The Twenty-Sixth Chapter

The smell of eggs and bacon greeted her as she went down the stairs. All of them—the pack and the coven—are present in the lavish white rectangular table.

"Good thing that you've woken up on your own, Nadeshiko," Hemera stated as she gestured for her to sit down next to Cyrill. Vesta, who was sitting on her right, grinned at her jovially and put some benedict eggs and well-fried bacon on her oval plate.

'Good timing for them to prepare a sumptuous simple breakfast. I'm craving a traditional English breakfast today, to be honest.' Rozelyn mused as she watched Vesta keep on putting pancakes and maple syrup on her plate.

"Eat well, Miss Thaumaturge. You're gonna have a long day ahead," Vesta then winked at her as if they had been close acquaintances for years.

Rozelyn muttered her thanks in Gaelic then gobbled the pancakes and Benedict eggs first.

Dorrien was staring at her. She was confused if it was a mockery or a sign for "let's have sex before you go home" kind of thing.

'That bastard is definitely a dick!' She thought as she ignored him and got some Hungarian sausages to a plate near Cyrill—who was miraculously silent throughout the meal.

She glared at him again, scanning his mind on what may be the cause of his grumpy disposition today.

To her surprise, Cyrill switched his gaze to her as well. As if the Pasiphae werewolf noticed her casual scanning of his thoughts.

But his eyes speak of something different. Wrath and fury were the aroma Rozelyn sensed as Cyrill averted his piercing look.

‘Why is he angry at me? Did I do something wrong?’

Rozelyn recalled her and Dorrien’s sex last night. She almost forgot that they are apparently loud and wild in bed.

She cringed at that thought and hid her scowled by drinking orange juice as soon as Hemera peered at her—as if the latter was just blandly observing her every intricate move.

Cyrill was just plainly eating his pork and beans. Rozelyn thought at first that perhaps Cyrill’s fury a minute ago was because of the lack of salt present in the dish. Cyrill was picky and choosy when it came to food. Back when they were in their teens, Cyrill would verbally complain if the food was lacking salt. Because for him, the absence of enough salt is just like eating something without actually enjoying the food. Salt for Cyrill is a crucial, essential ingredient in every food he ate.

But, she noticed his fingers were trembling as he scooped a spoonful of pork and beans into his sexy mouth.

‘He’s still furious...why?’

Rozelyn was again questioning herself, making one wonder if it is just a part of her daily regimen or she somehow possesses a Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Either way, Rozelyn must decipher the cause on Cyrill’s apparent and sudden anger. She may be a bitch but she never wants to have anger issues with people closed to her—especially a part of the Zadzisai family.

The morning breakfast hall was full of echoing laughter, teasing, and revelry. Even Dorrien joined the fun. The only ones who were possessed by the ghost of silence were Rozelyn Nadeshiko Zadizisai and Cyrill Clarke.

Hemera Bellamy, the vampire coven’s grand vampire and second to the vampire supreme, noticed their silence amidst the boisterous laugh and deafening cackles of their fellow lethal creatures. She was about to reprimand the two and join the fun when Cyrill hoisted his head—no sign of softness or brittle emotions on his handsome face.

Hemera just shut her mouth and proceeded to enjoy her cereal meal. She leaned onto Romaine, who was sitting on her right, and whispered, “You’re two waifs may somehow end their truce this time and are back to their quiet wars…”

Romaine peered at the two, their heads and attention focused solely on the food they’re eating. She tilted her head for a bit, waiting for one of them to yield and spoke to one another.

But, ten minutes have passed and so Romaine spoke to Cyrill’s mind via her telepathic abilities and muttered, “What seems to be the problem, dearest? Dorrien and Rozelyn had just their private tango last night because the body of the woman beside you was craving. That is the truth. They only did it for the sake of physical pleasure and to avoid the unknown punishment of the Blood Rose and Moonflower. Nothing more beyond that. Rozelyn only tasted Dorrien’s dick but his heart will forever belong to me and to me only. She definitely somehow knew that as well…”

Cyrill halted. He put down his utensils and stood. Everyone paused, including Rozelyn. Cyrill looked at Rozelyn’s emerald eyes first then to the russet eyes of Romaine, before storming out of the breakfast luxurious room.

All of them are still looking at the door to which Cyrill vanished, hoping he would turn back and return to his seat in a minute. But Cyrill’s seat remained empty for the rest of the remaining minutes. It was only Cleopatra, Hemera’s white Persian cat, who occupied the Pasiphae werewolf’s chair and proceeded to licked her paws.

The rest of the coven just continued eating the sumptuous traditional English breakfast. Some clicked their tongues in disapproval of Cyrill’s disrespectful actions, some shook their heads in dismay, and some just plainly went back eating as if nothing happened.

“I will talk to him after the meal,” Avril, the alpha of the Irish pack, declared politely.

“Indeed, you should,” Anaztasia countered.

Avril looked at Rozelyn and he could tell that she was or maybe one of the reasons why Cyrill walked away in this supposed merry breakfast.

The breakfast ended and Rozelyn was the only one left even if the housekeepers and scullery maids had already arrived. She was still staring at the seat next to her when one of the brunette maids in uniform courteously asked her to leave the room as they will now be cleaning and tidying the space.

As a respect, Rozelyn nodded and bowed her head in apology and quickly went to the outside of the fortress where her trainers, Chadwick and his company, were waiting for her.

