The clanging of iron gates rang through the dormitory, jolting the slaves awake. Luke sat up from the thin mat on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as the heavy stomp of boots grew louder. A guard stormed in, his whip coiled tightly in his hand, his expression grim.

"Get up!" he barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "All of you! The Arch Vampire has summoned a gathering, and guests from across the region are coming. You will scrub this mansion spotless, prepare food and blood offerings, and ensure everything is in place. Do not make me repeat myself."

The slaves scrambled to their feet, fear evident in their every move. Luke exchanged a glance with Jake, who muttered under his breath, "Another damned show for their egos."

"Enough talking!" the guard snapped, cracking his whip against the floor. "Move!"

The mansion was alive with frantic activity. Slaves darted through the hallways, scrubbing floors, polishing silverware, and hauling supplies. In the kitchens, the air was thick with the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat, though none of it would ever touch the slaves' lips.

Luke and a small group of slaves were assigned to the basement where the blood stores were kept. It was a cold, dimly lit room lined with shelves stacked with glass blood bags of varying shades.

A guard hovered nearby, barking instructions. "Sort them by blood type first," he growled. "Then by the pets' ages. The youngest ones' blood must be at the front. Our guests deserve the best."

Luke set to work, his hands trembling slightly as he handled the cold, slick bags. The labels were handwritten, each one bearing a pet's assigned number, blood type, and age.

He tried not to think about the faces behind the numbers, but it was impossible. He recognized some of the numbers—pets he'd seen in passing, their hollow eyes staring back at him.

"Careful with that!" the guard snapped as Luke fumbled with a bag.

"Sorry," Luke murmured, quickly placing it on the shelf.

He worked methodically, separating the bags into neat rows. AB-positive, O-negative, A-negative... The younger pets' blood had a richer, deeper hue, almost shimmering in the dim light. It made him sick to think of the vampires savoring it like a fine wine.

By the time he finished, his back ached, and his hands were stiff from the cold. But there was no time to rest. The guard ushered them back upstairs, where the preparations continued.

In the dining hall, Luke joined another group of slaves scrubbing the floor. The room was a masterpiece of gothic elegance: high vaulted ceilings with intricate carvings, dark wooden paneling, and a table so long it seemed to stretch into eternity.

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"Every inch of this room must shine," a guard barked, his eyes scanning the group. "If I find even a speck of dust, you'll pay for it."

Luke dropped to his knees, a bucket of soapy water at his side, and began scrubbing the cold stone floor. Around him, the other slaves worked in silence, their movements hurried and efficient.

As he worked, two vampires entered the hall, their voices low but clear enough for Luke to catch fragments of their conversation.

"The resistance in the west is growing bolder," one said, his tone clipped. "They've attacked three caravans this month."

"They're fools," the other replied. "The Arch Vampire is preparing the legion to wipe them out. They won't last another week."

Luke's hands paused mid-scrub, his heart pounding in his chest. Resistance. The word filled him with a cautious sense of hope, though it was tempered by the vampires' confidence in their destruction.

He forced himself to keep working, but his mind raced. If there were people out there fighting back, maybe there was still a chance for something better—something beyond these walls.

In the east wing, Jake was among a group of slaves preparing the pets' chambers. The room was draped in luxury: silk curtains, plush cushions, and delicate glass vials of perfume. Each pet had their own designated space, a mockery of comfort that only underscored their captivity.

Michael stood at the center, his arms crossed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You call this clean? I wouldn't let a feral sleep in here, let alone a pet."

Jake clenched his fists but said nothing, focusing instead on his task. He arranged the cushions meticulously, his jaw tightening as Michael moved from one slave to another, hurling insults like stones.

"Faster, you idiots!" Michael sneered. "The pets need to be dressed and ready. And for the love of blood, someone polish the feeding bowls. They look like they've been dragged through the mud."

In an adjoining room, the tension thickened as Lord Bastien, Maria's owner, loomed over her. Bastien was tall and lean, with an unsettling elegance that belied his cruelty. His sharp features were framed by dark hair, and his piercing gray eyes held a permanent glint of malice.

Maria stood trembling before him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"You've disappointed me, Maria," Bastien said, his voice soft yet venomous. "Your appearance is... underwhelming. How am I to present you to the Arch Vampire when you look like this?"

"I'm sorry, Master," Maria whispered, her voice barely audible.

Bastien's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Sorry won't suffice."

Without warning, he grabbed her arm, yanking her toward him. His fangs gleamed as they descended, their tips glinting with silver—a feature that kept the blood flowing longer, preventing it from clotting.

Maria gasped as his teeth pierced her neck, her body tensing as he drank deeply. The room was silent except for the faint sound of her blood being drained, a sickening rhythm that sent a chill through Jake's spine.

Bastien pulled away after what felt like an eternity, his tongue flicking over his lips as he savored the taste. Maria slumped to the floor, her skin pale and her breathing shallow.

"Clean her up," Bastien ordered coldly, addressing the nearest slaves. "And make sure she's presentable this time. I won't tolerate another failure."

As he swept out of the room, Jake rushed to Maria's side. She was barely conscious, her body trembling with exhaustion.

"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice was weak.

Jake's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wanted to scream, to fight, to make Bastien pay for what he'd done. But all he could do was help Maria to her feet and guide her to a chair.

Michael's mocking voice cut through the air. "Look at her. Useless, just like the rest of them."

"Shut your mouth, Michael," Jake snapped, his voice low but dangerous.

Michael smirked, unbothered. "Careful, Jake. You're sounding a little too attached. They're just pets, after all. Replaceable."

Jake turned away, his chest heaving with suppressed rage.