Chapter 21: W–We… Yes. Yes. We're Calling for Help.
"No, no, I don't want to die!" one of them screamed, a kitchen maid whose apron was now stiff with her own dried blood.
Her voice cracked with panic, echoing through the vaulted ceiling where shards of stained glass still clung precariously to the lead framework.
Perhaps Lyra's command only brought partial clarity, allowing them to recognize their situation without fully calming their new vampire instincts, or perhaps the presence of the towering vampire rekindled their terror—either way, their madness once again began to consume them.
Eyes that had momentarily cleared now clouded over, pupils dilating until almost no iris remained. Saliva dripped from re-extending fangs, sizzling faintly as it hit the blood-slicked marble floor.
Yet, when they tried to attack, their bodies betraying their intentions with tensing muscles and half-formed lunges, they... knelt again, invisible strings seeming to pull them downward. Their knees hit the marble with a synchronized crack that echoed through the cavernous space, heads bowed in unwilling submission.
This left the towering vampire, Lucien, speechless, his full lips parting slightly in surprise, one eyebrow arching upward as he processed this unexpected development.
From this brief situation, Lucien began to grasp a little understanding: basically, the vampire who revived someone would be their master. But if that master was also a servant to another master, then the newly revived servant could not attack their grandmaster?
But I can't command them directly? Lucien thought.
This whole perspective... it's... really refreshing... Lucien commented inwardly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the chaos surrounding him.
He then looked at the two sisters, who were also watching him with a mixture of fear and fascination, their crimson eyes reflecting the diminishing darkness as dawn approached.
Though he still lacked sufficient data, the glimpse of the sky outside through the broken stained glass ceiling—no longer pitch black but softening to a deep indigo at the edges—and the sound of birds chirping their first tentative notes of morning told him he had no time left.
"Try to make them drink each other's blood. And you—" Lucien spoke. He looked toward Lyra, who flinched at his words, her slender body recoiling as if struck.
"Follow me." He was about to command her further, but the first vampire woman stepped between them.
Her eyes were fixed on him, defiant despite her fear, crimson pupils contracted to pinpoints with determination.
But he could see her legs trembling beneath the ruined fabric of her gown, her throat gulping with nervous swallows that made the newly healed veins in her neck stand out against her pale skin, and her chest slumped in a posture that betrayed her exhaustion despite her brave front.
"I told y—" Elara began.
"I don't have time for another argument," Lucien cut her off, his tone brooking no resistance.
"Tend to your servants." But before she could finish speaking, her words still hanging in the air like unfinished music, Lucien, having no time for her games, pushed her aside with a sweep of his massive arm.
The force sent Elara staggering backward, her tattered gown swirling around her legs like disturbed water, dark chestnut hair flying across her face.
"Ugh..." A small, surprised gasp escaped her lips as her back collided with the ornate banister of the staircase.
Lucien directly grabbed Lyra's hand just as she finished giving commands to the kneeling vampire servants, his long fingers encircling her wrist with unexpected gentleness despite the urgency of his movements.
Her skin—cool and smooth against his own—felt fragile beneath his grip, though he knew she now possessed strength to rival his own.
Lyra's ash-blonde hair whipped around as she was jerked forward, her eyes widening in surprise, pupils contracting to crimson pinpoints.
"W-wait—" she began, but the protest died in her throat as she caught sight of Lucien's expression—taut with urgency, his eyes darting toward the lightening sky visible through the shattered stained glass ceiling.
The two of them left Elara behind, with the sounds of bloodsucking echoing in the background.
…
While the manor drowned in blood and terror, farther away, deep within the tangled, shadowy forest, two figures fled beneath the shivering canopy. The half-light of morning barely touched the leaves, and dawn seemed forever trapped behind the horizon, casting everything in an anxious, ashen blue.
A thin mist clung to the forest floor, curling around tree trunks like spectral fingers, carrying with it the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves mingled with the metallic tang of their own fear-sweat.
CRACK!
Another branch snapped beneath hurried feet, the sound like a gunshot in the muffled stillness.
A startled owl screeched overhead, its wings beating a frantic rhythm against the air before its silhouette cut through the gray haze, vanishing into deeper darkness.
