The cold, needle-sharp tip of a fang pressed against Devon's neck, a promise of pain and ecstasy honed over eight hundred years. The silence of the dead forest held its breath, awaiting the bite, awaiting the penetration, awaiting the end of this scene. In the sickly light of the mushrooms, Lord Valerius's red eyes glowed with undisguised anticipation. He could feel the steady, strong pulse beneath the pale skin, a symphony of life so pure, so defiant. This would be his finest meal in centuries.
In her inner silence, amidst her boundless personal theater, Devon—the Reader, the Actor, and now, the Actress—considered the moment with the detachment of a food critic. 'Ah,' she thought, feeling the cold of the fangs as a clinically interesting sensation. 'So this is the 'tempting vampire' archetype. I wonder if the sensation lives up to the overblown descriptions in the books. Perhaps a hint of mint from his eternal boredom? Or maybe the rust of long-forgotten bloods?'
She let the moment hang for a fraction of a second longer, allowing the vampire to savor the peak of his arrogance. She could feel the tremor of satisfaction from the cold body pressing against her. The vampire's prediction was so straightforward, so boring: fear, a brief, futile resistance, pain, surrender, and finally, a delicious death. A script she had played out a thousand times.
And it was precisely at that moment that Devon decided she hated the script.
No. She changed her mind.
The shift wasn't something one could anticipate. It wasn't an explosion of power or a surge of energy. It was something far more insulting: a sudden, total change of attitude. One second she was a submissive, entranced victim, the next, the expression on her face, partially hidden behind her dark hair, twisted into a look of theatrical distaste, as if she had just caught a whiff of spoiled milk.
"Tch," she hissed, her melodious voice now laced with a sharp note of disappointment.
Valerius froze, his fangs mere millimeters from Devon's skin. "What?"
"Your technique," Devon said, her tone so condescending, so blasé, "is so… uninspired. The drawn-out monologue, the slow approach, the licking of the cheek… Did you get all this from a vampire's guide for beginners? Utterly cliché."
Before Valerius could process such pure, unexpected insolence, Devon moved. Not with cosmic power, but with the surprising physical strength of an athletic woman. With one swift motion, her palm slammed against the vampire's alabaster face, shoving him away with humiliating force. Valerius stumbled backward, his shock so complete that his predatory grace vanished, replaced by the awkwardness of a creature who had just lost its footing.
Devon wasted no time. With the agility of a panther, she darted away from the tree, landing lightly several feet away. She didn't immediately run. Oh, no. That would be too simple. Instead, she turned around, presenting her back to the vampire. She bent slightly, placing both hands on her knees, and deliberately aimed her round, firm buttocks—perfectly encased in her white pants—towards Lord Valerius.
Then, she shook them.
Not a sensual or teasing movement. It was a mocking, childish, utterly insulting wiggle. Twice to the left, twice to the right, a little victory dance celebrating just how ridiculous the great predator looked.
"You're too slow, Mr. Dracula," she taunted, her voice now filled with suppressed laughter. "Maybe you should cut back on the high-cholesterol blood."
The silence that followed the taunt was more terrifying than any storm of mana. Lord Valerius's face, which had been a mask of arrogance and desire, now slowly transformed. His alabaster pallor was replaced by a ghastly grey, and his crimson lips thinned into a hateful line. His red eyes no longer glowed with hunger; they now burned with the hellfire of a pride shattered into pieces.
Eight hundred years of existence. Thousands of victims. A reputation as an unparalleled terror of the night. All of it had just been trampled and mocked by a mortal woman with an impudent backside.
"YOU…!" his voice was no longer a cultured, raspy whisper. It was a growl from the depths of his tomb, a sound that made the surrounding mist tremble.
"WILL… DIE… SCREAMING!"
With a clear, carefree laugh, Devon finally darted into the darkness of the forest. Valerius, now transformed into a pure embodiment of rage, exploded in pursuit. He no longer glided with elegance; he was a blur of red and black, a projectile of hatred tearing through the air, snapping tree branches in his path.
The chase began. Devon ran between the skeletal trees with impossible speed and agility. She leaped over protruding roots, slid under low branches, her movements a graceful dance amidst the inferno. She did not run in silence. She played her part perfectly. Occasionally, a small, theatrical shriek would escape her lips as Valerius nearly caught the end of her ponytail. "Eek!" Or a giggle as she narrowly avoided a wild lunge. "Almost got me!"
Valerius's enraged roars echoed through the dead forest, a symphony of fury shattering centuries of silence. And as it turned out, that symphony attracted an audience.
Devon felt it first. The shift in the air. Other presences awakening from their long slumber by this unusual commotion. From within the darkness on either side of her, new pairs of red eyes began to ignite. One pair. Three. Ten. Soon, the forest was filled with dozens of floating embers, all locked onto her.
