Young Master Damien's Pet

Summary of the Young Master Damien's Pet

Picture this: a tense moment, thick with unspoken things. A voice comes through, low like someone just waking from a nightmare, but filled with danger you can practically feel vibrating off the walls. "Who laid a hand on you?" That's the question directed at her, pinned by those eyes that seemed carved from obsidian and cold fury.

She doesn't answer right away... okay? Maybe she freezes, maybe her mind is racing trying to figure out how much trouble *that* voice just revealed it was in. Whatever the reason, silence hangs there for a beat longer than usual before he erupts. The sound of his roar shaking the room feels heavier than the actual words – "WHO!?"

Then, from that far, far corner where you'd least expect it, the butler's voice cuts through the shock. It’s hesitant, shaky even, like maybe he wants to say something else entirely, or needs three tries just to get out a single sentence. "S-Sir… it was Mr. Reverale."

Instantly, Damien's face tightens up. His jaw seems to work for a second before words form – his expression drops colder, faster than frost settling on metal. He doesn't turn around; he keeps that unwavering focus locked onto her even as the command comes out sharp and clear without taking his eyes off her. "Bring him. Now."

The butler flinches again? Or maybe it's just a trick of the light in this scene, but there’s definitely an edge to his hesitation asking about the timing now. "A-at this hour?" he stammers.

And then... BAM! One hand slams out, catches her right beside the head, pinning her flush against the wall. He pivots *slowly*, deliberately, turning towards the terrified servant while keeping that chilling, whisper-soft voice – dangerously soft. "Would you prefer I find time after I break your neck?"

Naturally, the butler doesn't need to be told twice under any circumstances in this story. He vanishes smoother than a slick of oil on water, leaving nothing behind except maybe a faint draft. And then... half an hour later? Seriously! He returns dragging along the utterly confused Mr. Reverale.

Reverale walks in like he has no clue whatsoever about the impending doom or even that he's being dragged directly into it by someone who just asked him to murder his own nephew at midnight for God knows what reason. "Damien! What’s this? Midnight gathering?" His tone is breezy, clueless, completely oblivious.

And Damien? He doesn't say a word. He's got *that* apple knife thing still in hand – or rather, the blade hidden within it. When Reverale reaches out for a handshake like they're just chit-chatting about the weather, Damien grabs his arm fast and slams it onto the table.

One swift slice... clean as anything. Four fingers gone. Blood flies everywhere unexpectedly. Reverale must have screamed – probably something biblical – collapsing in excruciating pain right there on the spot.

"Nobody lays a hand on what’s mine," Damien says, wiping that blade off with such casual disgust it's practically mocking. "Let this be a lesson. Next time, think twice before reaching." His words carry that chilling ownership and threat perfectly.

This is our setup in "Young Master Damien's Pet": the brooding, aristocratic vampire Quinn (Damien) stepping into some serious trouble territory by his possessive reaction to Penelope – a naive guest who likely has absolutely no idea she’s dealing with something far beyond just 'staying temporarily' and definitely doesn't realize her host clearly skipped therapy for centuries.