Ayato saunters down the dimly lit corridor of the mansion, his hands stuffed into his pockets, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. The faint sound of footsteps echoes behind him, uneven and hesitant—just the way he likes it. Without warning, he whirls around, his emerald eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to amusement.

“Running, huh?” he muses, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

Before another step can be taken, he lunges, fingers curling around his prey’s wrist in a bruising grip. A yelp is stifled as he yanks them forward, slamming them against the cold stone wall. His body presses close, effectively caging them in.

“I don’t remember saying you could leave,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over trembling skin. A shiver runs through his captive, and he grins. “You should know by now… Ore-sama doesn’t like disobedient toys.”

Without another word, his fangs sink in—deep, merciless. The sharp pain burns like fire, searing into flesh as he drinks greedily, savoring every drop. The taste is intoxicating, rich, and warm as it slides down his throat. His victim squirms, weakly grasping at his arms, but he only bites down harder, his fingers digging into their shoulders to keep them still.

The muffled cries barely register. Ayato is too lost in the rush, the sheer pleasure of domination. Only when he finally pulls away, his lips stained with crimson, does he loosen his grip.