Chapter 19: Baby Vampire with a… Mustache? Hiss.
At this, Lyra fell silent, the weight of reality settling around her shoulders like a leaden mantle. Unlike her little sister, who basically handled everything in the household—managing servants, overseeing accounts, maintaining their noble standing—Lyra, despite being the firstborn, was nothing more than a church believer, her days filled with prayer and charity rather than practicality.
Her support had always come from the church, its rituals and teachings forming the backbone of her existence.
But how could she have known that even the church she trusted would betray them? The realization made her dead heart clench in her chest, a phantom pain that shouldn't be possible.
Not to mention, the acquisition was now deemed heretical, despite her devotion, all rendered meaningless in a single night. She had no right to refuse her little sister's request.
Raising her head, Lyra looked at her little sister's gaze—filled with pain, her confidence wavering unlike her usual self, the crimson of her eyes dimmed like coals banked for the night—before all of it morphed into determination, hardening her features into a mask of resolve that Lyra recognized from countless family crises.
With a rustle of torn silk, she reached out and hugged her, the scent of blood and transformation still clinging to Elara's skin beneath the remnants of her perfume. "This sister of yours will always support your decision," she said softly, her cool breath stirring the dark chestnut strands of Elara's hair.
On the other hand, Elara felt warmth spreading through her chest despite the coolness of their embrace; her hands reached back to hug her elder sister, slender fingers splaying across the tattered blue fabric covering Lyra's back.
Her lips trembled and her eyes moistened with blood-tinged tears that threatened to spill but never fell, suspended on her lashes like rubies.
But then, the hunger returned with the force of a battering ram—sudden, violent, all-consuming.
Her attention briefly shifted to her elder sister's neck, where the pale column of flesh seemed to pulse with an invitation. She could almost see the pathways of veins beneath the surface, a delicate blue map leading to sustenance.
Before the thought could fully form, she forced herself to abolish it, her body tensing as she fought against her new nature.
But the consequence was… her attention now fixed on him—the towering, tall vampire across the room, his powerful form silhouetted against the kaleidoscope of stained glass light, his presence drawing her gaze like a lodestone.
The towering vampire, Lucien, on the other hand, had been waiting, silently observing her behavior the whole time.
He just smiled faintly as the first vampire woman turned her attention away, his lips curving without revealing his fangs, the expression more contemplative than threatening.
But how could Lucien not notice? That attention from her, those gazes of hers—they were so similar…
Then of course, Lucien noticed her head, which had turned away, shifting back toward him with a jerky, almost reluctant motion, as if her neck were being pulled by invisible strings.
He saw how her eyes gradually lost clarity, the predatory focus giving way to a glassy, hunger-driven stare, crimson irises expanding until they dominated her gaze.
"Ah?! Sister?" And eventually, the second vampire—the supposed elder sister, who was still patting her little sister's neck with gentle, rhythmic strokes, her fingers leaving faint impressions in the revitalized flesh—was pushed back with unexpected force, the sound of tearing fabric punctuating their separation as Elara's claws extended reflexively.
"SKRIEEEEE!" The first vampire woman screamed—high-pitched but harsh, sharper than any human scream; raspy and screeching, like air tearing through a dry throat; and, lastly, echoing and unnatural, seeming to linger longer than normal in the cavernous space, vibrating through the broken chandelier above until the crystal remnants clinked together in sympathetic resonance.
Her body transformed before their eyes, dissolving into a writhing mass of shadow and mist that darted across the blood-slicked marble floor toward him, leaving tendrils of darkness in her wake like ink dropped in water.
Two protruding fangs and red, glinting eyes appeared in slow motion before Lucien's eyes, suspended in the void of her transformed face, her features contorted into a mask of primal hunger.
The stained glass light fragmented across her approaching form, painting her in shards of crimson, amber, and midnight blue.
It looks ugly. Perhaps I looked like that? Lucien thought inwardly. Instead of dodging, he embraced it, his broad shoulders relaxing rather than tensing, his arms hanging loose at his sides rather than rising to defend himself.
