Gone were the charred ruins of the hotel. Now, they stood inside the vampire hunters' underground base — a repurposed train station beneath the city, its brick walls reinforced with steel and lined with magical wards. Soft, orange lights glowed from antique sconces. The place smelled like oil, silver, and incense.
Hunters moved in and out briskly, carrying crates.
Among them were jars of swirling red blood and black silk sacks—meticulously transported under Aiken's supervision.
Alan watched as one of the younger hunters nearly tripped, nearly dropping a flask. He winced.
Then turned to Aiken.
"What do you need all that blood for, anyway?" he asked, eyeing the jars.
"Experimenting," Aiken replied simply. "I want to get stronger."
Alan blinked.
"You want to get even stronger?"
Milo raised an eyebrow beside him, crossing his arms.
"You just traumatized the vampire that haunted this city for a century," he said, voice dry. "And you want to get stronger?"
Aiken looked up at both of them, calm.
"Yes. There's always someone stronger out there. I need to be prepared."
Milo turned to Alan, face incredulous.
"Alan… is he really your son—" he paused, snapped his fingers, "Oh, right. He isn't."
"He isn't?" the witch interrupted, her voice sharp and smooth.
Alan shrugged.
"Found him in the Portland Woods eleven years ago," he said casually, resting a hand on Aiken's head and ruffling his hair with a grin. "He was such a restless rascal back then… now look at him. All composed."
"Yes…" Aiken said with a ghost of a smile. "I realized I was becoming like you, so I changed."
"Hey!" Alan barked, offended.
But the witch was still watching, calculating.
Portland.
She frowned.
That's Gemini Coven territory…
Then Aiken turned, voice thoughtful.
"By the way… dad, can I have a sample of your blood?"
Alan recoiled slightly.
"Eh? For what?"
"For experimenting, of course," Aiken replied. "Werewolf blood… I can't wait to see what secrets it hides."
Milo whistled.
"You really love your experiments, huh?"
"Quite a bit."
...
The streets were eerily silent, save for the shuffling of boots and the faint creak of leather as weapons were readied.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Aiken?" Alan asked.
Behind them, Milo and the vampire hunters stood poised with crossbows, bolts already nocked. The witch was silent, eyes scanning the rooftops, magic simmering at her fingertips.
"There are still more than fifty vampires in the city—gathering them all here—" Alan began, but Milo cut him off.
"Alan, your son doesn't strike me as the type to do something he isn't certain of," Milo said evenly.
Aiken ignored them both and turned to the witch.
"Give me your hand. I need a bit of magic."
Ecdysis was full, but he had no intention of wasting its reserves yet. Best to keep it ready for the fight ahead.
"Oh-ho…" Alan said with a smug grin. "You've really grown up… but isn't she a bit old for you—"
"I'm already taken," Aiken interrupted flatly.
"Oh… my little kid… you love her that much? You used to just cheat on your girlfriends—"
"Alan, please," Milo cut in sharply. "This isn't the time."
Alan huffed. "You're so annoying, Milo."
Aiken turned back to the witch, noting the hesitation in her eyes.
"Come on," he coaxed, a faint, sly smile tugging at his lips. "You're not shy, are you?"
She narrowed her eyes but extended her hand with visible reluctance.
"Thank you," Aiken murmured, taking it.
So, she doesn't actually know what a Siphoner is, he thought. If she did, she'd never have agreed. There was a faint psychic hum to her as well. In the past month, he'd met three witches—every single one a psychic. Curious coincidence. She must have just sensed something bad about me then.
Her palm was rough with faint ridges—scars.
They tortured her…quite a bit, he noted.
Without a word, she began to channel her magic through Connective Magic. No incantation, just silent, seamless flow.
Aiken's lips curved.
"Connective Magic? How cute."
The witch's expression twisted—then pain flared in her eyes. Her magic was being ripped away.
"What's happening?" Alan demanded.
"You bastard!" she snarled, yanking at her hand. "I knew there was something twisted about you!"
The vampire hunters reacted instantly—bolts leveled at Aiken—save for Alan.
"Aiken!" Milo barked. "Stop. Now!"
"Aiken, what the hell are you doing?!" Alan exclaimed, stunned.
"You're all so damn noisy."
With a flick of his finger, every crossbow tore from their owners' hands and clattered across the ground.
Perfect, he thought. That spell cost a decent amount, but I've already recovered it. His gaze slid to the witch, still trembling. Vast magic… maybe as deep as Bonnie's grandmother's. And yet I couldn't sense it before.
Alan stepped forward. "Aiken! What's the meaning of this? I didn't raise you like this!"
"Just watch."
One of the hunters' knives zipped into his palm. He sliced his forearm shallowly, crimson welling up and dripping to the ground.
The blood rose, hovering above them in a glistening sphere.
Aiken began the spell—an invention born on the walk from the hotel to the hunters' base. A lure. A call no vampire could resist.
"Sanguis meus, daemonis epulum, voco vos ad noctem aeternam… Sit odor dulcis sicut vita ipsa."
(My blood, feast of demons, I summon you to the eternal night… Let the scent be as sweet as life itself.)
The magic surged out of him—and through her.
"Ahhhhhh!" The witch cried out, clutching her chest as if the magic was being torn from her soul.
Even Aiken's breath hitched. This spell… it's eating through magic faster than I thought.
But the witch's power was strange—bottomless. The more he drew, the more it poured forth.
"Ahhhhhh!" She screamed again, until the last words of the incantation left his lips—and the spell locked into place.
The blood pulsed in the air like a living thing.
From the shadows, the city answered.
Dozens of vampires emerged from alleys, windows, and rooftops—eyes feral, teeth bared, every one of them desperate for the hovering sphere of blood.
To be continued...
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How was this chapter? Liked it?
Also, should I put the witch in the harem? I am conflicted, please help me.