Devon's actions had drawn the attention of the other vampires. They were creeping out of their hidden tombs, drawn by the scent of such potent life running wild in their territory, and by their Lord's roar signaling a great hunt. They were not as refined as Valerius. Some were more hunched and bestial, moving on all fours like undead wolves. Others appeared ancient and withered, their skin as dry as parchment stretched over bone, but their eyes burned with the same hunger.
"Oh, no! Your friends came to play too?" Devon's voice feigned panic, but beneath it was a note of pure amusement. This was getting even more interesting.
She was now being pursued by a pack. The once-silent forest was now filled with the hisses, growls, and rustling of dozens of fast-moving feet on decaying leaves. She kept running, making the sounds of a terrified woman, little squeaks and gasps, a performance that would win awards in any theater.
Just as she was beginning to find the game a little monotonous, she saw it ahead. A light different from the sickly glow of the mushrooms. A warm, flickering light. A campfire. And beside it, a human silhouette. A man. Perhaps an adventurer.
Perfect. A supporting actor had just entered the stage.
With one final burst of speed, Devon burst out of the treeline and into a small clearing. In the center, a young man with slightly worn leather armor and a longsword slung across his back was roasting a piece of meat over the fire. He looked startled as Devon suddenly emerged from the darkness.
Without wasting a moment, Devon slipped behind the man, clutching his muscular arm with both hands. The man flinched, surprised by the sudden appearance of a beautiful woman who looked so terrified.
"H-help!" Devon gasped, her face now flushed and her eyes wide with horror (an effect she created by increasing blood flow to her cheeks). She leaned her body slightly against the man's back, a clingy gesture that implied total surrender. "There are… there are monsters! They're chasing me! Please protect me!"
The man, whose name was Kaelen, an adventurer who was more bluster than brawn, stared at the woman before him. Messy, sexy dark hair, an athletic body clearly visible beneath her tight clothing, and a fragile expression begging for protection. All his heroic instincts (mostly gleaned from books) instantly ignited.
He straightened his back, puffing out his chest. "Fear not, fair maiden," he said in a voice he tried to make as deep and cool as possible. "My name is Kaelen the Brave. As long as I stand here, not a single creature will dare to lay a hand on you."
He gallantly stepped in front of Devon, becoming her human shield. He drew his sword with a slightly too theatrical flourish. "Show yourselves, creatures of the night! Face the steel and fury of Kaelen!"
Devon, hiding behind him, had to stifle a laugh. 'Kaelen the Brave'. What a perfect name. This performance was going to be legendary.
And then, they began to emerge.
One by one, the vampires stepped out of the darkness, encircling the campfire. Their hungry red eyes glared, their fangs gleamed in the firelight, and their low growls filled the air. Not one or two. There were dozens. Led by Lord Valerius, who now stood at the very front, his burning eyes locked on Devon with pure hatred.
Kaelen the Brave's face began to change. Rapidly.
His suave smile froze, then melted like candle wax. His once-healthy complexion turned as pale as a shroud. His sword, which had been raised so gallantly, now trembled violently in his hand. His eyes darted wildly from one vampire to the next, his pupils shrinking into pinpricks of terror.
His courage didn't just waver. It shattered, splintered, and evaporated into nothingness.
"Oh," he whispered, his voice now as high-pitched as a squealing rat. "Sweet… gods…"
Before Devon could utter her next line begging for protection, Kaelen did the only thing his panicked brain could process. He dropped his sword with a pathetic 'CLANG', turned around, and ran. He ran with a speed he had never achieved in his life, a high-pitched, unmanly shriek escaping his throat.
Devon simply stared at her fleeing hero's back with a perfectly staged expression of 'shock' and 'abandonment'.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" she cried in a heartbreaking tone. "Don't leave me! My handsome knight!"
The vampires, who had been poised to pounce, paused for a moment, bewildered by this absurd spectacle. That moment of confusion was all Devon needed. Instead of fighting or surrendering, she did the most unexpected thing. She started running again. After Kaelen.
"Wait for me!" she wailed, chasing after the man who had just abandoned her.
The scene was so bewildering that even Valerius was speechless for a full second before his rage returned. "GET HER!" he roared.
And the most ridiculous three-way chase began. In the lead, Kaelen ran for his life, occasionally glancing back in horror. Behind him, Devon ran gracefully, constantly calling for her 'knight' to wait for her. And behind them both, the horde of angry, hungry vampires pursued with frustrated snarls.
"DON'T FOLLOW ME, YOU CRAZY WOMAN!" Kaelen screamed, tears of panic streaming down his face. "THEY'RE AFTER YOU, NOT ME!"
"But you are my protector!" Devon replied cheerfully, not at all out of breath. "A knight must not abandon his maiden!"
"I'M NOT YOUR KNIGHT! I'M JUST A BRAGGART! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Never!" Devon replied, and this time, a genuine, amused laugh finally escaped her lips, a clear note that cut through Kaelen's panicked screams and the vampires' growls.
"Hehe."