Gasping—ragged and desperate—the two maids forced their way through brambles that clawed at their once-pristine uniforms, now damp with perspiration and torn in a dozen places.
Each breath sliced cold in their throats, burning like swallowed ice. Blood trickled from their bare feet, leaving trails on the jagged stones—tiny crimson breadcrumbs marking their desperate flight.
Despite the pain—despite their reddening, wide eyes, pupils dilated to black pools of terror—they pressed forward, shoulders hunched against the horror lurking at their backs.
Run... I need to run... I need to run fast! Evelyn's heart thundered against her ribs like a trapped animal, her breath coming in desperate gasps that tore at her raw throat.
Her fingertips tingled with numbness as she pushed aside low-hanging branches, the skin of her palms scraped raw.
Images flashed through her mind in nauseating bursts: the roar of Sir Bastian facing that towering vampire... the way his broad shoulders had squared even as his legs trembled beneath him... and the way his silver saber, always so steady during practice, had quivered in his white-knuckled grip.
She heard again the soft, predatory click of crimson eyes fixing on her—those vertical pupils contracting with interest—a gaze that cleaved through every prayer and pretense of safety, leaving her soul naked and exposed.
Suddenly—
"Ack!"
A body tumbled behind her with a heart-stopping thud, followed by the soft crunch of leaves and the snap of small twigs.
Evelyn froze, her muscles seizing mid-stride. Spinning back, her sweat-dampened hair whipping across her face, she saw Selena sprawled on the ground, tangled in gnarled roots and thorns, her trembling hands clawing at the dirt.
Blood welled from a fresh gash on her chin, trickling down her throat in a thin scarlet line that disappeared beneath her collar.
"I—can't—" she choked out, her words barely more than a breath lost in the mist. "My leg... Evelyn, please, I can't—"
She clutched her ankle, lips trembling as more blood seeped between her fingers, warm crimson contrasting starkly against her bone-white knuckles.
Her uniform, already ruined, was now splattered deep scarlet, the fabric torn away to reveal angry, swollen flesh beneath. A sob caught in her throat, emerging as a strangled hiccup that echoed softly against the ancient trees surrounding them.
Evelyn's own breath snagged in her chest. She looked down at the swollen, bleeding ankle, watching as it purpled before her eyes, the skin stretching taut and shiny over distorted bone.
For a moment, she hesitated—a terrifying, traitorous thought crawling through her mind like a venomous spider.
Should… should I run? What if the thing… comes for us? The thought made her stomach clench with self-loathing, but her feet shifted backward involuntarily, toes curling against the cold earth.
I… we left everyone… Her throat constricted around the memory of faces she might never see again.
Then, as if knowing what she was thinking, Selena's voice broke through, raw and desperate, her words punctuated by shallow, hitching breaths. "Evelyn, don't—no, don't leave me!" Her eyes, wide and glistening, fixed on Evelyn's retreating feet.
"After—after last winter, remember? I covered for you every time you were sick, I—I even lied to Lady Elara so you wouldn't get punished! Please!" Selena tried to push herself upright, sobbing.
Her arms shook violently beneath her weight, elbows buckling as twigs and pebbles dug into her palms. A leaf clung to her tear-streaked cheek, fluttering with each ragged exhale. "I don't want to die alone out here." The last words emerged as barely a whisper, her chapped lips trembling around them.
Evelyn's mouth opened and closed, her jaw working in torment. Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides, nails digging half-moons into her palms.
"Selena… I—" Fear and guilt gnawed at her, tightening around her chest like a corset pulled too tight.
If she left now, maybe she'd escape—but she'd be as monstrous as what hunted them.
She knelt with a soft crunch of leaves, fingers trembling like autumn's last foliage, and grabbed Selena's arm.
The fabric of Selena's sleeve was damp with dew and sweat, warm beneath her chilled fingers. "Alright—stop squirming, let me help. We'll move together. Can you stand at all?" She tried to sound strict, even as her own tears blurred the world into a smear of shadows and mist.
