Ludwig’s face was illuminated by the tangerine light of the fluorescent bulb above his head.
His private chamber was wholly shut that perhaps even the tiny ants will have a hard time entering his hideous lair.
He was growing impatient to the repetitive wailing of this woman.
Ludwig took one taste of his cigarette, making the tendrils of smoke flood the crisp evening air, before he spoke.
“Are you still gonna continue whining here like a child or are you going to do what I told you to do?”
Ludwig uttered while he lifted the chin of this naked woman, her face wet of her own tears, blood, and sweat.
“Come on! You may be my mistress but this is no time for remembering the good memories, darling.”
The girl hoisted her face, and shook her head from side to side.
“No…”
It was all Demetria whispered before Ludwig slapped her with such great force that she thought her head would roll in the cemented floor.
“Drink now, you whore of a witch!”
But still, her will is as cold as steel.
“No…”
As quick as a bullet, Ludwig parted her mouth with his own bloody hands and poured the hot black liquid in her mouth.
Nothing happened to her as she tasted the bitter taste of the boiled juice derived from the petals of the Black Peruvian Rose.
He looked at his wristwatch. It was five minutes before Friday, the last day of September.
Ludwig was about to turn around towards the threshold when he heard a choking sound.
It was from Demetria Cruise.
The woman’s face, which was once identical to the Hollywood actress Megan Foxx, is now utterly unrecognizable.
Her eyes were hanging from her face—as if it were scooped out.
Her skin was greyish in color— the color of a decaying corpse.
The witch was no longer breathing. Blood oozing from her mouth, ears, and even from her nose.
Demetria’s bones were mysteriously broken, like a twig snapped into tiny pieces.
And her whole body was like carrion.
No. It was not like carrion. It was absolutely a carrion.
It was as if the Black Peruvian Rose drained every inch of life and every ember of existence from Demetria Cruise.
She can no longer be identified. Perhaps even how many multiple autopsies will be conducted; no one will know the cause of her death.
“Hmm, it’s really true to what the Blood Mistress said. The Black Peruvian Rose can definitely kill and suck out the life of heathens, vampires, and werewolves...”
Ludwig’s second-in-command, Vincent Macmillan, remarked as he smelled the black liquid that was just drunk minutes ago by the heathen.
“I didn’t even know that the heathens or witches, whatever they call themselves, can be rendered powerless by a mere scent of this lethal flower, huh,” Ludwig said while lighting another cigarette. His stubble is filthy from the cigarette’s ashes.
“What exactly are heathens, boss?” Vincent asked his commander.
“The Blood Mistress said that they are witches who derive their powers through blood sacrifice to their respective deities,” he replied while elatedly smoking a cigarette with his left hand.
“And who is this Blood Mistress?”
Ludwig gave Vincent a firm look before responding.
“I never saw her face or knew her actual name. But, I fucked her last week. In my car,” he said, then gave him a wink as soon as he finished speaking.
Vincent smirked.
“Is she good?”
Ludwig raised his brow, his honey-colored eyes gleaming with color.
“Of course! I will never bang a woman if she’s no good for the first five minutes, Vincent.”
Three knocks interrupted their conversation.
The door opened, revealing a curvaceous and huge-breasted woman.
“I heard you two are talking about me.”
The two men looked at her from head to toe.
Her tube red dress was so short that a quick bending of her body will surely reveal the abyss between her legs.
Her hair, that has the same color as Autumn, was untied and wobbling gracefully as she sauntered towards the two gaping men.
She passed by Demetria and paused for a bit.
Tilting her head, she muttered something into a language that the two men never heard before.
She was wearing a glittered black mask. The kind of mask that one only wears during a masquerade or a ball party.
Ludwig feels a hardening sensation in his pants as he peered at the woman’s rounded breasts. Her nipples sticking out against her sexy dress.
“Wanna dance boys?”
The two men looked at each other.
Before they could reply, the woman easily dropped her apparel without any sign of hesitation. The tube red dress plummeted at the solid ground... as well as the clothes of the two gorgeous men.
***
Hemera was sipping an English breakfast tea calmly by the golden couch of the Zadzisai residence.
Rozelyn, on the other hand, was somehow a bit irritated due to the fact that the wine-red haired woman suddenly knocked on their front door in the midst of the moment when the day was just about to start.
