Reincarnated as the Vampire Princess' Familiar
Chapter 31 - 30 - In Sasha’s clutches

Chapter 31: 30 - In Sasha’s clutches

With slowness and a certain composure, the spectators file out of the stands in neat rows—a level of order I’m completely unaccustomed to. Back in my soccer days, the bleachers would empty in a chaotic stampede, reminiscent of the frantic crowds in Pamplona fleeing the running of the bulls. Even Levreshka departs from the Valakys family’s privileged seating, her irritation plain on her face—whether it’s due to my presence or her frustration at having missed the chance to fully enjoy a fight between mere humans, I can’t say. She mutters under her breath about the necessity of implementing serious measures to curb the growth of familiars’ strength before vanishing from sight.

As the last of the spectators vanish, only Sasha and I remain, still seated in our respective spots. Her seat is slightly behind mine, placing her just outside my line of sight. I can’t see her face, and fear keeps me from turning around. The silence between us is thick, suffocating, but she is the one to break it.

«I assume you understand why Daphne told you to stay put.» Her voice carries the same sadistic, almost malicious edge I had glimpsed in her smile just moments ago. The sound alone sends a cold shiver crawling down my spine.

«Y-Yeah...» I struggle to maintain some semblance of composure, but my voice gives me away—I even stutter. «She said... you wanted to talk to me about something...»

The faint scrape of her chair shifting backward tells me she has risen to her feet. A moment later, her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. The instant her fingers make contact, a violent shudder runs down my spine, and I can’t stop myself from trembling.

«Why are you afraid of me, Lyon? Have I ever given you a reason to be?» Sasha’s voice is soft, almost coaxing—meant to soothe. But instead, it only tightens the knot of fear in my stomach. She may have never harmed me directly, but the stories about her—the merciless and humiliating torment she inflicts on poor Dorje, Daphne’s grim warnings about her manipulative nature—are more than enough to justify my fear.

In the blink of an eye, my surroundings shift. Suddenly, I find myself standing in what is unmistakably... a bedroom? Wait—could this be Sasha’s bedroom?

Ayra’s room is a stark, gothic chamber, its furnishings austere and dominated by deep blacks, evoking the feel of a medieval fortress. Sasha’s, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. It looks less like the quarters of a noble vampire and more like the messy, overindulgent bedroom of a teenager... a rather perverted teenager, at that.

The walls are covered in a chaotic collage of posters, all depicting male vampires—easily identifiable by their scarlet eyes—completely naked and engaged in explicit homosexual or submissive acts. Scattered across her lavish bed and the floor are dozens of sex toys, some so bizarre in shape that I can’t even begin to fathom how they’re meant to be used.

At first, I feel nothing but deep embarrassment. But that fleeting discomfort quickly warps into something far more sinister—pure terror. My gaze drifts toward the darkest corner of the enormous room—twice the size of Ayra’s—and what I see there makes my stomach churn.

Lined up on the wall like grotesque keychains are countless torture instruments—some traditional, the kind used in past eras, others so twisted and nightmarish that, thankfully, no human mind has ever had the misfortune of inventing them. Dried blood still clings to most of them, a grim testament to their use. The sight alone sends a wave of nausea crashing over me, but somehow, I manage to suppress the urge to vomit.

Through all of this, Sasha remains perfectly still, lost in silent contemplation in front of a massive wardrobe overflowing with clothes. The sheer malice that saturates this room is overwhelming, clouding my thoughts to the point that I take a moment to process something I should have noticed immediately—Sasha is no longer wearing the short, low-cut red dress from earlier.

Instead, she now stands clad in nothing but lingerie so sheer it might as well not be there at all. The sight—her near-naked figure fully exposed—affects me more than I care to admit. No matter how desperately I try to look away, my gaze is inexorably drawn to her firm, voluptuous backside.

Damn teenage hormones. They refuse to cut me any slack, even in a situation as nerve-wracking as this.

«Back when you were alive, before you died... did you fuck?»

Sasha’s question is thrown at me so casually, so nonchalantly, that for a second, I wonder if I misheard her. But no—her tone is perfectly serious, even if it stands in jarring contrast to the intimacy of what she just asked.

«Y-Y-Yeah... well, I... I have a few times...» My voice wavers, my face burning hotter than ever. I’m not lying; being the captain of the soccer team, reasonably good-looking, and naturally sociable, I’ve always had some success with girls. Of course, I’m still only sixteen, so it’s not like I’ve had any wild or unforgettable experiences... but yeah, I’ve had my fair share.

«I figured. It’d be pretty strange if a delicious little treat like you had gone without.»

Sasha’s comment is crude, completely unbecoming of a princess, yet she delivers it with absolute nonchalance while rummaging through her wardrobe. «That means you know at least a thing or two about women. Good. Tonight, there’s an important royal ball at the castle’s main hall, and I refuse to lose to Daphne again!»

«A... royal ball?» I echo, blinking in confusion. «I didn’t know anything about it...»

