"Miss Bayard."
Just then, a black-haired young man who looked about the same age approached.
He raised his ceramic cup in a friendly gesture. It was filled with blood.
A beautiful girl with long golden hair followed closely behind him. Iver had just seen her in the lounge—she was No. 15. Her deep-blue eyes also held intoxication and infatuation, making them seem hollow.
"Sir Linde."
Bayard's interest had been interrupted, so she seemed somewhat displeased.
She raised a finger to push up her glasses and replied coldly, "What do you want?"
"Not at all, Miss Bayard. How could I presume to order you around?"
The handsome black-haired young man smiled and personally poured Bayard a glass of aperitif. Then, when Bayard picked up the porcelain cup with one hand, he gently clinked his own cup against hers, producing a crisp sound.
"We don't discuss serious matters at the manor," Bayard warned.
"Of course."
Sir Linde nodded with a smile and patted the girl beside him. "I'll trade this girl for No. 14 for one night... How about it? I haven't drunk her blood tonight, and she's been well-fed for a week, so her blood is plentiful. Unlike this child... She only arrived recently, yet you've chosen her three times in a row. Her blood must be nearly depleted by now."
"As you can see, I only want a shallow taste. What kind of delicious blood could make you so infatuated? I'm curious. More than that, I want to experience the same emotions as you, so we can have something in common."
Linde spoke in a polite, melodious voice befitting a nobleman.
Hearing this, the girl beside Linde looked at Sir Linde with a heart-wrenching gaze. Her hollow eyes held the grievance and pain of someone abandoned. Yet she still made