The heavy wooden door to Alaric's study slammed open, startling him mid-sip from a blood bag. Crimson liquid dripped from his lips as his piercing gaze locked onto the intruder. It was James, panting heavily, his face flushed with urgency. Behind him, Jonathan, one of Alaric's loyal guards, stood in the hallway, flustered and unsure whether to intervene.
Alaric's eyes narrowed. He despised interruptions during his personal moments. "You've got some nerve, James," he growled, his tone like ice. He discarded the blood bag into the trash with a flick of his wrist. "Explain yourself quickly, or I'll make sure you regret barging in uninvited."
Before Alaric could fully rise from his seat, James flopped into a chair several feet away, brushing off the tension as if it didn't bother him. "Save the theatrics for someone else, Alaric," James retorted, catching his breath. "I didn't come here to admire your manners. I've got some seriously bad news."
