“So, are you coming to my soiree or do you want me to cut off your manhood if you don’t attend?”
Ludwig was flabbergasted. Not because of the voluptuous woman’s threat that she’ll cut off his velvet steel but because of the fact that she will be hosting a grandiose private party.
It had been years since Maebh hosted a soiree in the Mullins Estate.
“The soiree will be this coming Friday. Don’t forget to wear a nice, clean, outstanding tuxedo!”
Maebh said then she curtsied towards the door after wearing the last piece of her clothes—her underwear.
She wiggled her breasts before closing the door, making Ludwig softly chuckled.
He read the letter in the scarlet envelope for one last time, before sheathing a golden-pommeled dagger beneath his black trench coat.
***
It had been days since Rozelyn had ‘dreamwalk’ Ludwig Vergara.
To be frank, she felt a little guilty for not telling Cyrill what she saw in the dream—that she saw Maebh Mullin’s face as the Blood Mistress. Rozelyn was debating if that dream may somehow be connected to a real occurrence or someone was manipulating Ludwig’s dream.
Either way, that was just a dream. It is possible that it may be connected to the real world but it is also not impossible that the dream may only be just a pigment of his imagination.
Rumours have already spread in their little city about Sheriff Ludwig’s relationship towards the Mullins’ adopted daughter.
Maebh is the type of person that always gets what she wants in a blink of an eye—no matter what the cost is.
As Rozelyn was climbing towards her lecture room, she felt a feeling of imbalance and was about to collapse if not for the last piece of strength left in her knees and in her hands.
***
Rozelyn was feeling dizzy.
It had been weeks since she tasted blood—both animal and human alike.
Since she woke up, her whole world seems to be rotating on its own. She even almost trips in the college’s staircase if not for the stair’s handrail.
Her group will be the next one to perform the hurdle jump. To be honest, she could no longer stand up properly due to her feeling under the weather.
She likes Physical Education classes. In fact, she was once on the football team prior to her turning eighteen—before being an activated vampire.
But this time, this time is wholly uncomfortable for her. She felt like puking in the midst of the wide school ground if not for her strict P. E. teacher’s constant firm gaze towards her.
‘I wish Anaztasia was here.’
Her best friend is currently having her creative writing workshop three buildings away from the school ground.
“Group 3; prepare yourself for your turn!”
The P. E. teacher's voice resonated in Rozelyn’s ears, ringing like a car’s loud horn—prompting her to cover her ears and duck.
The teacher noticed her and yelled. She was mumbling words that she can no longer discern or hear. Her vision began to blur; her heart beat began to pound slowly.
She looked at her hand and noticed it was turning to a root-like flesh. Thorns then sprouted from her either arm—like a rose’s prickly thorns. She felt her whole body hardened. She could no longer feel her arms and legs. Vines and foliage seem to come out of her mouth and nose and ears and then it blossomed into a red rose.
Is this real? Or is this a sweven caused by the ambrosia’s curse?
The face of her P. E. teacher and her fellow college students are the last thing that registered in her mind before she fell into a hole of pitch blackness.
***
Romaine was in the middle of talking to her art gallery curator when her phone rang.
Rozelyn suddenly collapsed; unconscious.
She apologized to the curator and swiftly drove to her step daughter’s school.
Romaine was still panting even though she and Rozelyn were already in the latter’s bedroom. She already changed her stepdaughter’s clothes and even put a lukewarm compress on her forehead.
Three hours had passed and she was still unconscious. Though Romaine can hear her heartbeat and breathing via her vampire senses, she is still worried about what will possibly happen to her stepdaughter—may it be unpleasant or delightful.
Yes, they are immortal. But there are no records if they can survive without feeding and carnal activities. The two are an essential kit for a vampire or werewolf‘s survival; sex and blood shall never be separated from them.
Romaine already has a hint on what may be the cause of her sudden collapse: Rozelyn was not drinking blood constantly, contrary to what she advised to her stepdaughter. She was not even having sex with anyone yet; Romaine can smell it.
Even though her daughter may have already accepted the reality of their kind’s existence, it seems she hasn’t yet adjusted to the daily and monthly needs of being a vampire.
In fact, Romaine was still researching what may happen to Dracula and Corvinus until now. Why they were no longer seen in the modern world and what may have possibly caused their disappearance.
‘Perhaps the Blood Rose and the Moonflower do have grave consequences when their followers will not follow the strict habit and diet,’ Romaine pondered.
Another thirty minutes have passed, still, Rozelyn has not yet opened her eyes.
Without further ado, she went down stairs and grabbed a wine bottle in Eku’s former study.
***
The scent of a pig’s blood is what Cyrill smelled when he opened their door.