The grandfather clock beside their grand piano reads exactly six in the morning.
The three of them haven’t yet taken a bath or brushed their teeth or even washed their face.
They are just staring candidly at Hemera Bellamy, who’s dressed like a CEO’s secretary that is just about to go to the office.
Her pencil skirt was so fit that Cyrill even prayed that this woman was at least aware that her white-colored lace underwear was wholly visible even a hundred miles away.
Romaine broke the ten-minute long quietude with her slightly crooked voice.
“This better be important, Hemera…”
Hemera’s gaze lingered into Romaine, then to Rozelyn, then finally to Cyrill.
“Hmm,” was her only reply.
“As the reigning Supreme of the Irish Coven, I demand you to speak!”
Romaine can no longer hold her vexation.
Hemera fixed her posture. She put down the lilac tea cup by the living room’s center table, then spoke.
“Someone in Shamrock has the fatal Black Peruvian Rose.”
Romaine was dazed, as Cyrill.
Meanwhile, Rozelyn attempted to scan the grand vampire’s mind for what the heck a Black Peruvian Rose is.
But her radar detected something else—a sort of a foggy black smoke.
Something was hindering her mental reading abilities.
Then, an image of a rare black-colored rose flashed into Rozelyn’s mind. It was like the black smoke was showing her images that she didn’t even know she’s already seeing.
Rozelyn cannot identify the flower or thing or whatever for hell’s sake is that. She suddenly felt numbness in her knees. Then in her whole body.
In a blink of an eye, the world seemed to be turning upside down for her. It was as if her surroundings were rotating rapidly that even a cheetah cannot surpass.
Then, she collapsed.
Luckily, Cyrill—who was wearing a grey sleeveless upper—managed to catch her before she reached the solid floor.
The two other women were gaping.
It was then that Romaine realized that the essence of the black rose managed to attach itself into Hemera.
“For shit’s sake, where did you get that awful essence?”
Romaine was now pinning Hemera at the azure-colored wall.
Even Cyrill was flabbergasted by that action of his adoptive mother.
He was now confused on where to focus his attention—to the fainted Rozelyn or to the infuriated Romaine.
“Shut it you two!”
The two ladies abruptly turned their heads to the gorgeous man to ever grace the planet.
“We cannot trace whoever is possessing that pitiful shit of a flower if you’ll let your wildness take over!”
Romaine let go of her second-in-command.
The two faced him, their gaze stinging like a manta ray’s tail.
Romaine walked away at the scene and vanished into the kitchen.
Hemera sighed with relief. She muttered her thanks in Gaelic to Cyrill. He just nodded at it and requested to help him carry Rozelyn into the golden couch.
Romaine still didn't come back after ten minutes. Cyrill was fanning the still-unconscious Rozelyn.
The supreme vampire didn’t yield even a single footstep in the living room for half an hour.
Even when the clock chimed to noon.
***
Ludwig is currently stroking his violin in his own private car.
It was utterly quiet.
He was in the middle of a place surrounded by tall grasses. Only the ants and the wind are making their melody in the midst of this silent place.
It had been days since he and Vincent fucked the voluptuous Blood Mistress.
He was on the verge of his climax when a masked woman in red dress appeared suddenly in front of his car.
The woman walked towards the door and he gladly opened it, even without zipping his jeans.
“Have you already done what I’ve told you?”
He nodded.
“The vampires and werewolves fell into my trap. It really felt good sacrificing a little male lamb into a horde of blood-sucking and flesh-eating entities, eh?”
The woman giggled as a response—creepily.
Ludwig stared at the braless lady in front of him.
Then, her lips crushed into his even before he could blink. They kissed in a French style while her right hand was doing his velvet steel.
The tinted windows are the only thing blocking anyone and anything from witnessing their feral wrestling.
His lips slowly parted away, eyes wholly shut. He was about to kiss the woman again when the latter dived into the tower between his legs.
Ludwig managed to cover his mouth before the music of elation escaped from his mouth.
It took an entire five minutes before the beautiful Blood Mistress halted from blowing his horn.
This day was indeed a jackpot for him—or so he thought.
When they managed to pull themselves together, Ludwig didn’t manage to breathe as the Blood Mistress held a dagger with a golden pommel in his slender neck.