Bride of the vampire

"Did you miss me, princess?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine affection.

"It's nice to see you again." he added, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Crystal was taken aback, her mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. She couldn't believe the impact he still had on her, even after all this time.

Damien moved closer. The warmth of his presence enveloped her, reminding her of the comfort she used to find in his touch.

He gently pulled her closer, his hand resting on

her waist. "You didn't answer me, princess," he said, a playful wink accompanying his words.

His touch sent shivers down her spine, but there was something different about it this time. It wasn't just the physical sensation, but a deeper connection that made her heart race and her breath catch.

Crystal couldn't help but notice the change in him. His touch, once a source of solace, now held a hint of vulnerability and uncertainty.

His eyes gleamed with a chilling intensity, and a mischievous smirk played on his lips. But there was something missing, a spark that used to ignite when he looked at her, and the way his eyes changed when he touched her. It left her feeling an unfamiliar sense of fear.

"You smell absolutely divine. Now, let's see your performance," Damien said, settling himself on the edge of the bed.

Her blood seemed to drive him to the brink of madness. If he took one more whiff of her intoxicating scent, he feared he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to drain her completely. "Performance? What are you talking about?." she asked, her confusion evident.

Damien simply nodded, his expression cryptic.

"How dare you ask me to dance? After abandoning me for three long weeks, all you have to say is 'start dancing'?" Crystal's voice rose with anger as she grabbed him by the collar.

A coldness washed over Damien's face, his smirk fading into a steely resolve.

"If it weren't for my aversion to harming innocent and unsuspecting individuals, I would have taken offence to your audacity and dealt with you accordingly," he said, forcefully removing her hands from his collar.

"I... I have been waiting for you, Damien. I was worried that something terrible had happened to you. I searched everywhere..."

"Women can be so emotional, can't they?" Damien grumbled, his tone filled with frustration.

"I paid for you to dance, not to give me a lecture, baby girl."

"Am I your boyfriend? Did I ever confess my love for you? Were you in love with me?" he yelled, his anger escalating.

"I have been betrayed by someone I trusted. I can't risk going through that again. You were never in love with me, so why are you crying, princess?" he said, approaching her and gently lifting her face.

"All I wanted was to see you dance, but instead, you've only frustrated me with your tears," he added, his voice softening.

"I will leave now, but expect me tomorrow," he said, giving her a wink before walking away.

Crystal was left alone on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Immediately after Damien left the club, he received a call from Max, who informed him that there was a spy in the warehouse. "What? A spy?" Damien exclaimed.

"How is that possible?"

"Yes, boss. We have them in the torture room," Max replied.

"Them? There is more than one?" Damien smirked.

"I will be there soon," he said before hanging up.

It had been a while since Damien had killed someone.

****

Damien's eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he watched the spies squirm in agony. The room was filled with the sickening sound of their cries, echoing off the cold, damp walls. The air was heavy with the scent of fear and desperation. He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with venom. "I'll ask you one more time. Who sent you?" His words hung in the air, a menacing threat that sent shivers down their spines.

The spies, their faces contorted with pain, still refused to answer. Damien's patience wore thin, his anger boiling over. He motioned to his men, who swiftly brought forth a toolbox filled with an array of sinister tools.

With a wicked grin, Damien selected a small, blunt knife. He ran his finger along the blade, testing its sharpness. A twisted satisfaction washed over him as he felt the slight sting of the blade against his own skin, knowing that his wounds would heal instantly.

In one swift motion, Damien plunged the knife deep into the spies' thighs, relishing in their agonized screams. Blood trickled down their legs, staining the floor a dark, ominous red. But still, they remained defiant, their lips sealed shut. Unfazed by their resistance, Damien continued his sadistic assault, repeatedly slicing into their flesh. The room reverberated with their cries, a symphony of pain that fueled his twisted pleasure.

But Damien wasn't finished yet. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a mysterious substance, its appearance deceivingly innocent. As he poured it onto the spies' open wounds

their screams intensified, their bodies convulsing in torment.

The room became a chamber of horrors, a place where pain and suffering reigned supreme. Damien reveled in the power he held over these spies, relishing in their helplessness. He knew that eventually, they would break. And when they did, he would finally have the answers he sought.

As the cries of the spies filled the room, Damien's sadistic smile widened. He had a reputation to uphold, and no one dared to cross him without facing the consequences. The torture room was his domain, and he would stop at nothing to extract the information he desired.

Damien's smile widened, a twisted satisfaction coursing through his veins. These spies had dared to infiltrate his own warehouse, a blatant display of disrespect and audacity. How dare they?

His eyes gleamed with a mix of anger and amusement as he reached for another tool, a sinister glint in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he approached

the second spy, who trembled invisibly under Damien's gaze.

"I will talk, I will talk," the spy stammered, fear etched across his face. His eyes pleaded for mercy, a desperate plea for his life.

"You took too long, it's too late now," Damien sneered, dipping the pliers he had retrieved from the toolbox into the spy's mouth. The metallic taste of fear filled the air, a sickening reminder of the power Damien held over these traitors. "Don!" the spy managed to gasp, his voice strained and desperate.

"Don sent us, please don't kill me," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

Damien's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Don?" he repeated, searching the faces of

his men for answers. But they too were clueless, shaking their heads in ignorance.

"Who is Don?" Damien demanded, his voice laced with frustration and curiosity.

The spy's eyes darted nervously, his fear palpable. "I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice trembling. "He's the one who gave us the orders."

Damien's grip tightened on the pliers, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Where is Max?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"He said he had some important work to attend to," Simon, one of Damien's loyal men, responded, bowing his head in deference.

"Seems like Max has gotten a bit too comfortable as my right-hand man," Damien seethed, his voice filled with venom. "Who is he to think he can prioritise his own tasks over mine?".

"When Max gets back, Take him to the dungeon immediately and lock him up until he kills the monster within," Damien ordered, his voice cold and unforgiving. "No weapons, no bloodshed. Let him face his own demons."

"And as for this so-called Don," Damien continued, his eyes narrowing with determination, "I want every detail about him. Find out who he is, where he comes from, and what he wants."

"Yes, boss," his men chorused in unison, their loyalty unwavering.

With a final glance at the spy, Damien turned and walked out of the torture room. Gunshots echoed in the distance, a chilling reminder of the fate that awaited those who dared to cross him.