The Nineteenth Chapter
Ever since Cyrill was turned into werewolf, there is not a single minute that his Pasiphae abilities will not yearn to be unleashed.
But now…now is the perfect time to completely release his mighty powers. There is no turning back.
No. Not this time. He will not be cowered by these three Death Summoners’ mere presence. His indomitable godly presence will not be turned down by these shitty black-cloaked people.
He is Cyrill Clarke. The beta of the Irish Pack and a Pasiphae werewolf.
And he will not step back.
***
In a heartbeat, the Death Summoners released some black smoke into the frigid air. It was so dark that even Hemera’s solarian powers cannot contend with their wholly dark abilities.
The one on the right threw a ball of plasma towards them. But, someone halted it in mid-air.
It was Rozelyn.
Rozelyn knocked out the other two with an invisible force in just a wave of her hand, throwing the two dark-clothed figures in the azure wall.
The third one, the one who has a golden-pommeled dagger, runs towards Rozelyn quickly—as fast as a bullet.
She grabbed his hand in time before he could stab her with the dagger. It’s golden pommel was inscribed with markings that she once saw in Dublin’s museum—it was the language of the Celtics.
Suddenly, the man’s other hand wrapped around Rozelyn’s brown-skinned neck.
She was choking. She couldn’t breathe. She was gasping and trying to fill her lungs with air—even for a little amount.
Yet, in the corner of her eyes, she saw something on the man’s wrist.
The woven petals of the Black Peruvian Rose ornamented the man’s wrist. His hands tightened around her flawless brown-skinned neck. As a result, she could no longer move due to the rose’s influence of temporarily negating her Thaumaturge abilities.
The black smoke prevails to engulf each one of them like a cloak. And in no less than a minute, Rozelyn’s body fell to the floor.
“Rozelyn!”
Cyrill’s voice was deafening. It was like a battle cry that even the entity was dumbfounded by the sudden shriek.
He managed to punch the man in the face. But, upon breathing onto the black flower’s scent, he too was rendered powerless.
The man kicked him in the stomach; repeatedly and with powerful force.
He was about to be stabbed by the man’s golden dagger when a huge orb of fire struck the Death Summoner to the ground.
A burgundy woman and a huge white wolf appeared by the foyer. Their bodies were shrouded by fire. Yet, the woman and the wolf didn’t seem to be turned into ashes. It looks like the fire served as a beacon of light and as a shield against the possible attackers.
The black smoke has now vanished...so as Romaine.
“Where did Romaine go?” Hemera asked, her solarian light was flickering in the midst of the quietude.
Anaztasia and Rozelyn were still unconscious on the floor.
Thanks to Avril and Vesta for being able to trace the infiltrators here in Shamrock—the Death Summoners.
“Do you think the Blood Mistress sent them here?”
Avril, who now shifted into his human form, was panting as he zipped his tattered sage jeans.
“Definitely,” Vesta said. Her luscious burgundy hair was gleaming in the living room’s chandelier light.
The Death Summoners were wearing masks. Masks that can only be worn during masquerade and banquet.
It was Avril who removed the unconscious man’s mask— the man who repetitively kicked Cyrill—while Vesta tended to the two unconscious ladies by the shiny floor.
Cyrill, Hemera, and Avril couldn’t believe it with their own eyes.
The man behind the mask was Chadwick Sullivan.
***
“Who gave you those jimson weeds?!”
Hemera furiously asked. Her voice shows no sign of mercy if ever she found out who is the mastermind of this attack and the hideous identity of the fucking Blood Mistress.
Stella and Candice too are still processing the incident to which the two of them were involved. They are the ones that have been thrown into the hard surface of the living room’s wall—wholly oblivious and perplexed.
Jimson weeds have been used ever since the beginning of civilization. It was said to be used by ancient hermits to heal. But, jimson weeds are also utilized to hypnotize potential victims in doing dirty work as shown in several accounts throughout history.
Cyrill was shaking his head. He couldn’t believe that the Blood Mistress had been using his fellow vampires and werewolves against each other. They’ve been fooled this time around by that bloody whore.
‘I’ll definitely skin that Blood Mistress alive if I ever find out her real identity!’ Cyrill brutally sworn.
“Whoever this fucking Blood Mistress is, she definitely knew about our day-to-day lives!” His angry voice reverberated in the walls of the Zadzisai residence.
“I’m sorry honey,” Chadwick apologized to Hemera; his sorrowful tears sliding down from his handsome face.
“So are we,” Stella and Candice spoke softly.
“It’s not your fault, wolflings. Chadwick,” Avril replied; he too was oozing with ire and vexation.
“Where the hell is Romaine again?” Hemera then scowled. She’s beginning to notice that Romaine is acting uncanny and…fishy.
Rozelyn and Anaztasia suddenly woke up. Their eyelids are heavy as they try to open their eyes gradually.
“Don’t force it.” Cyrill reprimanded.
“I’ll go find Romaine,” Hemera volunteered.
She was now gone for a minute when a loud roar coming from Hemera broke the silence.
Cyrill and Avril rushed to where Hemera is—in the kitchen.
The two men then gaped at what the horrors of this night brought upon them.
Romaine was pinned into the wall. A golden-pommeled dagger was stabbed exactly to where her beating heart was located.
***
“Quick! Get me Vesta and Rozelyn here!”
Hemera demanded, eyes not taking off from Romaine.
“Rozelyn was still weak. So am I. It will take a glass of the lily’s power to completely return our energy…” Cyrill countered. He too was astonished to find his adoptive mother completely pinned into their kitchen as if she was just a mere meat to be tacked in a neatly-painted wall.
“No problem, we’re already here.”
It was Rozelyn and Vesta standing by the kitchen door.
“I’ve already drunk that punch. Thank goodness they didn’t knock down the lily drink.”
Though the green-eyed vampire was pale, she was forced to lift a hand to mend her stepmother. Rozelyn then breathed out her Thaumaturge abilities, directing it to Romaine who was now laid in the floor.
Vesta laid her right hand into Romaine’s heart. The wound slowly healed and closed as soon as the two entwined and conjoined their hands, forming a stronger energy—a stronger bond of their supernatural gifts.
Romaine opened her eyes. Its russet color shimmers as if she just woke up early in the morning.
She was stunned. Not only because of the huge amount of blood all over her, but also to the reason that most of her fellow vampires and werewolves were present in the Zadizisais’ untidiest part of the house—the kitchen.
She wandered her eyes around. The whole place is a mess. Her vampire sheer sense of smell tells her that the kitchen is also reeking of carnage.
Carnage. She is smelling a putrid smell of decaying flesh nearby.
“Someone or something has been mauled near this kitchen,” she murmured.
Lucia, Rozelyn’s pampered cat, hissed fiercely. The orange feline was facing the door of the study, located within only a few meters from the kitchen.
All of them rushed to the study except Romaine, Stella, Candice, and Chadwick.
Cyrill was dazed by what he saw.
‘No fucking way. This is just a damned nightmare!’
He thought as the lucidity of the occurrence in the room remains unfeigned.
Several dismembered foul-odored bodies were scattered in the study. One of which is the man that he had been friends with for a long time—Henriz Salvador.
