Ariadne Mullin was still haunted by the tragic and grotesque death of her governess—of her nanny. She never thought that a mere person could do such a brutal and violent thing.
The ocherous light of the chandelier above was the only thing illuminating her pathway. The Mullin’s residence has its Victorian ambience despite her family being of Irish descent.
It was an ordinary thing for her to spend the remaining hours of the night in their library, reading things pertaining to crime and possible things that may drive a killer to do such unlawful things to a person.
She was walking in this dim-lighted hallway, with only herself and her shadow accompanying her in the dead of night.
In a heartbeat, she felt something following her.
She was the only one left awake tonight since she’d been caught up reading books. Her bedroom is on the fifth floor and the library is on the first floor. Yet, she wonders who could still be awake in 12:56 in the evening, morning rather.
She looked around and saw only the chestnut-colored wall greeted her.
Ariadne continued to walk when she noticed that other footsteps echoed in the hallway. Nervous, she quickly climbed to the grand staircase towards the fifth floor.
She was in the midst of climbing the stairs when she heard someone scream. It sounded like it’s coming from the maid’s quarters on the third floor.
She went downstairs again and popped her little head down, scanning and listening for something—for someone.
‘Probably just one of the maids watching Nightmare on Elm Street…’
When she made sure that the lower floor was utterly silent, she stood still and fixed her white wrinkled dress.
But when she turned around, a masked figure startled her, making her fall and tumbled on the stairs.
“Ouch! My leg hurts!” Ariadne whimpered.
Yet, the figure seemed to be deaf—ignoring her cry of pain.
“Who are you?!” The Mullins’ daughter still dared to ask even when the entity unsheathed a golden-pommeled dagger. Its sheer silver blade is colored with red—colored with blood.
She tried to stand and sprint away but her twisted ankle forbade her to do so. The figure inched closer; his honey-colored eyes were gleaming eerily towards her.
But, even if Ariadne screamed repeatedly, the figure didn’t yield any hint of pity towards her. The masked entity then pushed her with such powerful force in a blink of an eye. And little Miss Ariadne was already an ice-cold corpse with a twisted neck by morning when Mrs. Mullin came downstairs.
***
The entity was wearing a skin face. No, not just an ordinary skin face, it was the skin from Henriz Salvador’s face.
“How dare you!” Rozelyn shrieked with rage. She could feel the dagger weakening her. Blood oozing from her back. But before Cyrill could avenge her, the skin-faced figure kicked her and she fell on her back, making the dagger plunged deeper into her spine.
With a fragment of her power, she yeeted the figure to a nearby tree, making him immobilized for a minute.
But the man was holding a Black Rose—a Black Peruvian Rose. Luckily, Romaine hoisted a very tiny Lily of the Valley that she found when they were trekking here in the moon-lighted forest—nullifying the Black Peruvian Rose’s destructive powers.
The masked entity was wholly shocked. Cyrill then pinned him to the aspen tree and demanded, “Did the Blood Mistress send you?!”
The Pasiphae werewolf was about to remove the man’s face when he blew a pile of sand into Cyrill’s eyes, giving the masked figure a time to sprint away.
The dazed Romaine and the injured Rozelyn couldn’t do anything but watch as the man vanished into their sight.
Cyrill was rubbing his eyes when Romaine offered a crimson handkerchief, “Pull yourself together. This is a sign that the Thaumaturge must learn how to utilize her powers when facing such circumstances like this.”
***
The trio was now standing by the Fortress of the Rose’s grand door, with Hemera Bellamy opening the magnificently-designed door.
“Training for the Thaumaturge, I see…”
Romaine nodded, her hands were still shaking. The tiny Lily of the Valley was pinned in her black blouse—on her right chest.
Hemera faced Rozelyn, who’s subtly still shaking as well. The face of the youngest Zadzisai was illuminated by the waxing Hunter’s moon.
“Are you ready darling?” Hemera asked.
Darling. That’s the first time Hemera called Rozelyn in such a ‘sweet’ endearment.
“Yes,” Rozelyn responded while looking at the grand vampire directly.
“If that is, let us proceed to the training ground. Chadwick and the rest of the coven and the pack are already waiting for you.”