Sharp pain soon attacked his neck—a twin lance of fire that penetrated deep—and an itchy feeling—like being bitten by a mosquito but magnified a hundredfold—followed by a slight dizziness that clouded his mind like morning mist over a lake.
The sensation of his blood being drawn out was strangely intimate, a reverse heartbeat pulsing against his skin. He could feel her cool lips pressed against his neck, the wetness of her tongue, the vibration of her satisfied growl traveling through his flesh.
"SISTER! What are you doing?!" From afar, the second vampire woman, Lyra, shouted in shock, her voice cracking with horror and disbelief.
Her body moved forward instinctively, the tattered remains of her blue gown billowing behind her like troubled water, wanting to pull her sister away and prevent her from making the same mistake.
For some reason, she still wasn't used to how fast she could run, her movements a blur even to her own perception, the world seeming to slow around her as she crossed the distance. Yet still—
"Grrr..." Her little sister was now like a monster, growling as Lyra tried to pull her away from the towering vampire, the sound rumbling from deep in Elara's chest like distant thunder.
Spittle—dark with Lucien's blood—flew from her mouth as she snarled, spattering across Lyra's pale cheek in tiny crimson constellations. Elara's fingers had transformed into hook-like claws that dug into Lucien's shoulders, tearing through the fine linen of his poet shirt to anchor herself against her sister's interference. Her fangs were planted in his neck, sucking his blood with rhythmic, greedy pulls that made the tendons in her throat work visibly.
"Let go! Sister!" Lyra used all her strength, unaware that the ground beneath her cracked in a spiderweb pattern, pieces of marble turning to dust beneath her feet.
Veins bulged along her forearms like blue ropes beneath her alabaster skin, pulsing with power she never knew she possessed. Even the dust and air around her generated a faint shockwave that rippled outward, disturbing the pools of blood on the floor and causing the torn curtains nearby to flutter as if in a spectral breeze. Yet—
"Ugh..." Lyra groaned as she was slightly pushed back, the force sending her ash-blonde hair flying around her face like pale lightning.
Her heels carved twin furrows in the marble as she skidded backward, still unable to pull her little sister away, and could only watch in a daze, her red-pupiled eyes wide with helplessness.
But then she snapped her gaze to the towering vampire, her fists clenched until her knuckles strained white against her skin, nails cutting crescents into her palms.
"Y-YOU! S-STOP THIS! Why are you forcing my sister?!" Her voice rose to a pitch that shattered a forgotten wine glass on a nearby overturned table, sending crystalline shards tinkling to the floor like malicious wind chimes.
"Aren't you the same?" For the first time, perhaps, Lyra—who had always thought this towering vampire was terrifying—heard him come out from the shadows of silence.
His voice was clear and manly, his confusion obvious in the slight furrow of his brow and the tilt of his head, yet his gaze was steady.
"You drink my blood, you savor it, and never express your gratitude," the towering vampire, Lucien, stated flatly, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the cavernous hall.
Blood—his own—trickled down his neck in thin rivulets, staining the tattered remains of his poet shirt's collar a deeper crimson.
The first vampire woman clung to him like a leech, her body pressed against his towering frame, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders with desperate strength, needing blood but refusing to move.
He then moved forward with unnatural grace, his massive form casting elongated shadows across the blood-spattered marble floor as he navigated through pools of crimson that reflected the fractured moonlight.
The movement pushed the second vampire woman back slightly, her tattered blue gown whispering against the floor as she retreated.
Her eyes squinted at him, fluttering beneath ash-blonde lashes—quite a contrast to her sister, who had confronted him so bravely. Lyra's fingers nervously intertwined with the silver threading of her ruined dress, twisting the fabric until it strained against her grip.
"I—I..." The second vampire woman, Lyra, on the other hand, felt conflicted and only lowered her head in guilt when the towering vampire stopped advancing, his enormous shadow engulfing her smaller form.
Colored light from the stained glass above fell across her downturned face, painting her shame in hues of blue and amber.
He's right. But how could she admit she was enjoying this blasphemy? Enjoying the taste of forbidden blood? The memory of it flooded her senses again—that electric sweetness that had coursed through her dead veins and made her feel alive for the first time since her transformation.
