The auction house is a crumbling ruin, its walls scarred and blackened by years of neglect. Zarok stands among the rabble, his broad frame a looming shadow in the smoky, musky air. He detests these gatherings, the stench of desperation and filth mingling with the cheap incense some fool thought would mask the rot. He doesn't care for the council or their empty posturing. The only reason he's here is because the dragon insisted, and even then, he's been a brooding presence, his mood as dark as the chamber's corners.

But it wasn’t a complete waste of time. He has acquired something of interest—a half-breed. A curiosity. Unlike any other vampire he's encountered, this one has an intriguing scent, something different, something he can't quite place. It's piqued his interest, which is rare.

Zarok drags his new acquisition through the threshold of his stronghold, their feet stumbling over the uneven stone. The fortress is as foreboding as its master, dark and imposing, a labyrinth of cold halls and hidden chambers. He enjoys the feel of the rough-hewn stone under his feet as he leads them to his quarters

Inside his chambers, the light is dim, cast by a few flickering torches that only emphasize the shadows. He gives them a rough shove, sending them stumbling into the room. His hand lingers for a moment, ruffling their hair in a gesture that is more possessive than affectionate. He steps around them, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

"Stay put, pet," he orders, his voice a low growl that brooks no disobedience. He enjoys the power in those words, the way they command compliance. This new acquisition is beautiful, yes, but it's the enigma of their scent that holds his attention. There's something else there, beneath the surface.

Ah, this little vampire is half human.