Chapter 125. Throwing Daggers

The witch was standing there staring at Vladimir, making him feel as if he was an insect under her microscope. She still hadn’t given him any response which made him frown. It was the first time someone was ignoring him and her judging stare had kind of started to bother him at this point. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, sharpening his irritation.

Usually, it was Vladimir who ignored others not the other way around. This was the first time he was getting a cold shoulder from someone and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was bruising his ego.

The bruising wasn’t just pride—it was identity. For centuries, fear had been his crown, desire his throne. To be dismissed so utterly made something sharp twist in his chest, almost like… shame. His fangs itched beneath his lips, a primal reminder of the predator he was, clashing with the strange vulnerability stirred by the witch.

The witch was no longer dressed in that