Selena let out a shuddering breath, nodding frantically, her tangled hair catching on the rough bark beside her. "I'll try, just—" She hissed in pain but clung to Evelyn's shoulder, her fingernails digging through the fabric and into flesh as she forced herself up.
Her good foot scrabbled against the damp earth, seeking purchase. For a bone-chilling second, neither spoke—only their ragged breaths filled the void, creating small clouds that mingled in the narrow space between them.
Then Selena whispered, her lips close enough to Evelyn's ear that the warmth of her breath raised goosebumps, "If… if we make it, I'll—I'll owe you for the rest of my life, Evelyn."
Evelyn gave a weak, bitter laugh that tasted like copper in her mouth. "You already do. Now shut up and keep moving. I'm not carrying you the whole way."
The words were harsh, but Evelyn's grip tightened protectively, her arm encircling Selena's waist with unexpected strength. She adjusted her stance, bracing her feet wider to better support their combined weight.
They limped onward, Selena's weight heavy on Evelyn's back, her labored breathing hot and uneven against Evelyn's neck.
"Do you think—do you think it's following us?" Selena murmured, her voice taut with terror.
"Don't think about it," Evelyn snapped, then added quietly, a tremor betraying her own fear, "Just focus, Selena. Look for anything—a cottage, a road, anything that isn't trees."
She squinted through the misty half-light, her vision strained and burning from exhaustion.
Every shadow seemed to move with predatory intent, every patch of deeper darkness hiding crimson eyes and gleaming fangs. A bead of cold sweat traced a path down her spine, making her shiver despite the exertion heating her skin.
Minutes dragged, measured only by their labored breathing and the painful shuffle of their steps. The forest seemed to close in, thick with watching eyes, branches reaching like grasping hands, and then—
A glimmer. Faint but unmistakable, a sliver of golden light pierced through the dense foliage ahead, reflecting off the lingering droplets of dew like scattered diamonds.
"A village…" Evelyn's cracked whisper rippled with disbelief, her parched lips forming the word like a prayer.
Then relief exploded in her chest, spreading warmth through her frozen limbs like sunlight melting frost. "Selena, look! There, past the fog!" Her voice trembled as she pointed with a dirt-encrusted finger, unconsciously straightening despite the weight against her side.
Selena choked on a sob, her grip on Evelyn's shoulder tightening almost painfully. "I see it, oh God, Evelyn, I see it!" Her voice hitched between words, each syllable vibrating with desperate hope.
The faint golden glow reflected in her tear-filled eyes like twin stars. "We're saved—we have to be—" She tried to move faster, her injured ankle dragging through decaying leaves with a soft rustling sound.
Evelyn pressed on, hope propelling her weary limbs that moments before had felt leaden with exhaustion. Each breath burned less now, fueled by possibility rather than panic.
"Come on, come on, we're almost there—" The words emerged between determined pants, her jaw set with renewed purpose. The scent of woodsmoke reached them—the unmistakable homey aroma of hearth fires and morning cookery—growing stronger with each struggling step.
As they broke through the last tangle of undergrowth, scraping against thorns that left thin red welts across their already marked skin, a wavering light swung toward them, bright amid the gray weeds and morning mist.
Both girls froze, blinded after so long in the forest's gloom, hearts hammering in their throats.
Evelyn threw up one arm to shield her eyes, the other still clutching Selena protectively. A silhouette resolved: a stocky, middle-aged man bearing an old gas lamp that hissed softly in the dawn quiet.
His weather-beaten face was framed by an unruly salt-and-pepper beard, and a woolen cap sat askew on his head. His brow furrowed as he approached, crow's feet deepening around keen eyes as he took in their shredded dresses, the gleam of blood darkening to rust-brown, their raw faces streaked with dirt and tears.
Blood?
He halted a few feet away, the lamp casting dancing shadows across the ground between them, concern and suspicion warring in his eyes.
"Hmm? Young ladies, what are you doing here in this forest at dawn?" His voice was wary but not unkind, carrying the rough burr of country living. His free hand rested on the worn leather handle of a knife at his belt—not threatening, but prepared.
Yet then, when he tried to take a closer look, thinking this was a demon in disguise...