Ever since that night Elena vanished, Cyril had become an empty shell, as if his soul had been drained away, sinking into a silence that devoured him whole.
For three long months, he barely left the crumbling ruins of the manor.The stone coffin had become his only refuge — cold, dark, and silent, much like himself.He slept as though yearning to return to death's embrace.He remained still, so still that even the wind brushing past broken windowpanes made no sound.
Only when hunger gnawed at him, when his soul felt dry and cracking, would he venture out to feed.But he no longer hunted girls.The sweetness that once intoxicated him now tasted of ash.Whether it was a girl or a vagrant, their blood all tasted the same to him — pale, flavorless, like muddy water in an endless swamp.
He even began feeding on animals — feral cats, rabbits, snakes, whatever he could catch.He no longer cared.No blood could bring him pleasure anymore.
Each time he tore open a throat, his self-loathing deepened.More than once, he wondered if he should tear open his own.
He stopped looking at his reflection, afraid of the ashen, rigid face staring back.He felt like he had already died, only his soul was shackled to this rotting body by some stubborn, nameless obsession.
That day, after draining the blood of a monkey — its reeking stench mixed with earth and rot — he stumbled to a tree, retching, wishing he could rip out his own tongue.
He stared blankly at the blood pooling at his feet for a long time.Finally, he staggered to his feet and decided to go wash his mouth at the stream.
The forest breathed around him, heavy with mist and the smell of damp earth.Each step was a battle, as if even his body was sick of existing.
Yet just as he neared the stream, a familiar scent struck him like lightning.
Roses, citrus, fresh grass, and sunlight...Her scent.
Cyril froze, his pupils constricting violently, his body as rigid as stone.
"Elena..." he whispered.
The next moment, he was moving — so fast he seemed to vanish into the wind, his cloak whipping a storm of dead leaves behind him.
But the reunion he had yearned for turned into a nightmare.
Elena was suspended in midair, caught in the merciless grip of a black-cloaked vampire.The vampire's hand tightened around her throat as she struggled desperately, savoring the terror in her wide, innocent eyes.His lips curled into a pleased smile as he slowly bared his fangs.
Cyril's heart seized.A furious growl tore from his throat.
Without thinking, he lunged forward with the force of a storm, slamming into the vampire!
"Who dares—!"The black-cloaked vampire staggered back, dropping Elena to the ground.She collapsed in a coughing fit, clutching her bruised neck.
The vampire caught himself and smirked coldly."Ah, if it isn't Prince Carvain himself."
Cyril stepped protectively in front of Elena, his eyes glacial.He recognized the intruder — Lucien Valtor.A degenerate who killed humans for sport, never hunting out of hunger but for the sheer pleasure of the kill.Protected by his uncle, a High Elder of the Night Tribunal, Lucien acted with impunity.
"And here I thought you purebloods had rotted away in your coffins," Lucien sneered. "Didn't expect to see you risk yourself... for a mere human."
Cyril didn't answer.He simply advanced, step by step.
"She's not prey," he said quietly, his voice sharp and cold as breaking ice. "Who gave you permission to touch her?"
Lucien's smirk faltered slightly.Still, he chuckled mockingly."You'd raise your hand against your own kind... for her?" He scoffed. "She's just food."
"Shut up," Cyril growled through gritted teeth.
Lucien's smile twisted into something nastier, but he still tried to play it off lightly."You know the Tribunal frowns on internal squabbles, especially ones that disrupt the Hunt..."
He didn't finish the sentence.Cyril struck first.
The two clashed in a whirl of shadow and fury — blows landing like thunder, claws tearing the air.Lucien was fast, but before a pureblood, he was nothing more than a paper doll.Within moments, Cyril slammed him into a massive tree, the trunk splintering with a deafening crack.
Lucien coughed up blood and staggered to his feet, clutching his ribs.
"Fine," he hissed, his tone bitter. "You win, Prince Carvain. Keep your little pet."
Cyril's breath was steady, his gaze deadly cold.
Lucien straightened his coat, flashing a mocking grin."But a word of advice—" he said. "You broke the rules tonight. The Night Tribunal won't just let this slide."
Cyril let out a low, humorless laugh."Let them come to me."
Lucien's smirk twitched.He gave a mocking bow, then turned on his heel, vanishing into the night.
Silence fell over the forest.Only the wind whispered and Elena's ragged breathing remained.
Cyril turned slowly to face her.
"Don't come near me!"She shrank back, terror-stricken, her voice cracking.
She stumbled, fell hard to the ground, and tried to crawl away.
He reached out instinctively to help her up —but she slapped his hand away with all her strength.
"Don't touch me!" she sobbed. "You're a... you're a vampire!"
Those three words sliced into Cyril's heart like a blade.
He froze, utterly still.He had known — deep down, he had always known — this day would come.The day she learned the truth.The day she would fear him.Hate him.
He thought he had prepared for it.
But nothing could have prepared him for the way it actually hurt.
The pain was more brutal, more suffocating, than any wound he had ever suffered.