Chapter 18
The quiet room was filled with a soft, wet sound.
Anyone hearing it might imagine something intimate — the kind of sound that would come from lips against bare, damp skin in a shared bed.
And indeed, Agnès could not help thinking the same. Her face was tense, her throat dry — she couldn’t even swallow.
Dylan’s cool breath gradually warmed as life returned to his body, and Agnès’s slender neck trembled slightly.
As he drank from her wrist, Dylan suddenly realized how stiff she had become. In his earlier hunger, he hadn’t noticed.
When he finally lifted his lips away from her skin, Agnès let out a quiet sigh of relief and tried to smile, though it came out weak.
“You look better now. I’m so glad.”
Even as she spoke, her face still looked uneasy.
Dylan didn’t blame her. No matter how kind Agnès was, it was only natural to feel some fear toward a man who survived by drinking blood.
He pulled back slightly — and that’s when he noticed the faint bruise forming around her wrist.
“It seems this is still too hard on your body.”
“Ah, this? It’ll fade soon! Thanks to Your Grace’s care, I have good ointment to use.”
“Even so—”
“I promise, I’m fine. If it worries you that much, we can take turns — left arm, right arm!”
She laughed lightly and held out her unmarked arm. Her golden eyes, clear and unafraid, met his.
So then… why did her expression seem so uncomfortable just moments ago?
Was it really just from pain?
Feeling his steady gaze, Agnès lowered her eyes. She knew he was trying to read her — wondering what was wrong — but under that polite, serious gaze, she couldn’t bring herself to explain.
It wasn’t fear or pain that unsettled her.
No — it was him.
Because whenever Dylan fed, something about him changed.
In those moments, even just meeting his eyes made her face burn hot. His crimson gaze brimmed with hunger — desperate, aching, almost sorrowful — and it pulled at something inside her she didn’t understand.
Yet, before every feeding, his gestures were always graceful — like a gentleman asking a lady to dance.
But once his lips touched her skin, everything changed.
The polite nobleman disappeared, leaving only a fierce predator.
His sharp fangs sank into her soft arm, and his tongue traced the blood that welled up. The damp sound that followed sent shivers up her spine.
“Ah…”
The involuntary noise escaped her lips, and when she flinched, his strong arm caught her around the waist, holding her in place.
His red eyes met hers — and in that instant, she felt like a small animal caught in the jaws of a beast.
She trembled as if she were a deer trapped beneath a hunter’s paw.
Then Dylan lowered his head again, pressing his mouth against her wrist, drinking deeply.
Each wet sound filled the quiet room, each one making Agnès’s heart pound faster.
She turned her head away, unable to look at him — but doing so only made her more aware of him: his scent, his warmth, the subtle rise of his temperature as he fed.
Finally, after what felt like forever, there was a soft click — his lips pulling free.
Whether he noticed her flustered state or pretended not to, his voice was calm as ever.
“I’ll have to find better medicine. Alternating arms will only work for a while. And your meals — I’ll see that they’re more nourishing.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
Even after feeding, Dylan remained every bit the perfect gentleman — composed, respectful, kind.
He probably didn’t realize how he looked when he fed. Hunger must have clouded his memory of it.
Agnès didn’t want to embarrass him, so she said nothing.
Instead, she changed the subject with a gentle smile.
“By the way, did the letter to Noah arrive safely? You’ve been so busy, I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble. You have every right to ask.”
“Still, I don’t want to interrupt your work.”
“I’m not so incompetent that one question a day would disrupt my schedule.”
He arched an eyebrow, sounding faintly offended, and Agnès had to bite back a laugh. His pride was oddly endearing — so different from her former husband.
Rickman Overhan had hated being interrupted while working. He would scold her for knocking on his office door, insisting that “a good wife doesn’t disturb her husband at work.”
Ironically, he was also the one who demanded she report every household decision to him — even the smallest.
Agnès had known it was unfair. But she also knew her position.
After all, she hadn’t truly married Rickman — she had been purchased by him. So she endured.
He’d called her obedience devotion, and she’d smiled because she had no choice.
If Dylan had known her back then, what would he have done?
He was observant — he would have noticed her quiet resignation. And then, gently but persistently, he would have tried to draw out the truth and fix what was wrong.
A soft laugh escaped her at the thought.
Startled by her own voice, she quickly pressed her lips together.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ah—nothing! I wasn’t laughing.”
“Lady Agnès.”
He said her name with that calm firmness of his while dabbing her arm with a handkerchief.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
“You’re too lovely for your own good. When you smile, it’s impossible not to notice.”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, your smile stands out. It suits you.”
Her eyes widened, and she instinctively covered her mouth — but her reddened cheeks, nose, and ears betrayed her completely.
Seeing her reaction, Dylan flustered for once and leaned back a little.
“Was that improper of me?”
“N-no! Not at all. We are… engaged, after all.”
“We’re hardly a typical couple. Exceptions are to be expected. But if it made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“No, really! I just… wasn’t used to hearing that.”
Agnès pulled her hand from his, pressing both palms against her flushed cheeks.
“I’m sorry for laughing earlier. It’s just — I was happy. You’ve kept your promise to help me, and that means so much. Oh! About the letter — did Noah receive it?”
“Yes. It was delivered successfully.”
“Truly?”
Her eyes lit up, glowing with pure joy. The sight of it made Dylan smile despite himself.
“Yes. The letter was returned afterward, but the boy wrote a short reply for you.”
For a moment, Agnès forgot to breathe.
Just knowing that Noah had seen her letter would have been enough — but a reply?
Dylan reached into his coat and drew out a small envelope. Agnès immediately extended both hands, and he set it gently in her palms.
His tone softened, as if to warn her kindly.
“Judging by the thickness, it isn’t very long. Don’t expect too much.”
“That’s all right.”
“He’s still young — he might not have understood everything you wrote.”
“It’s fine!”
“According to his tutor—”
“Everything’s fine, Your Grace!”
Clutching the letter to her chest, she nodded again and again, beaming. Whatever he said didn’t matter. She already had what she wanted.
To Dylan, though, it looked as if she were telling him to stop talking so she could read it faster — which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth.
“We’re also investigating whether Count Overhan is truly fit to raise the boy. Once we know more, I’ll inform you. For now, please rest.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you — thank you so much!”
After he left, Agnès barely waited for the door to close before she sat on the edge of the bed and lit a candle.
Under the flickering light, she unfolded the letter.
Her eyes instantly recognized the handwriting.
Just that — the sight of those familiar strokes — made her throat tighten with tears.
But she forced herself to blink them back. She couldn’t risk smudging it.
Her trembling fingers brushed over the first line, tracing every letter as she began to read.
“To my beloved Mother,”
