soul who ever helped you?

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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