As I walk, I receive strike after strike, as if whatever this is wants to ensure I do not forget that Caria is off the table. But I sure would love to see her pussy spread for me on the table and satiate my hunger for her; I grin to myself.
“Damnit,” I bellow, as a sting courses through me, so powerful it almost makes me pass out. My eyes water from the impact.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Jodelle is the one. I love Jodelle; all hail Jodelle,” I say mockingly.
Instantly, I’m hit again like a crack from a leather whip; whatever is doing this takes great offense at my taunting. I grumble and groan in response as I continue to stagger my way home, doing my best to block out any graphic images from my mind. For some reason, my stomach fills with butterflies for Caria and a few lonely ones for Jodelle.
What if that vixen did cast a spell on me? She wouldn’t, would she?
She's a blood witch, after all. Dark creatures can’t be trusted. She deserves to die.
No. I shake my head in resolve. She wouldn’t be sucking my cock like that if she had. There is no need for her to do that. Unless it strengthens the spell? No, no, no. She wants me like I want her,needher. Another surge crashes through me like striking thunder, and I black out. I feel the gravel of the path cutting into my skin as I hit the ground. Thick, warm fluid coats my head; it's the last thing I feel. A copper tang in the air is the last thing I smell, the scent of my own blood.
I don’t hear the heavy footsteps that creak on the gravel as they near me. Nor do I see who crouches down and picks me up.
“Hey there, handsome; how are you feeling?”
My gaze flickers. My eyes burn from the dryness, my head spins, and my vision is blurry. I tilt my head toward the voice, gradually regaining my sight, and a pair of unnatural, bright green eyes stare back at me. I look at the man—at least, I think that’s what he is. As my eyes settle, I recognize who sits across from me. No, he’s not a man.
“You’re that dhampir, the one I saw at the city walls!” I say with revulsion.
“Ah, so you remember me as well. That saves us both time. My name is Faas, but I already told you that before.”
The dhampir offers me his hand. I contemplate whether to shake it, burn him, or escape. I look around, ignoring his hand, and notice I’m not bound. The dhampir eyes me curiously and then withdraws his hand with a shrug. Part of me worries I may have offended him by neglecting to shake his hand.
“You’re free to leave if that is what you’re wondering about,human. I found you along the road, fainted, and instead of letting you rot in the burning sun, I figured I’d bring you here, fix you up, and let you rest.”
He smirks, revealing his sharp canines. Nonchalantly, he points at the door.
“It’s not locked, nor are you shackled. You can leave if that’s what you want,” he says dismissively.
“Why wouldn’t you let me rot? Most creatures would,” I ask warily.
“Of course, because they’re all cowards to their core,” he scoffs. “They all deserve to die. The only creature I respect is that Umbra, but the rest of them areall pests that need to be eliminated,” the dhampir continues.
I stare at him in disbelief as his words register.
“Why do you want them all dead?” I ask, intrigued.
“Because they are all abominations and should never be allowed to roam this earth freely. The era of Light shouldn’t have ended,” he shrugs.
I glance at him, take in his sharp, sculpted features. He doesn’t seem to hold any ill will toward me, and I notice that part of me is drawn to the dhampir, as if he might have answers I wasn’t yet aware I was looking for. Even though only seconds ago, all I wanted was to flee, now, I feel a sense of intrigue.
“Right… My name is Fynn, but you already knew that… and I didn’t take your hand because I might… I will hurt you,” I say.
The lie rolls off my tongue easily, as I don’t dare to tell him I am terrified to touch him, even if it’s just a handshake. The slight tremble in my voice might have given it away as I recall how my blood witch glared at this creature with fear. A deadly creature like her was frightened of the one in front of me. It can only mean one thing: this dhampir is incredibly powerful, more so than her.
“Nice to be acquainted, Fynn,” he tips an imaginary hat as he says it.
“And I know about the Aurum you’re wielding, son. I’m just not afraid of it like these other low lives,” he chuckles. “Drink?”
I nod, and he shoves me an amber-colored liquid—alcohol, I assume. I bring it to my nose and take a whiff, followed by a swig; the liquid spreads across the inside of my mouth. The taste is divine, with a gentle burn as I swallow. I take another sip, and so does the dhampir beside me.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it wielding. It’s just… there,” I say softly.
“No one taught you how to handle that sort of magic?” he frowns.
“No… I don’t think my mother even knows how to,” I laugh.
