Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 186

Amelia

The sunlight in the vampire quarter filtered through high-rise grime and smoke, casting a permanent gray over the streets like even the sky had given up. It felt different here, not just quieter, but heavier, like the air carried the weight of being forgotten.

I had just handed out the last of the cookie baskets when a woman brushed her fingers against my arm and looked up at me with hollowed eyes. Her touch was feather-light, as if she expected me to flinch or vanish.

Her voice cracked when she asked if I had any spare blood rations, not for herself, but for her brother, who hadn’t fed in four days and was too weak to leave his cot. She whispered it like a confession, ashamed of needing anything at all.

It wasn’t a one-off situation, and l’d known that before I even walked through their door. Every room echoed the same quiet horror: missed deliveries, spoiled rations, blood pills that caused seizures, vomiting, or hallucinations, and a grim sort of resignation that had settled into the residents like mold.

Desperation hung in the air, sour, metallic, and baked into the furniture. A boy, no older than ten, had lesions on his arms. He scratched until his skin bled, and I had to kneel beside him, gently holding his hands to stop him from tearing open another wound. One man opened hisrefrigerator to show me three expired bags of donated blood, each marked for destruction and stamped with ” civilian not priority.”

I took photos of everything. I asked questions. I didn’t hide who I was, and they still tet me in. They let me see the truth, even knowing I might not do anything with it.

By the time we returned to the palace, my hands were still shaking. I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t fear, it was rage and helplessness layered together, coiled so tightly I felt like l might snap.

These people weren’t enemies. They weren’t rebels. They were families, elders, and children, the kind of citizens we were supposed to protect, and we were letting them starve. Not with violence or blunt force, but with signatures and protocols, with ration cuts and silence.

Because they were a different kind. Because they were outside our borders.

The next morning, I didn’t change. I wore the same clothes from the visit, sleeves still stained from the boy’s arm. I wanted them to see it. I wanted them to know I hadn’t slept. When I stepped into the council chamber, I didn’t wait to be addressed.

Richard wasn’t there yet. The room was brightly lit, overly polished, and chilled in a way that erased feeling. It wasn’t a place for honesty, but spoke anyway.

“I want to address the blood sanctions,” I said, clearly and without apology.The hum of quiet conversation died instantly. A few councilors looked up. One arched a brow. Councilwoman Chausson leaned back in her chair, arms folded, watching me with that amused little smile that always made my skin crawl. She didn’t take me seriously, and she didn’t have to say a word for me to feel it.

“I visited six buildings in District Four yesterday,” | continued. “Not one of them had received full rations this month. One woman said her brother is dying. A child asked me if blood is supposed to burn going down. He thought the pain meant it was working.”

Councilor Rourke didn’t bother to look up. “It’s not our job to coddle the vampires.”

“It’s not coddling to prevent starvation.”

“They’re not people. They’re feeders. There’s a difference.”

“Is that what helps you sleep?” I asked. “Because I’ve seen their kitchens. I’ve seen their eyes. They’re not enemies.

They’re hungry.”

Chairs creaked. Someone cleared their throat. Richard entered then and sat beside me, silent and stiff. His face gave nothing away.

“I know why the sanctions exist,” I said. “They were supposed to choke the black market. Cut off supply routes to rogue cells. But that’s not who’s paying the price.

Children, elders, and day laborers are dying quietly while we pretend it’s working. That isn’t strategy. That’s cowardice.

“You’re overstepping,” someone muttered.

“I’m the Luna Queen. If I can’t speak for people who have no voice in this room, then I shouldn’t be here at all.”

A few people gasped. Rourke rolled his eyes. Chausson smirked and looked away. An aide at the edge of the room typed something down with a frown.

When the meeting adjourned, Richard followed me into the hall. The moment the doors closed, he spoke.

“You should’ve told me.”

“Would that have changed what I said?”

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