MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

"Well, well, well," he drawled, circling her slowly like a vulture eyeing its prey. "If it isn't the prodigal daughter of the great Shelly clan. Tell me, dear cousin, how does it feel to be cast out from your birthright? To be relegated to these...humble accommodations?"

Rose met his taunting gaze with fire in her eyes, refusing to be cowed by his mocking words. "You would do well to mind your tongue, Marlowe," she warned, her voice low and laced with quiet menace. "I may have fallen from grace in my mother's eyes, but I am still a Shelly. My blood runs truer than most in this forsaken place."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Marlowe's lips. "Your blood?" he sneered. "What good is the blood of a turned wretch like you? You're little more than a stain on the proud Shelly name."

He leaned in closer, his fetid breath hot on her face. "If your father hadn't already gone to his eternal sleep, you'd have him to contend with as well for your transgressions."

Rose recoiled from his proximity, disgust twisting her features. "Do not speak to me of my father," she spat. "He was a weak, sniveling coward who never had the spine to stand up to my mother's tyranny."

A flicker of anger flashed across Marlowe's expression, but Rose pressed on, undaunted. "Unlike him, I will not simply roll over and accept this indignity. The Shelly clan is my birthright, and no amount of persecution from that bitter old crone will ever change that."

"Such hubris," Marlowe scoffed, regaining his composure. "You speak as though you still hold some shred of power or influence. Need I remind you, dear cousin, that it is I who now leads our noble house? Your father's eternal sleep has left a void that only I can fill."

His gaze drifted pointedly to her swollen midsection. "Although, perhaps that reckless sister of yours might offer petition, if the rumors are to be believed."

A protective hand flew to her belly, shielding her unborn child from his leering eyes. "I don't care about that witch!," Rose snarled, her voice laced with ferocity. "I may have made mistakes, but at least I had the courage to escape this wretched place before our mother could break my spirit entirely."

Marlowe chuckled darkly. "Such sisterly devotion. But tell me, Rose, why is it that you remain shackled to that tyrant of a prince? Damien may hold sway over the lesser beings in this realm, but his reach does not extend to matters of our clan."

"I remain with Damien because it is my choice, and mine alone," Rose retorted, her chin jutting out defiantly. "My heart and my loyalties are my own to bestow, not some commodity to be bartered and traded by the likes of you."

A sly grin spread across Marlowe's features. "Is that so? Well, perhaps your...situation...is about to change, dear cousin."

He began to slowly circle her once more, like a predator toying with its prey. "Word has reached my ears that your beloved prince is soon to be granted a seat on the Council of Elders.He even came to solicit my support. A seat at the council is prestigious honor, to be sure, but one that carries...certain expectations."

Rose's brow furrowed, but she remained silent, refusing to take the bait and show her curiosity.

"You see," Marlowe continued, his voice a low purr, "as a member of the Council, Damien will be expected to...contribute to the replenishment of our dwindling numbers. Through the natural process, of course."

His gaze dropped pointedly to her midsection once more, his meaning clear. Rose felt a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach, her breath catching in her throat.

Rose felt like she was reliving her altercation with Gladys all over again. How come they all seemed aware about the implications of Damien's induction except her. She knew what Marlowe was going to say already but played otherwise.

She hoped that Gladys as twisted a few words and was hoping for a different narrative and perspective.

"Or," Marlowe went on, his tone taking on a sinister edge, "should he prove...reluctant...to embrace his duties, there are always other methods at the Council's disposal. More archaic rites, steeped in the traditions of our forebears."

Images of innocent humans, throats bared and eyes wide with terror, flashed through Rose's mind. She swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat.

So both Marlowe and Gladys were on the same wavelength. Damien at some point would be tasked with spawning new vampires. It didn't particularly matter how it was going to be done but Rose knew all too wel that Damien's ego wouldn't allow him take the second option of turning humans above using her as a vessel.

"So you see, dear Rose, your...dalliance...with the prince may soon take on an entirely new significance," Marlowe purred, his lips curling into a serpentine smile. "One that could prove to be your ultimate redemption...or your final undoing."

A heavy silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Rose found herself struggling to draw breath, her mind reeling from the implications of Marlowe's words. She had always known that her relationship with Damien was a precarious one, built on a foundation of secrets and lies. But to be forced into the role of broodmare, little more than a vessel for replenishing the vampire ranks?

The thought made her stomach churn with revulsion.

There were laws governing how a vampire was made which was why very few vampires actually turned humans. And on rare occasions do they give birth to one of their kind.

Only Lords and High Lords were allowed to turn as many humans into a vampire or allowed to procreate with a vessel of high class within the vampire society. The reason itself was simple. They wanted the best outcome possible. Preferably not a nosfesratu even as much as they all claimed to be united.

The order ranks below the High Lords and Lords had limited chances. Nobles got a fair chance to turn at the maximum ten of humans and five natural births. The reason for the disparity was also quite simple.

Once a human was turned and the results were "NOT SO DESIRABLE", especially when the result fell into the class of rejects and generally termed bad news of the vampire class, said spawn can be "muted".

Of course this would be done by another vampire from a different family altogether as vampires from the same family couldn't kill one another even if they tried.

Vampires ranked in the Knight class only got three trials be it natural methods of creating a vampire or by turning a human. It simply did not matter.

Squires on the other hand were the runt of the litter having no liberty to reproduce or turn a human. Which was why most Squires worked hard to rise through the ranks.

Most times, purebloods were sought after as mates as the chances of getting a vampire with high potentials was more. And who didn't want to have a pureblood bloodline in their heritage? They were simply regarded as vampire elites even amongst the high ranks. To put simply, a High Lord who was from a sanguine bloodline and a Lord from a pureblood Bloodline were two worlds apart.

It may not be said openly, but the pureblood in the eyes of the vampire community was more revered.

Rose knew all this as well and the thought that she might have broken said law, being that she was pregnant to start with and the baby in question was sired by a human?

She shuddered at the thought of the repercussions should the council get wind of it.

Yet, even as disgust and fury waged war within her, a tiny flicker of hope began to take root. If what Marlowe said was true, if Damien truly did ascend to a position of power and influence...perhaps, just perhaps, it could be her chance at salvation. A way to claw her way back into the graces of her clan, to reclaim the honor and respect that had been so cruelly stripped from her.

It was a fragile, dangerous gambit – one that could easily backfire and condemn her to a fate worse than banishment. But Rose was no stranger to risk, to the high-stakes games of power and deception that governed the vampire world.

If this was the path laid before her, the crucible through which she must pass to regain her rightful place, then so be it. She would not flinch, would not falter in the face of adversity. She was a Shelly, forged in the fires of centuries of struggle and strife.

And she would emerge from this trial victorious, no matter the cost.

With a sharp inhale, Rose straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with a renewed sense of purpose. Marlowe regarded her appraisingly, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Well?" he prompted, arching an expectant eyebrow. "No snide remarks? No biting retorts from the once-proud Lady Shelly?"

Rose held his gaze, her expression unreadable...