Mated to the Mad Lord-Chapter 285: Something is wrong!

Violet’s breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as the air in the room thickened with unseen pressure. Her legs trembled, her back pressed firmly against the cold wall as Vazer inched closer, his blood-red eyes glimmering with unrestrained amusement.

"I must say," he mused, tilting his head, the smirk never leaving his lips, "I expected some resistance, but you’re frozen in place like a frightened little rabbit. How disappointing."

Violet’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something—but fear had wrapped itself around her throat, stealing any semblance of control.

"Where’s Cain?" she forced out, barely above a whisper.

Vazer’s smirk deepened, as if he relished the question. "Oh, he’s busy at the moment. Far too busy to come running to your rescue, I’m afraid."

His words dripped with mockery, but there was something beneath them—something dark and foreboding. She knew Cain was strong, knew he wouldn’t fall easily, but the way Vazer spoke, the confidence in his tone, made dread coil in her stomach.

"Stay away from me," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, Violet." Vazer sighed, closing the remaining distance between them in a blink. One moment, he was a few steps away, the next, his face loomed mere inches from hers. "You’re under the impression that you have a choice."

Before she could react, his hand shot out, fingers curling around her wrist like a steel shackle. She yelped, instinctively trying to yank away, but his grip was unyielding, cold as death itself.

A pulse of energy surged through her arm, a sensation so foreign and invasive that she gasped in shock. It was as though something unseen had latched onto her, coiling around her soul like chains tightening with each passing second.

Her knees buckled as an overwhelming weakness flooded her limbs. "W-What... are you doing?"

Vazer’s lips curled in satisfaction. "Binding you, of course."

Terror spiked in her chest. She didn’t understand the specifics of what he was doing, but she felt it—felt the suffocating force wrapping around her very essence. It was something unnatural, something wrong.

Violet tried to struggle, tried to pry his fingers from her wrist, but the more she fought, the heavier her body became. A sharp, searing pain bloomed where he held her, and she choked back a scream as intricate black markings snaked from his grip, winding up her forearm in twisting, curling patterns.

"No—No, stop!" Her voice broke as desperation clawed at her throat.

Vazer hummed, feigning consideration. "Hmm... no, I don’t think I will."

A cruel jolt of energy shot through her, and her vision blurred. A sickening dizziness swept over her, and she realized, with a sickening certainty, that she was losing—losing something vital.

Her strength.

Her will.

She barely registered it when Vazer pulled her closer, her body limp against his chest. "Shhh," he whispered mockingly, his hand rising to cradle the back of her head as though offering comfort. "It’s alright, Violet. You’ll get used to it."

Tears pricked her eyes, not from the pain, but from the crushing weight of helplessness. She had never felt this powerless—not even when facing other supernatural threats. This was different. This was possession, a force crawling into her very being, leeching away everything that was hers.

"You... won’t get away with this," she croaked.

Vazer chuckled, tilting her chin up so that she was forced to meet his gaze. "Oh, but I already have."

A final surge of power slammed into her, and her mind snapped. A sharp cry tore from her lips as the binding settled fully, locking into place like an unbreakable chain.

Her body slackened in Vazer’s grasp. Her breathing was shallow, her vision dark at the edges. The markings on her arm pulsed, searing into her skin like a permanent scar.

Vazer exhaled as if admiring his work. "There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

Violet’s head lolled to the side, her body unable to move at her command. She wasn’t unconscious, but it felt as if she had been drained of everything she was.

And there was no escaping it even as she watched Vazer tuck something into pocket something with enough runes that she was confident it belonged to a witch.

The world was a blur for a few minutes until it became clearer.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the environment around her had changed. The walls were no longer familiar. The warmth of her home was gone, replaced by something cold and foreign.

Her body felt... odd. Heavy, yet light at the same time. The sensation of the binding still lingered, a sinister presence curled inside her like a sleeping serpent.

She shifted slightly, wincing as soreness flared through her limbs. The surface beneath her was soft—velvet cushions, perhaps—but the moment she attempted to sit up, she found resistance.

Her wrists wouldn’t move.

A sharp inhale left her lips as she realized the truth. Chains.

Thick, rune-engraved chains coiled around her wrists and ankles, their dark metal pulsing faintly with an eerie glow.

"Ah, you’re awake."

Vazer’s voice rang through the dimly lit chamber. He lounged across an elegant chair a few feet away, one leg crossed over the other, swirling a glass of deep crimson liquid in his hand.