«And why would you? Humans aren’t invited!» she replies, pulling out two dresses with a huff. «Every year, the ball is held to commemorate the founding of the kingdom of Mildelar by our glorious ancestor, Lucypher Valakys. At the end of the event, the most beautiful noble vampire is crowned. Daphne has won for years, and it pisses me off to no end! How the hell do those brainless troglodytes keep choosing her over me?! I’m obviously more attractive, and yet, not only do I never win—I’m not even considered a contender!»

It doesn’t exactly shock me that Daphne’s elegance and refinement have consistently overshadowed Sasha’s blatant vulgarity... but I’d be a fool to say that out loud unless I have a death wish.

Sasha suddenly turns toward me, her expression far too irritated for something so trivial. But whatever indignation I expect from her quickly takes a backseat as my brain short-circuits at the sight of her ridiculously large breasts, barely contained—if at all—by a practically non-existent bra.

In her hands, she impatiently brandishes two dresses for me to inspect. One is a delicate white gown adorned with intricate lace, while the other glimmers with golden sequins.

«Since apparently no one appreciates my exquisite sense of style—which, by the way, perfectly enhances my flawless body—I’ll let you choose!»

You’ve got to be kidding me. This is the all-important issue she needed to discuss? Acting as her personal fashion consultant?

Well... as absurd as it is, I guess it’s better than what I feared. For a moment, I had braced myself for something far more disturbing, but if all she wants is outfit advice, I suppose I can breathe a little easier.

«Well, um... I’d have to see them on you to judge properly...» I murmur, treading carefully, choosing my words with surgical precision—one wrong move, and this crazy pervert might just lose her temper.

«Oh, yes, of course... you’re absolutely right.» Her immediate agreeableness takes me aback. It seems her vanity outweighs even her sadistic tendencies—at least for now.

One after another, she tries on both dresses, parading in front of me—an unapologetic display that makes it harder and harder to keep my gaze in check. I won’t deny it; despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, my eyes become increasingly fixated on her body, to the point that the torture devices and obscene objects littering the room start fading into the background...

And now... how the hell am I supposed to tell her she looks like a high-end escort straight out of one of New York’s seediest brothels?

«You still haven’t told me how I look!» Sasha presses, her gaze taking on a decidedly dangerous edge.

«Well, um...» I stall, buying myself a few extra seconds to carefully pick my words. «Wouldn’t it be a good idea to... maybe consider a change of style?»

«Are you saying I’m ugly?!» she snaps, her irritation escalating by the second as her fists clench and her teeth grind audibly.

«N-No! Absolutely not! You’re gorgeous, I swear!» I blurt out, arms flailing in sheer panic.

«It’s just that... you yourself said that the nobility lacks the refined taste to fully appreciate your undeniably flawless sense of style.» My sarcasm is barely veiled, yet somehow, I make it sound convincing. «Maybe—just this once—you should try to meet them halfway. Wear something a bit more in line with what the other noblewomen traditionally wear.»

Against all odds, I somehow manage to talk my way out of this unscathed. Honestly? I’m a little proud of myself.

«Wearing a traditional dress like any other noble vampire, hmm...»

Sasha’s expression grows visibly pensive as she paces back and forth in front of her massive wardrobe, which spans the entire length of the side wall—easily over twenty meters long. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sasha owns more clothes than all her sisters combined. It’s ironic, really, considering she rarely even wears physical garments, relying instead on the conjured creations of her Sanguis magic. She must have a serious shopping addiction.

After what feels like an eternity of searching, Sasha suddenly exclaims, «How lucky! Two years ago, my father forced me to wear this hideous thing for Clotilde’s wedding. It’s absolutely disgusting, does nothing to flatter me, and is completely out of fashion—in other words, it’s perfect!»

Clotilde’s wedding...? That gorilla actually found a husband? I wonder which of the two plays the man in the relationship...

The dress she holds up is an emerald-green gown—long enough to reach her ankles, with an elegant side slit that reveals part of her right thigh. The fabric is embroidered with delicate golden floral patterns, fully closed at the front yet surprisingly loose around the chest area. Every detail of this dress is the complete antithesis of Sasha’s usual bold, provocative style.

And honestly? She’s right—it doesn’t really suit her. Or maybe I just can’t imagine her in anything that doesn’t look like it belongs to a nightclub performer.

That said, this is the only remotely decent dress she owns, so it’s not like she has much of a choice.

«I really hope those senile fools on the jury appreciate the sacrifice I, the magnificent Sasha Valakys—the most beautiful woman in all of Mildelar—am making by wearing such a monstrosity tonight...» she sighs, visibly dejected.

With little hesitation, she hurriedly peels off the gown as though merely having it on offended her very existence, then carelessly tosses it onto a nearby armchair. The moment her gaze meets mine again, that smile—the one that sends an icy shiver crawling down my spine—slowly takes shape on her lips.

Without warning, crimson chains burst forth from the quilt beneath me—the very bed she sat me on the moment we teleported. They coil around my ankles and wrists in an instant, yanking me backward until my back is pinned flat against the mattress.

With effortless ease, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting it slip down to her feet. A moment later, her panties follow, pooling silently on the floor.

She now stands before me, completely bare, save for a faint trace of red fuzz veiling her intimate areas. «And now... let’s get to the real reason I asked Daphne to leave us alone.»