He just came home from work in Ezra’s Diner when he heard from Romaine’s nephew that Rozelyn unwittingly collapsed.
Of course, as a part of the Zadzisai family—even if he is not Zadzisai by blood—it is the duty of him being the sole male to take care of his adoptive mom’s stepdaughter.
Not only to take care but also…well, to love.
Love has various meanings anyway. And Cyrill somehow felt all kinds of love towards Rozelyn. He loved her as a family, as a friend, as a fellow creature of the night, and as a…
“What the hell took you so long?” Romaine’s voice greeted him as soon as he entered Rozelyn’s boudoir.
“Just work…” Cyrill blandly stated then added, “Hasn’t she regained consciousness yet?”
Romaine just shook her head. Her lips are wet from the pig’s fresh blood.
She was about to take another sip when Cyrill snatched away the glass and drank the entire thing, making Romaine frowned and crossed her arms.
She stood before her adoptive son then said, “Seriously?”
He just shrugged his shoulders then put the glass by the bedside table. He fiercely grabbed his stepmom’s hand—duplicating her astral powers. His gaze then averted towards Rozelyn and his astral abilities told him exactly the reason for her apparent unconsciousness.
“She hasn’t been feeding constantly, is she?”
“That’s what I’ve also speculated.”
“Have you already taught her how to hunt?”
Romaine abruptly switched her head towards Cyrill.
“I never thought of that before, to be honest.”
“Perhaps you’ve been too occupied by the Housewarming Ceremony and your other art exhibit.”
“You’re right, Cy. My exhibit this time is far more luxurious and lavish compared to my past art exhibits.”
Cyrill gave Rozelyn another look before muttering, “We must teach her how to hunt. We must not just give her blood to drink. We must also teach her how to hunt for blood to drink.”
Romaine mused at Cyrill’s suggestion. It was brilliant and risky at the same time. They do not know the full extent of her powers—of a Thaumaturge’s powers. Every Thaumaturge has their own signature abilities. They are distinct from one another. But, how could she know when the only specimen of the “Thaumaturge Experiment '' is only one?
She was about to open her mouth when Rozelyn moaned.
“Thank fuck you’re awake!” Cyrill exclaimed.
Romaine seized the glass from the bedside table then poured some pig’s blood from the bottle.
“Drink.”
Before Romaine could state more words, Rozelyn snatched the wine bottle away from her and drank the whole thing in just a matter of seconds.
Rozelyn wiped her mouth with her bare hands before shrieking to the gaping Cyrill and Romaine, “More!”
***
It was very dark.
The waxing moon was their only beacon of light—vividly shining in the cloudy sky above.
But they are the creatures of the night; they are the lethal beings that lurk in the dead of night. Perhaps even a hornet will fly away the moment the mere footsteps of the Zadzisai family echoed in this silent forest.
The doe was quietly sleeping. This forest was only a few minutes’ drive from their residence.
“Shhh…” Cyrill gestured to her.
To be honest, Rozelyn at first thought that this is absurd. Why hunt for blood when they have a plethora of bottles filled with blood in their hidden fridge?
“Quick Rozelyn! Remember, slow but steady.”
Romaine’s whispering voice was captured by Rozelyn’s vampire sheer hearing.
Rozelyn just nodded, and then crept towards the nearest aspen tree. She was only a few steps away from the sleeping doe that seemed to be drowned into its ocean of dreams.
She could hear its breathing even from this tree.
‘Exhale, Roz.’ She reminded herself.
Before anyone could protest, Rozelyn shifted to a mountain lion.
Cyrill was about to contradict the idea when Romaine grabbed his left hand.
‘No’ was the only thing he heard in the back of his mind before a ferocious growl came out from Rozelyn—who is clothed in a mountain lion’s skin.
***
She had seen the doe’s teary eyes before sinking her lioness’ sharp teeth in its slender neck. Her once fauna-loving self seems to vanish like bubbles popping on thin air. Fresh blood gushed out in a heartbeat. It flooded Rozelyn’s nose, making her frenzy for a minute.
‘Bloodlust…’ It was the voice from her inner self, or was it not?
Without hesitation, she shifted back to her human form—still in her white blouse and black leather jeans.
Romaine scowled, perhaps because Rozelyn’s white blouse had been heavily stained by red blood, making her stepmom worry on how the fuck to make that stained blouse white again.
She didn’t give a damn what Cyrill and Romaine had remarked on her way of hunting. She’s a freaking Thaumaturge anyway. She’s basically a walking killing machine, if not for the sliver of compassion still left on her consciousness.
She was happily sipping blood from the lifeless doe when a shadowy figure approached her from behind.
As quick as a bullet, the entity plunged a golden-pommeled dagger on her spine before she could scream.