Violet swallowed hard, pushing down the residual terror that threatened to choke her. "Where... are we?"

Vazer gestured lazily around the room. "My Mansion."

Her stomach churned.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she tugged at the restraints. "Let me go."

Vazer arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You’re in no position to demand anything, dear Violet."

She gritted her teeth. "Cain will come for me."

At that, Vazer chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, I hope he does," he mused, tapping a finger against his glass. "I would love to see him try."

Violet glared at him, refusing to let her fear show, though her body betrayed her with the way her hands trembled against the chains.

Vazer leaned forward, his smirk softening into something more... unsettling. "But let’s not dwell on Cain. You are far more interesting at the moment."

He set his glass down, rising from his seat with a grace that spoke of centuries of control. Each step he took toward her was deliberate, calculated.

Violet’s breath hitched as he crouched before her, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. "You’re bound to me now, Violet," he murmured, his voice silk and steel. "Which means you belong to me."

Her stomach twisted. "Never."

Vazer chuckled again, but this time, there was something sharper beneath it. "You say that now..."

He tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light. "But let’s see how long that lasts."

A chill ran down Violet’s spine as the reality of her situation sank in. She was bound, trapped in an unfamiliar place, with a monster who had full control over her very soul.

And Cain—wherever he was—had no idea she was gone.

For the first time in a long while, true, unfiltered despair wrapped around her like a noose.

**********

The outside of the mansion was drenched in carnage.

Torn bodies littered the ground—some human, some monstrous. The scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with the dying embers of destroyed vehicles and shattered defenses.

The towering walls, once a symbol of security, now bore deep gashes from the violent skirmish.

Cain stood amidst it all, his beastly form still towering and tense. His golden eyes burned like molten fire, scanning the six vampire lords who faced him.

Though bloodied and bruised, they remained resolute, their postures still confident, still arrogant.

Dravile sneered, wiping blood from his jaw. "You’re stronger than I expected, Cain. But strength alone means nothing."

Rasha, ever poised, ran her claws along her forearm absentmindedly. "We were toying with you," she admitted with a smirk. "We didn’t think you’d last this long."

Cain’s claws twitched. His muscles ached, his healing factor working relentlessly, but he could tell—they weren’t even close to their limits yet.

Hayna’s daggers gleamed under the moonlight as she stepped forward. "You see, we like a challenge. You’re the famed Mad Beast, after all. Killing you easily would’ve been disappointing."

Javi cracked his knuckles, his gaze dark and hungry. "But I suppose it’s about time we stop holding back."

Cain’s hackles raised. He could feel the shift in the air. The momentary arrogance in their gazes faded, replaced with something else—true killing intent.

They had been testing him, gauging his strength, but now they were ready to end it.

The tension tightened like a noose, thick enough to choke.

Cain crouched lower, his instincts screaming. If they all went all out—if six vampire lords used their full strength—then even he wasn’t certain how much longer he could last.

And yet, just as his muscles coiled in preparation for their assault, something cold and dreadful seized his chest.

A scent.

Faint, almost lost amidst the battlefield’s chaos, but unmistakable.

Violet.

It was a scent he had memorized—subtle, warm, like wild jasmine laced with something uniquely hers. But now... now it was tainted with something else.

Fear.

His head snapped toward the mansion, golden eyes narrowing. She’s in danger.

And just like that, the battle before him no longer mattered.

Cain didn’t hesitate.

In a burst of motion, he turned and bolted.

"Running?!" Dravile barked, his voice edged with disbelief.

Hayna’s dagger whizzed past his shoulder, but Cain didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

"After him!" Rasha hissed.

The lords moved to pursue, but Cain was already gone, a streak of black fur tearing across the mansion grounds with inhuman speed. Dust and debris kicked up in his wake, the wind howling around him as he crossed the battlefield in seconds.

His chest was tight, his pulse hammering.

Something was wrong.

The doors of the mansion loomed ahead, slightly ajar. The faint scent of blood lingered in the air. Not his. Not the lords’.

Violet’s.

Cain’s stomach dropped.

Too slow.

He slammed into the doors with enough force to splinter them apart, the wood bursting inward as he dashed inside—

—only to be met with silence.

And the lingering trace of him.

Vazer.

Cain’s lips peeled back in a snarl.

He was too late.