Chapter 5-Slave wakes up the wolf
Vincent POV
I was also taken aback.
I never anticipated someone crawling out from under my dining table like a rogue.
In my surprise, I accidentally knocked over the milk jug.
Just moments ago, I had been inspecting it. Linda must have tampered with it and then orchestrated the ballet dancer's seduction.
On the spiral staircase in the study, I tripped that disgraceful woman, and she tumbled all the way down, her face covered in blood, with a broken nose.
No, first I should call the private doctor to come over.
No, no, no. The most pressing issue was the small rogue standing in front of me, soaked in milk, with untidy black hair.
"Why are you here?" I squatted down, my voice low and hoarse, suppressing my anger, sounding like a hissing snake.
"I picked the lock... and climbed in through the window," rogue replied. lucca knew that if she betrayed Rino once, she would never receive help from him again. She had to keep the secret.
I didn't have the patience to talk to her. I pointed my cane towards the main entrance.
"Get out."
The rogue hurriedly crawled out from under the table. She was drenched, and walking straight into the freezing outdoor temperature, close to sub-zero, would surely lead to her freezing to death.
She hesitated in front of the main entrance for a moment.
"Get out of here quickly!" I followed closely behind her, tapping the ground near her feet with my cane, as if reprimanding a disobedient pet.
To my surprise, the rogue seemed to struggle with controlling her anger. "Move your cane away, you wicked wolf!" she turned around and angrily retorted at me.
"What did you just call me?" I raised my family heirloom, the majestic platinum wolf head cane, which represented my status and power.
My hand trembled with anger.
"What did you say?"
"Wicked wolf... Ah!" Lucca winced, covering her arm in pain.
I struck her with my cane. A distinct red mark quickly appeared on her skin.
Regret flooded through me faster than the crimson mark on her skin spread. This was a treasured family heirloom! How could I... how could I allow it to touch that despicable, vile... black-haired rogue!
I furrowed my brow, feeling both disgust and remorse as I looked at my cane.
The rogue swiftly cursed under her breath, "I'm leaving! You can spend the rest of your life as a mummified wolf in this beautiful coffin!" Unable to resist, I struck her once again.
"Ah!" she yelped in pain, but the sound she made had a peculiar quality to it. It carried a subtle sense of pleasure, reminiscent of someone in the throes of passion. It was then that she realized her body felt unusually warm.
She only realized at that moment that her body was growing increasingly hot.
She had no strength left. It felt as if she had ingested some sort of "substance."
Lucca crossed one hand over her chest, too afraid to lift her head.
She would rather freeze to death outside than let the white aristocrat see her in such a helpless state.
Trembling, she attempted to open the door, but her hands lacked even an ounce of strength.
Witnessing her feeble attempts to open the door infuriated me.
"Move aside!"
I had no desire to get close, let alone touch the door that had been tainted by the rogue's presence.
I used my cane to push the rogue aside, then pressed down on the latch and opened the door.
"Step outside," I commanded.
The rogue didn't move forward. She felt as if her head was burning, her mind hazy and sluggish. She needed some support, so she instinctively reached out and grabbed hold of my cane.
I noticed her slender, pale fingers wrapping around the golden cane. Lucca gradually leaned on it, suppressing her discomfort with a muted hum.
I realized what the problem was.
"You dare to steal from me!"
I angrily yanked my cane back, snatching it from her grip.
No wonder the milk in the jug had significantly dwindled. The insolent and mocking rogue who had been so brazen moments ago now lay speechless on the ground, curled up in a pitiful and helpless state, trembling. It brought me a slight sense of satisfaction.
"Feeling uncomfortable, are we?" I prodded her with the cane, but she showed no response, clutching herself tightly.
"Once I throw you into the snowy expanse, you'll naturally calm down." My tone was gentle, lazy, and nonchalant, quite unlike my usual self.
Yet, I remained oblivious to the change. Besides, I didn't actually open the door to throw Lucca into the snow.
"Why aren't you talking anymore? Weren't you so spirited just now?" Still unwilling to touch her, I switched the orientation of the cane, using the curved beak of the wolf's head to lift her disheveled hair, revealing her struggling and resentful expression.
Her cheeks were flushed, and a hint of confusion lingered beneath her dark eyes. There was a trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.
I noticed she was biting her tongue. "Release it," I furrowed my brow, "Don't die in my castle. Get out of here."
The rogue stared back at me, her gaze cold. Within her eyes, there was both hatred and a desire to struggle in the quagmire.
My vision darkened as if engulfed in flames.
I stared intensely into the vast expanse of shimmering silver and white.
When our eyes locked, a peculiar impulse seduced me. It was a terrifying amalgamation of anger and repulsion, an indescribable surge of horror that gradually overwhelmed my sanity.
I was acutely aware that certain errors were brewing.
Yet, I couldn't restrain myself. A sudden chill coursed through Lucca's body.
With the tip of my cane, I traced the contours of her form, descending along her arm. Towering above her, my gaze possessed a piercing scrutiny, akin to that of an executioner awaiting the final blow.
My silver mane cascaded like a descending guillotine—sharp, cold, and merciless. My grip tightened, my fingertips blanching. I brought the cane tantalizingly close to rogue's body, hesitating, undecided whether to make contact.
Uncertainty lingered in my actions. "You can plead with me," I murmured, my voice low and subdued. I was unaware of the words escaping my lips.
At this moment, what I truly needed was a physician, not to waste time with this insignificant rogue lingering at my doorstep.
"Spit," the rogue retorted, contempt dripping from her voice.
That wretched impulse erupted within me. I struck out at her with the cane, unleashing my frustration.
The cane in my hand boasted countless exquisite, intricate carvings. Its platinum body shimmered, adorned with a diverse array of gemstones, creating a surface that was both uneven and chilling to the touch.
Feeling the coolness emanating from the cane, the rogue unconsciously pressed herself against it, seeking some relief.
"Little harlot," I sneered, my brow furrowed in disdain, using derogatory language that seldom escaped my lips.