Without further ado, Rozelyn trailed behind, with Romaine and Cyrill treading to the mini-bar near the kitchen.
‘Good luck!’ Cyrill whispered into her mind. Rozelyn released a faint smile, probably because she was astonished that Cyrill “good-luck” her or because she was quite nervous of the training—maybe both.
Either way, she’s a Thaumaturge. She’s not gonna flunk at the training, Rozelyn repeatedly reminded herself.
And so, the rest of the night was been a sleepless night for Rozelyn as the Solarian, Makarian, Elemental, Linguist, and the Astral creatures of the night trained her in order to fully sharpen her skills and master her powers…and also to unravel an undiscovered power or powers of hers that the werewolf and vampire community had never seen before.
.***
It was 5:30 in the morning when Hemera had allowed her to rest in the room she stayed during the Housewarming celebration.
She was tremendously exhausted and felt as if she could drink a whole tank of blood due to her utter thirst.
She circled the room just to let her tongue forget its bloody cravings. Though she knew that’s gonna be impossible, she still strolled around the lavish, huge boudoir anyway.
She was about to sit at the edge of the bed when she saw a red rose in a glass vase, making her remember the time she fell unconscious during her P. E. class. She was glad that it was Friday at that time; so that she’s not gonna worry about attending classes the next day.
“That was awful..” Rozelyn mumbled as she held the rose in her right hand. Suddenly, a drop of blood—courtesy of the rose’s prickly thorns—came out from her index finger, making her reminisce about the horrible sweven she had before she lost consciousness. Or was it not a sweven?
She could still imagine that very moment in their P. E. class when her whole body gradually hardened and somehow she herself was turning to a…to a rose. Not just a rose, a blood rose. Or was it just an ordinary rose? She’d never seen an actual blood rose before anyway and Rozelyn bet that it was far more different than any other roses. It possesses such extraordinary abilities and so it shall also possess an extraordinary appearance.
She licked the blood from her finger, making her tongue taste the blood that it had been craving.
She spotted a little fridge by the window side. She approached and opened it, hoping that she'd find at least some cold water or cake or whatever she could gobble.
But, the fridge was occupied by wine bottles—wine bottles that the blood it contained lingers on her tiny nose.
Without any hesitation, she feasted on the blood, disregarding any hint of observing and peering eyes from her fellow cursed creatures.
***
“You seem to need someone who can quench your carnal cravings, missy.”
A voice from behind slightly startled her, making her pause for a bit while drinking blood from the wine bottle.
“Who are you?” She scanned him from head to toe. To be frank, he was sexy—perhaps even sexier than Cyrill and Dorrien and Avril combined. He’s like the very incarnation of Eros, the God of Love. His body was well-built. His face was wholly handsome with a little stubble ornamenting his glorious face. His muscular arms and long legs were perfect for lovemaking, making Rozelyn imagine that the godly man was pounding on top of her in a missionary style. And most importantly, his voice was whole and husky—the voice that she would probably sell her soul to the devil in order to listen eternally to his magnificent voice.
“Miss?” He asked again, making Rozelyn quickly draw her attention.
“I said what’s your name...”
“OH! Sorry I didn’t manage to get that immediately. I’m Hans Ryder. I’m originally a French national. Though I’ve been here in Ireland for a time and I am also currently a CEO in one of the logistics companies here,” Hans replied while stroking his stubble naively.
Rozelyn was gaping. That explains the man’s thick accent and sexy aura.
“Who sent you here?”
“Miss Supreme sent me here, young lady.”
Supreme. That means her stepmom sent him here.
“For what?” She asked.
“I’m an Empath werewolf and the tenth of Avril’s pack. The Vampire Supreme sent me here in order to help you to quench your sexual desires—your carnal cravings.”
“Ohh” was her only reply.
She looked at his body again from head to toe and gestured for him to undress.
He obeyed without any doubt. In a minute, Rozelyn was staring at a body that can only be a phantom of imagination by a mere woman like her.
“Are you good?” She queried.
A smile was only the man’s answer as soon as his undergarments plummeted on the lustrous floor.