I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 69: Chapter 69

Drake’s pov

Dealing with the Thornes family was literally a thorn in my flesh, it was exhausting to even think about.

I was bound to get older just from their fucked up family drama.

I looked up just as the elevator closed but a slight chill in the air told me I had a visitor.

Ephraim never did arrive with the theatrics of lesser vampires. He did not drop the temperature or flare his eyes; he simply materialized in the shadow of my bookshelves, dressed in a tailored charcoal coat that had outlived three human dynasties.

As an emissary of the High Council, his presence was alarming for me.

I sat behind my desk, my hands resting flat against the polished wood. "You are far from the Council’s estate, Ephraim."

"I am where the threads pull me, Drake," Ephraim replied, his voice a dry, papery whisper that barely stirred the air. He turned his pale, colorless eyes toward the closed door that led to the private living quarters. "The whispers from the club reached the Elders. They say you claimed a human."

"Lysander is mine," I said flatly. "His standing is established under our law. The Council has no jurisdiction over my personal estate."

Ephraim took a slow step toward the desk, his head tilting. He inhaled slowly, catching the faint, lingering scent of Lysander’s blood that floated through the ventilation shafts.

"It is not your claim we question, Drake," he murmured, his pale eyes narrowing. "It is the blood itself. When you bit him, when you took his pulse into your veins... did you not feel it?"

I kept my expression completely unreadable, not allowing a single beat of my heart to betray me. "I felt a human yielding to his master."

"Do not play the fool," Ephraim purred, a sharp, cold edge entering his papery voice. "There is a resonance in that boy’s pulse. A frequency we have not tasted in nearly twenty-one years. The Elders sense it even from across the city. He is not merely a fragile mortal you plucked from the streets."

"He is mine," I repeated, standing up slowly. My towering shadow stretched across the desk, blocking out the dim morning light. "And you will not touch him. You will not examine him. If an Enforcer steps onto my floor without my invitation, I will slaughter them where they stand."

He stared at me for a long, silent moment without flinching at my tone but he didn’t press forward either.

"A bold threat, Balthazar," he whispered, stepping backward into the shadow of the velvet drapes. "But consider this a formal warning. If that boy is indeed what the Elders suspect... if his lineage carries the mark... there will be consequences. The Council does not allow anomalous blood to walk freely among mortals. Protect him if you must, but know that you are going against the council."

I looked up and Ephraim was gone.

I stood in the center of the quiet study for a long time, the arctic chill of Ephraim’s warning settling deep into my bones.

I walked out into the hallway, stopping outside the master bedroom door. I pushed it open an inch, looking inside. Lysander was still asleep, curled comfortably under the dark velvet duvet. He wore my oversized shirt, his face relaxed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

The faint violet bite marks on his throat looked soft. He looked fragile, helpless, and completely dependent on the cage I had built around him.

He knew nothing of the council nd I would not allow the paranoia of ancient monsters to shatter the fragile peace in his eyes.

I closed the bedroom door soundlessly and returned to my study.

I locked the oak doors, walked over to the far wall, and pressed my palm against the hidden slate panel beside the bookshelf. The stone hissed open, revealing the heavy iron safe where I kept my private, uncatalogued archives, documents dating back to the late nineteenth century, preserved in vacuum-sealed glass casing.

I pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger stamped with the crest of the long-defunct Blackwood Synthesis Guild, an rogue faction of vampire alchemists and human geneticists who had operated in secret during the early 2000s before the Council systematically slaughtered them for heresy.

I laid the ledger on my desk, flipping through the brittle, yellowed pages until I reached the encrypted appendices from 2005.

Project Zero.

I leaned over the desk, my eyes scanning the dense, Latinated notes and chemical diagrams. The Guild had attempted to bridge the biological divide between our species through deep genetic manipulation of human embryos.

They had sought to create a true hybrid: a human vessel capable of synthesizing vampire venom naturally, possessing an extended lifespan, enhanced cellular regeneration, and a complete immunity to the debilitating shock of a full vampire bite.

My breath hitched as my eyes locked onto the final page of the summary file.

Subject 0-C: Viable live birth recorded. Genetic markers include hyper-receptive blood resonance, accelerated healing, and complete reproductive compatibility with pureblood vampire stock. Subject possesses the unique capacity to carry and nurture pureblood vampire offspring without biological rejection.

I stared at the page, my mind racing as the pieces clicked together.

Lysander’s body had accepted my venom without the usual days of fever. The euphoric, addictive high he experienced when drinking my blood, absorbing the power far faster than any normal human ever could.

Darius Thorne hadn’t just been obsessed with a helpless stepson. The Thorne family had acquired Lysander because they knew what he was. Darius had installed hidden cameras, tracked his movements, and kept him isolated not merely out of a sick desire for control, but because he was sitting on the ultimate biological prize, a living, breathing hybrid capable of bearing a vampire’s child.

A dark, possessive surge roared through my veins, and I slammed the leather ledger shut.

They thought he was an experiment. The Council thought he was a threat to be eradicated. Darius thought he was a tool to be claimed.

I walked back to the bedroom door, opening it wide. I stepped over the threshold, watching Lysander stir softly in the bed, his dark eyes fluttering open as he looked up at me with that devotion I had carved into his soul.

"Drake?" Lysander rasped softly, reaching a trembling hand out from beneath the duvet. "Is everything okay?"

I walked to the side of the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. I reached out, my cool fingers cupping his cheek, feeling the warm, pulsing heat of his skin beneath my palm.

"Everything is fine, little bird," I whispered, leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss to his forehead.

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