The Villains Must Win-Chapter 342: Alistair Cain 2

Alistair glided more than walked—tall, lean, broad-shouldered, his presence sharp as a blade drawn in moonlight. His long dark hair fell like a shadow over the stark amber glow of his eyes.

Beautiful, yes. Almost ethereal.

But there was nothing soft about him.

Selene thought, fleetingly:

He might be the villain.

But then again—in this place, with these monsters—

he might not be the only one with amber eyes.

He reached the head of the table and sat with the elegance of someone born to command. His expression held no curiosity, no hunger, no interest in the trembling women before him. He did not even glance at their pale faces or their prettiness.

If anything, he seemed bored.

Disinterested.

As though all this was routine.

Still, the fear in the maidens’ eyes deepened whenever their gaze strayed to him.

Fear and... fascination.

Even terror bowed to beauty, it seemed.

Alistair lifted his gaze at last—slowly, without hurry—and spoke a single word:

"Eat."

The sound of it rolled through the hall like a decree.

Vampiric maids moved silently, placing elegant porcelain dishes before them. Steam curled from bowls and platters—fragrant soups, roasted meats, vegetables glistening with butter, fruits gleaming like jewels under candlelight.

A feast fit for nobility.

Selene’s stomach betrayed her with a traitorous growl.

She hadn’t eaten properly since entering this cursed world.

Yet no one moved.

No spoon scraped.

No fork lifted.

Every maiden sat frozen, eyes flicking to their lord.

Selene forced herself to remain still too no matter how hungry she was she would faint.

Alistair picked up his utensils.

He ate with slow, refined elegance befitting of a noble.

Only when his teeth touched the food did the maidens dare to breathe again. One by one, with trembling hands, they lifted their utensils.

Selene exhaled in relief and dug in—carefully, not greedily, even though all she wanted was nothing but to devour all the food on the table.

Finally.

Food.

Warm food.

I ate like my life depended on it—because it did.

I needed strength, warmth, blood in my veins, anything that might help me survive whatever horrors the night would demand.

Who knew if I would be locked away again, starved for days, or dragged off as a midnight feast?

Better to fill myself now while I still had the chance.

The other women, however... they ate like frightened kittens on death row—nibbling, trembling, hands shaking so violently their spoons clattered against porcelain.

The food was exquisite—rich broths, tender meats, fruits that burst against the tongue.

Was it not to their liking? Or had fear stolen even their hunger?

"Eat."

Alistair’s voice sliced through the hall like a blade.

When he spoke again, his amber eyes narrowed to reptilian slits, glowing with a cold, ancient hunger.

"Eat," he repeated softly, dangerously. "Or must I feed you myself?"

A few women flinched so hard their utensils slipped from their fingers. Tears welled in their eyes as they forced themselves to swallow. Their bodies remembered something—some trauma Selene had not yet experienced.

Only the blonde woman remained composed, unshaken, eating with the grace of someone well accustomed to terror.

Something is wrong here, Selene thought.

Reverence, fear, fascination... and the trembling that bordered on panic.

What had these women endured?

After breakfast the maidens were herded back to their chambers, forbidden from wandering the mansion’s labyrinthine halls. The vampire servants were said to be... less disciplined.

Selene obeyed. For now.

But the confinement gnawed at her sanity—four cold stone walls, the ever-dripping rain outside, the oppressive silence of a house that never slept.

For days she saw Alistair only at meals. And each day, the number of women dwindled.

One vanished after breakfast.

Another after dinner.

Then two more disappeared without a trace.

New faces replaced them like fresh cattle brought for slaughter.

But one thing remained constant: the blonde woman, Caroline, was always present.

Untouched, and unbroken.

Why?

Selene took note. And waited.

On the fifth night, things changed.

The butler appeared at her door—cold, rigid, expression carved from marble.

"My Lord requests your presence."

That was it. They didn’t need her permission to enter.

His clap summoned rows upon rows of vampire maids. They swept into the room like a tide, their movements eerie and inhumanly synchronized.

Selene did not resist.

They undressed her, bathed her skin with perfumed water, combed her hair until it gleamed, painted her lips crimson, and adorned her in a gown of shadow-silk that clung to her form like liquid darkness. Jewels—cold as grave metal—were fastened around her throat and wrists.

She looked like an offering.

Or a sacrifice.

"Perfect," one maid whispered, though her eyes did not reflect admiration—only hunger.

Sensing their work was done, the butler gestured for Selene to follow.

The corridors they walked were winding and unfamiliar.

This was not the route to the dining hall.

Nor to the main quarters.

This was deeper—down stone steps slick with damp, past sconces burning with blue flame, past doors bolted shut with thick iron bands.

Selene’s pulse quickened.

Her breath frosted in the cold.

"Where are we going?" she asked softly.

The butler did not answer.

He stopped before a heavy iron door engraved with runes that pulsed faintly in the dark.

He turned the key once—twice—a third time.

The door groaned open.

And Selene realized, with sinking dread, that this was no bedroom.

This was a chamber beneath the mansion—private and forbidden—filled with ancient instruments of pain and pleasure, chains glinting like serpents in the candlelight, restraints carved with sigils, tables of obsidian polished smooth by centuries of use.

A torture room.

A place for fangs, pain, and pleasure.

A place where screams never escaped the thick stone walls.

Her heart thudded.

Her skin prickled.

Her instincts screamed.

"Enter," the butler commanded quietly. "Lord Alistair awaits."

Selene stepped inside.

Slowly.

Lifting her chin even as her pulse thundered.

So this is where the game begins, she thought.

And in the darkness of that chamber, lit only by flickering candles and cold moonlight leaking through a barred slit in the wall— 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Lord Alistair Cain waited for her.