The Forty-First Chapter
Dorrien heard Avril call the old woman ‘Thalia’.
Thalia. Such a youthful name for a woman who already had several silver strands of hair amidst its gleaming onyx color.
“Ms. Thalia Turner, isn’t it?” Avril asked the old woman.
“Yes, Mr. Arke. And it is my pleasure to meet you,” she greeted while extending a hand to the Irish Alpha.
“And to you, Mister—”
“Dorrien Ronan. His name is Dorrien Ronan, a Shapeshifter Werewolf.” It was Avril who introduced him.
“Ah, a Shapeshifter. What a surprise!” Thalia exclaimed as she touched his lower lip.
Dorrien swore that he can now move his lower lip a bit.
He did move it, as well as his upper lip.
Delight danced at the hazel eyes of the old woman. Avril smiled wildly as if seeing a baby just learned to smile.
“There you go. He’s a good boy, isn’t he? Quick to respond to my healing touch.”
Avril jerked his head to Thalia Turner. “I thought folks like you don’t have so much of a healing power.”
“According to whom, Mr. Avril Archer Arke?” She queried with a challenging stare.
“I-We….I mean that’s what my father said.”
“Did your father say that there are 3 kinds of us?”
“There is?” Avril’s brows hoisted.
The old woman cackled while still facing Dorrien.
Dorrien just listened to their conversation. It was all his ears could do, his whole body could do; except his upper and lower lips that, thank heavens, he can now move for a little.
But Thalia just stared at him. Not because she doesn’t know what to do, but because the old woman was scanning him—like a doctor inspecting a patient.
After a minute of silence, she smiled.
“You’re one lucky bastard that they didn’t do much damage to you, eh?”
Thalia then put her two glowing hands to Dorrien’s chest.
That was the last thing he sees before he becomes unconscious and Thalia Turner works on unleashing him from that evil, supernatural, body-binding curse.
***
“Where’s Avril?” Dorrien asked as soon as he opened his eyes and spoke without that dark power controlling him two hours ago.
“He left,” said Thalia. “Samhain is coming. Three days away from now. The Vampire Supreme had called for him.”
“Romaine…”
Thalia nodded. She then put her calloused hands atop his still-chained hands.
“I know what you know…in that dark forest in Surrey. I saw it too in my visions.”
His eyes widened; his sweet mouth opened due to astonishment.
“You’re a seer?”
“Something like that.” A grin was on her aged-and-not-so-aged face.
“Then you know that Romaine is—”
“Yes.
Dorrien sighed—in relief, in fear, in anger due to Romaine’s ‘betrayal’, and in panic.
“But we must not divulge it to them yet.”
Her eyes met his as she continued, “Not now.”
“Why, Ms. Thalia?”
In a wave of her hand, the chains in Dorrien Ronan’s hand now plummeted onto the floor. “There is always a right timing for everything.”
***
Finally, Samhain has come.
October 31 and it was the hallowed day for the creatures of the night. The Hunter’s Moon was vibrantly glowing on Halloween Night—Samhain for vampires and werewolves, and even for the Blood Witches also known as the Heathens.
Rozelyn managed to recover soon from that heart-stopping situation days ago; less than a day, to be frank.
She had become the talk of the town as soon as she entered the great hall of the Fortress of the Rose.
Rozelyn was indeed beaming in a bloody red off-shoulder dress, with a low neck cut that reached to her chest—thereby showcasing her even bigger breasts and more voluptuous cleavage.
“Vampirehood has shaped your body well, Ms. Rozelyn,” Avril, in luscious gray tuxedo, was handsome as he already was.
“And adulthood, I suppose.” Anaztasia made Avril and Rozelyn gaped. She was in a glinting silver sleeveless dress. Her skin was sparkling, cast by the light of the chandelier. Not to mention her dangling pearl earrings made her more dazzling and ready for a bed session.
“It seems that you have been blessed too by the Irish Alpha’s unlimited flow of grace,” Rozelyn teased with a too-sweet smile.
Avril cleared his throat; his cheeks are heating and in red.
“Enough of those praising words, ladies. Let us now celebrate our most anticipated festival—the Samhain.”
Anaztasia looped her arms to Avril’s and said to her raven-haired bestfriend, “Now, I bet you can now find someone to loop your arms, dear bestie.”
Her eyes then pointed to the approaching electric-blue-eyed Pasiphae werewolf.
As she turned to the approaching Cyrill, Rozelyn could hear Avril and Ana’s giggles as they walked away.
Cyrill’s sparkling eyes, that have the color of the southern waters, met hers.
Rozelyn swore there’s a kind of spark when the windows of their souls met—their eyes.
Cyrill was greeted by a vampire for a second and she became impatient.
As soon as Cyrill finished giving his welcome to that vampire, Rozelyn was now in front of her in a heartbeat. Thanks to her teleportation abilities.
“Who was it?” Rozelyn asked as she calmly drank a mocktail, a kind of non-alcoholic drink.
“Smirsha Forster. Perhaps you remembered her, didn’t you?”
She scanned her mind for a second. “No. As far as my mind tells me, I just heard her name today.”
He patted her head playfully. “You may be a Thaumaturge but your brain is still the same ten years ago,” Cyrill remarked as he gave her a breathy laugh.
Rozelyn pouted and crossed her arms. She could see that Anaztasia and Avril were also laughing while looking in their direction.
She put her two hands in the air. “Fine. I am the one who always forgets.”
He snorted. “Come on, Roz. I’m just joking!”
But Rozelyn didn’t reply. Her emerald eyes caught something else, someone approaching in their direction.
It was Thalia Turner…with Dorrien Ronan on her looped arms.
“Where’s Romaine?”
Cyrill shook his head. “I don’t even know where she is. She’s supposed to be the one welcoming the coven and the pack as she’s the Supreme.”
Yet, it was Avril and his Anaztasia doing Romaine’s responsibilities.
“Here, drink this. I’m pretty much sure you’re not following your diet.” Cyrill handed her a blood that seems to be still fresh from the hospital.
“Er…Thanks. This looks very fresh.”
“Indeed, I stole it straight from the freezer.”
Rozelyn debates whether she’ll be disgusted or be proud. She chose neither.
“Well here you are, dearest.” Thalia’s old voice was still calm and soothing. There’s something in her voice that always sounds like a lullaby and a siren’s song.
“Dorrien. You’re okay, now?” Cyrill asked.
But it was Avril who assured him that Dorrien’s okay.
“He’s fine. Thanks to Ms. Thalia.”
“You’re welcome. And perhaps I’m welcome here, too?”
“Of course, dear Thalia. You’re a family, remember?” Rozelyn then handed her mocktail to the aged-woman.
“You’re as altruistic as ever, little Rosie.” Thalia’s eyes sparkled at that statement, as did Rozelyn's.
And the Samhain night was composed of talks, fancy drinks, bloody drinks, and lavish food. Lastly, it ended with the bedding session in which the Fortress of the Rose was filled with moans and rocking beds and naked people—except to those who chose to not participate in the sexual part of the festival.