How could her mind allow that? That was why she felt neither gratitude toward him, but rather a sense of repulsion that warred with desperate desire.
But the deed was already done—she had drunk his blood, tasted it, and it was very tasty. Those thoughts filled her hazy mind, and for a moment, the towering vampire seemed so handsome, his features softening in her perception, the harsh angles of his face transforming into something almost noble in the kaleidoscopic light.
Then she fell silent, her cheeks reddening with blood that wasn't entirely her own, the flush extending down her neck and disappearing beneath the torn collar of her gown.
That silence was broken when—
"Huh?" Her little sister, Elara, who had just finished savoring the blood, was now confused, the haze of feeding slowly lifting from her mind like morning fog.
Her blinking red eyes, momentarily dulled with satiation, looked up at his broad chest where the white fabric was now stained with splashes of crimson from her messy feeding.
The metallic scent assaulted her nose—rich, coppery, intoxicating—and the long dark brown hair that fell around her vision like a curtain only added to her disorientation.
She could feel the sticky wetness around her mouth, taste the lingering sweetness on her tongue, sense the newfound strength coursing through her limbs.
"Done already? Get off," a voice suddenly snapped her back to reality, each word precise as a blade.
She froze, her body going rigid against him, then looked up to see this monster's face mere inches from her own.
His crimson eyes met hers directly, unblinking and ancient, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light.
Her thoughts stalled, her gaze involuntarily drawn to his neck—where there were now two more bite marks, glistening with saliva, the punctures already beginning to close with unnatural speed.
In an instant, the scene of her elder sister biting him played in her mind with brutal clarity, and she instantly got off him, her movements a blur even to her own perception.
The tattered silk of her gown whispered like gossip as she moved to stand beside her elder sister, while also thinking—Wh-what have I done?! Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment, the flush making her look almost alive again, as she unconsciously wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a crimson streak across her pale skin.
Unlike Lyra, her elder sister, Elara only felt shame. Shame to her core—it burned through her newly revitalized body like acid, settling in her stomach like a leaden weight.
She had constantly opposed this towering vampire, accused him, blamed him, even though she knew he was not completely in the wrong. Her gaze fell to the blood-smeared marble floor, where her reflection stared back at her from a crimson puddle, distorted and monstrous. A single drop of blood—of this towering tall vampire's blood—fell from her chin and rippled the surface, fracturing her image further.
On the other hand, the towering vampire, Lucien, looked at the two sisters, still embarrassed with their heads bowed like chastised children, then glanced toward the rest of the corpses scattered throughout the grand foyer.
The butler's body lay crumpled near the base of the spiral staircase, his once-immaculate uniform riddled with holes, the silver monocle shattered beside him.
Maids and other servants lay in grotesque poses against the walls and furniture, their limbs twisted at impossible angles, faces frozen in expressions of horror and disbelief.
Now I have grasped my blood's ability, but what about them? Lucien pondered, one long finger absently tracing the already-healing punctures on his neck.
He had promised this first vampire woman to revive her sister and the servants. But, looking at the previous pattern with this second vampire woman, wouldn't they attack him and suck his blood dry like these two sisters?
His eyebrows furrowed as he crossed his arms across his broad chest, the tattered remains of his poet shirt rustling with the movement.
He actually didn't mind embracing these two beautiful women, especially since the aftereffects of having his blood sucked by them were negligible—just a slight dizziness that dissipated like morning mist.
But a grown man... Lucien's gaze shifted toward the old butler, whose body was riddled with holes, blood congealing in dark pools around him, soaking into the imported rug beneath.
Just thinking of the butler clinging to him like the two women made his body shudder for some reason, a visible ripple of discomfort that traveled from his shoulders down to his fingertips. His lips twitched, then pursed into a thin line, before he looked back at the two sisters, who still couldn't meet his gaze directly.
"You two, try to revive your servants," Lucien said, finally managing to draw their attention.
At last, they were able to raise their heads and look at him, their red pupils catching the fractured light, glowing like twin sets of embers in the dimness.
"Just use two drops of your blood," he continued, watching as the second vampire woman, Lyra, looked conflicted, her pale fingers knotting in the ruined fabric of her blue gown.