Chapter 15: Chapter 15 — I Am Strong, Therefore I Wear the Bite Guard

Chloe’s attitude toward Anderson had always been rather perfunctory—rooted less in affection and more in an inexplicable sense of obligation.

She could never quite comprehend how, even after settling in the manor, Anderson still managed to live in such a pitiful state. Yet for him, this was already a life far better than he had ever known.

That very night, he was beaten again by his instructor—the punishment for daring to appear before the young mistress despite being a deathguard-in-training. The assault didn’t kill him, largely thanks to the ointment Chloe had given him. The salve worked wonders: it stopped the bleeding and dulled the pain. Truly, the privileges of a vampire heiress were leagues apart from their world.

A bitter smile curved Anderson’s lips at the thought.

The bond between the two was never deep. From time to time, they met in the far corner of the gardens—one to offer medicine, the other to receive it.

To Chloe, it felt like feeding a wounded stray dog. Every time they met, he bore new injuries—sometimes minor, sometimes grave—and always managed to show her a pitiful expression, as though begging silently for her sympathy.

She had her suspicions, of course, but never asked. Each time she handed over the medicine, she simply turned and left. Over time, she even began bringing small snacks along with the ointments.

…

Seven years slipped quietly by.

The once chubby five-year-old had grown into a graceful young girl, her beauty so striking that every servant in the manor couldn’t help but admire her in silence.

Yet Chloe herself was far from pleased—she was facing a rather peculiar dilemma.

Her teeth itched.

It felt as though tiny insects were crawling over them, an unbearable sensation that even during lessons made her grind her teeth together with a sharp, grating click.

The itch tormented her endlessly. Driven nearly mad, she bolted from her spell class to the training hall, grasping a great steel blade, swinging it in swift, relentless arcs—trying desperately to distract herself through exhaustion.

Only when she was drenched in sweat did the irritation subside a little—until the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears.

Xavier.

The moment she sensed him, the itching grew worse, as though provoked by his presence. When he appeared fully before her, Chloe could no longer restrain herself—she lunged forward and sank her teeth into his arm.

Blood welled from the wound, but she did not drink—it wasn’t hunger, only the maddening urge to ease the itch by pressing tooth against flesh.

“I knew the time was close,” Xavier murmured, gripping her chin and tilting her face upward.

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Her pale, lovely face was now smeared with blood—a vision at once strange and striking.

Chloe blinked in confusion at the crimson-streaked arm before her. “...Why did I bite you?”

Xavier gave a short laugh. “You’re the one who did it. Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

She fell silent, then turned away with a faint grimace. What had she been thinking—craving his blood, of all people? Yet without biting, the itch was unbearable.

Just as her frustration mounted, Xavier spoke again.

“You’ve reached your growth phase.”

“My... growth phase?” she repeated.

He ran a hand through her hair. “Remember what I told you? The tooth you lost won’t grow back until you’re thirteen. That’s still about five months away. During this period, all fledglings experience rapid growth and a change of teeth—along with itching and restlessness.”

Chloe touched her chin thoughtfully. “So it’s your fault, then. The itching was fine until I saw you—then all I could think about was biting you.”

She exhaled sharply, making her verdict: “You’re so annoying, Daddy.”

Xavier pressed his fingers to his temple, expression flat. “At this stage, young bloodlines are instinctively drawn to others of the same lineage. You can’t help but be attracted to my blood. It’s entirely natural.”

Chloe turned her back on him, pretending not to hear.

Smiling faintly, Xavier continued, “Given your unusually strong constitution, your symptoms are more intense than most. So, I’ve decided to take certain precautions.”

Chloe leaned lazily on her sword, her tone careless. “What kind of precautions?”

Before she could react, her body went rigid—bound by his sensory restraint.

Her brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew something from his pocket—a bite guard.

Her expression darkened instantly.

“W–what are you doing with that?” she demanded, voice sharp.

“Relax,” Xavier said calmly, his smile faint. “It’s merely a device to keep you from biting people at random.”

“I don’t bite people at random,” she said stiffly.

He lifted his wounded arm without a word. The message was clear.

The guard itself was beautifully crafted—no sharp edges, padded in soft leather, perfectly fitted to avoid discomfort or injury. But Chloe refused outright.

A bite guard? Was he serious? What next—call her a dog?

Yet she couldn’t fight back, trapped in his restraint as he secured it in place. Her beautiful eyes blazed with fury, but Xavier ignored her. His movements were practiced, almost gentle.

“There’s no shame in it,” he said evenly. “Royal bloodlines possess immense power. The stronger the blood, the harsher the growing pains. This is simply a precaution.”

Seeing her still sulking, he lowered his gaze. “I wore one too.”

Chloe’s ears twitched.

When he released the restraint, she didn’t attack. Her voice was muffled behind the guard. “You really wore this?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Yes. I even have a photo. Would you like to see it?”

Her eyes brightened instantly. “Of course!”

Xavier led her toward his office. Along the way, every servant they passed kept their eyes fixed forward, not daring to glance at the young mistress wearing a bite guard. Chloe’s pride was, at least, somewhat spared.

At least, she thought, the servants here really do know how to read a room.

In his office, Xavier rummaged through a drawer until he found an old photograph.

Chloe leaned over—and froze. It was a school group photo.

At the center stood a twelve-year-old Xavier, clad in a crisp black military uniform, wearing the very same bite guard with an air of calm dignity.

“You really wore it,” she murmured, astonished.

“I told you—it’s standard protection.”

He had intended to put the photo away, but Chloe’s fingers gripped the edge, refusing to let go. With a sigh, he relented.

Scanning the image, Chloe spotted Corvin and raised a brow. “This was your school?”

Xavier nodded. “The First Continental Military Academy—the only institution now open to all races. Its faculty is unmatched.”

“I see.” She studied the photograph, her gaze lingering on the marble statue behind them.

Xavier tapped his fingers lightly against the desk. “Do you like the school?”

Still focused on the image of the young Xavier, Chloe answered absently, “Sure.”

“Good,” he said. “Pack your things. You’ll start there the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright—wait, what?”