***

The sun was now blazingly shining above the sky. So, they took a shade under the canopy of apple trees in the spacious courtyard of the Fortress of the Rose and Sanctum of the Moon—to where Candice is teaching her to craft an illusion that would make the building’s façade look like that of a Windsor Castle.

“You can do it, Roz!” Candice cheered for her. It took three attempts for her to perfect the illusion-crafting. On the third one, the building was now Windsor-looking indeed.

“Perfect!” was all Candice exclaimed as she stepped back a bit in the Bermuda grass in order to gain a wider look at Rozelyn’s illusion—that looked effortlessly gorgeous and realistic. No smoky effect whatsoever. Just a plain sight of the breath-taking mirage to the building’s façade.

Candice’s grin was wide—so wide that it reached her ears. However, Rozelyn was still unhappy, making Candice frown.

“What’s wrong, Thaumaturge?” She queried. Rozelyn just shook her head.

“Will the Thirteen Wonders happen this Samhain? I mean Romaine had already her ten-year reign as a supreme and those were only the maximum years for a supreme to rule,” Rozelyn instead asked Candice.

The latter shook her head and explained, “The Thirteen Wonders is a contest held in order to determine a coven’s and pack’s ranking. Both are arranged from highest to lowest. With being supreme or alpha as the highest, followed by the second or the Grand, the third or the High, then the fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on…”

Rozelyn nodded in agreement. Candice continued.

“The Thirteen Wonders are only held if the previous supreme or alpha hasn’t named their successor. In our case, you were named as Romaine’s successor and Cyrill as Avril’s successor. The ranking of the succeeding members are only changed if there are changes to the Werewolf Alpha or the Vampire Supreme. So I guess there will be no Thirteen Wonders this Samhain... only an orgy.” She chuckled at the last part.

Rozelyn was fascinated and in awe. She will be the supreme by the night of October 31—by the night of Samhain. And Cyrill will be the Alpha by that same night as well.

She looked at the western horizon and caught Cyrill staring at her by the third floor inside the Fortress.

Candice just looked at the two as she too can vividly see each other’s mysterious gaze due to her werewolf’s sheer eyesight and smell. She then secretly beamed. When Rozelyn turned around, she covered her mouth with one hand in order to hide her apparent grin from the raven-haired vampire.

“Why are you smiling?” Rozelyn asked Candice—who now shifted her expressions from smiling to strict.

“Nothing” was her only reply.

Rozelyn looked at the place where Cyrill had once been and he was no longer in there. He was now in the courtyard, sitting on by the edge of the gorgeous rose fountain.

Candice cleared her throat as soon as the two’s eyes met again.

“Well, the nearest room from here is empty and definitely cozy. Perhaps you’d like to chill out there or you know,” Candice shrugged her shoulders naively, “…a bit of fun wouldn’t be a problem between you two since you’re not blood-related to each other anyway...”

Cyrill and Rozelyn looked at her and she awkwardly and silently just walked away. Candice gave Rozelyn a look one last time and hoisted her right thumb in a “like” gesture to her. Rozelyn apparently just rolled her eyes and sauntered towards Cyrill, who was splashing and playing with the waters from the fountain with his duplicated Elemental abilities from Vesta Smythe.

“Ehem…” Rozelyn cleared her throat as a signal to him.

Cyrill’s body was still in the opposite direction and didn’t seem to heed Rozelyn—didn’t even seem to pay attention to her mighty presence.

“I had sex with Dorrien because my body told me to—”

That made Cyrill abruptly turn his head towards her.

“Is that new to me? You even had sex with your Geology teacher when you were sixteen and even to Ezra Eastwood once, how much more to your stepmom’s boyfriend?”

Rozelyn was wholly insulted—as if Cyrill’s scolding tone was that of a livid of an older brother, of an enraged boyfriend.

Her right hand seemed to have a life on its own as it landed powerfully on Cyrill’s right cheeks, staining his face with a shade of painful red.

Cyrill didn’t yield a whimper of that slap—of that mighty slap from the most powerful vampire to ever grace the earth.

He stood up. His towering height and powerfully-built body made Rozelyn cower a bit on the inside.

Before she could even inhale, Cyrill seized her arm and dragged her to the nearest room that Candice mentioned minutes ago.

He pinned her in the dim-lighted room. The room was heavily ornamented with black-out curtains of black and red colors.

Rozelyn realized that a human-size mirror was on her side when she heard the slamming of the door caused by Cyrill’s wind abilities.

The room was not that small, but not huge either. A crimson couch was situated a few inches away to her right, to where the mirror was erected.

Cyrill grabbed her hair, making Rozelyn come in contact with his electric blue eyes—the eyes that she was yearning to look at for eternity. The eyes that were the color of the crystal cool waters of the French Riviera.

His uneven breath was warm. His chest was in rhythmic oscillation. And his groin…she could feel the hardness of his manhood as he inched closer, both hands situated at the either side of her head.

She was about to protest when Cyrill’s soft lips crashed into hers—forcefully and strongly.

It was not a romantic kiss. It was a kiss of punishment, of torture. Torture to her passionate feelings that she felt for him. Torture to her conscience that she thought that Cyrill will never give a damn on her sex life. Torture to the girl that she was once—to the playgirl and sex-loving bitch she used to be.

She was catching for a breath as Cyrill released her lips; panting.

Rozelyn was about to say something to him when Cyrill’s huge hands ripped her clothes apart as if it was just a mere piece of white paper.