Chapter 101: Clipped Wings

Mr. Belmont hunched his back, his good hand clutching the broken wrist that had been forced backward. The joint screamed with white-hot pain and his vision swam with dark spots. He had been struck before by debt collectors but never like this! His wrist throbbed violently and was beginning to swell.

“W–what is wrong with you?!” Mr. Belmont wheezed through clenched teeth. “You broke my… my hand!”

He staggered, nearly losing his footing and only then remembered his cane lying beside the chair. He was going to reach for it—

“Do it.”

There was a sinister calmness in Lucian’s voice that made Mr. Belmont freeze.

“I w—will report you!” Mr. Belmont snapped. Tears appeared in his eyes from the pain. “You broke my wrist! You think you can get away with this? I will have you thrown into a cell—I will—”

“What will you report me for?” Lucian asked as he glanced down at the deeds in his hand. “For attacking me first when I was only defending myself?”

Mr. Belmont opened his mouth but nothing came out. He suddenly became aware of how the men in the room wore stiff expressions, and no one looked eager to side with him.

Used to feeding his ego rather than his sense, Mr. Belmont grabbed the cane out of habit. He raised the cane to hit Lucian, but at the same time he noticed the man’s eyes shift from black to red.

Lucian’s fingers wrapped around Harold’s good hand and he murmured, “You seem fond of learning things the hard way.”

Harold Belmont realised the danger, his mouth opening to shout, when Lucian’s fingers squeezed his hand harshly. The bones didn’t just break, but powdered in some parts from the pressure.

If people didn’t hear it before, they heard it loud and clear now.

Mr. Belmont screamed as his second hand gave way, pain detonating through his arms so violently that his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

“W–why? Who are y–you?!” Mr. Belmont demanded hoarsely.

Lucian tilted his head and asked, “Does it matter?”

The pureblooded vampire stared at the human on the ground like an insect that he wanted to dissect, and the other men in the room quietly inched towards the exit before bolting out of there.

Mr. Belmont tried to get up but only slipped with his hands that he couldn’t use anymore. Before the vampire could kill him, he scrambled to his feet and fled out of there without looking back.

“Why did you not kill him?” The dirty blond-haired man who had played at the table earlier asked, his tone curious.

“Death is quick. Merciful, even. If one truly wishes to watch an insect suffer, one does not crush it but clip its wings.” Lucian’s gaze followed the echo of hurried footsteps fleeing into the night.

Besides, Lucian thought, she would blame herself if something extreme happened.

“How conniving, cousin. I thought you were being generous,” the blond man remarked with a faint chuckle. Lucian turned to look at Sawyer, who had pretended to be the local man named Jay at the table. Sawyer jerked his chin toward the deeds. “Are you going to give those to Ruelle?”

“No,” Lucian replied without hesitation.

Sawyer’s eyebrows rose. He asked, “Do you think she’ll be upset with what you did?”

Lucian was silent for a moment. Then he said, “She will eventually find out. But she does not need to know about it today.”

Not far away in the village, a man’s hoarse voice tore through the quiet street.

“M–Megan! Megan!” Mr. Belmont staggered toward the house, his breath coming in panicked bursts.

His face was red and slick with sweat, the pain in his hands pulsing relentlessly as he held them close to his chest, afraid to let them drop. Every step sent a fresh jolt through his arms.

The front door opened and Mrs. Belmont stepped into the foyer, irritation already sharpening her features. She snapped at her husband,

“Where did you go, Harold? Caroline waited for you and left an hour ago—”

Her words faltered when she noticed him cradle his hands, which were twisted unnaturally inward. She questioned alarmed, “What happened to your hands?!”

“In—side,” Mr. Belmont gasped, glancing over his shoulder. “Get inside. Hurry!”

He forced his way into the house and slamming the door shut behind them with his leg. He turned to his wife and urged,

“Lock it. Lock the door, the windows and everything else!”

“Did the debt collectors chase you again?” Mrs. Belmont stared at her husband who was behaving erratically.

“I’ll tell you later!” He jerked his head to the door. “Just do it—lock the house! And keep the cabinet over the door. Fast!”

Mrs. Belmont’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she complied by locking and pushing the cabinet against the door. When she returned, her gaze snapped back to his hands and she asked,

“Who did this to you? Harold!”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, wincing as another wave of pain washed over him. “It was a vampire. A damned one. He tricked me and he might come for the house.”

“What…?” The colour drained from Mrs. Belmont’s face. Her eyes narrowed she whispered, “Did you just pawn our house?!”

“I was going to win. I was close, Megan, but that—” His wife suddenly grabbed him by the front of his coat and shook him hard. He cried out in pain and moved back, clutching his hands to his chest. “What is wrong with you?!” he shouted. “My bones are crushed!”

“What is wrong with you

?” Mrs. Belmont turned furious, her voice trembling with disbelief. She stared at him as though seeing a stranger wearing her husband’s face. “Where did you think we were going to live, Harold? You put the house on the table—our house!” Her teeth clenched.

“Shssh. He doesn’t know where I live. He will grow bored and leave. I will think of something about the—”

He stopped mid-sentence when he heard the sound of splash. He asked, “Is Caroline taking a bath?”

“Caroline left hours ago. She went to her house to speak to Ezekiel and you would have known it if you paid attention!”

Another splash echoed, closer this time.

Mr. Belmont’s brows furrowed and his gaze darted to the window before he took a step toward it and peered through the glass.

His eyes widened when he caught the vampire standing in his yard. And then he frowned, murmuring, “Why is he watering the ground?”

Mrs. Belmont moved to his side. Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of a dark-haired figure walking calmly across the lawn with a metal drum tilted in one hand and liquid fell from it.

After a couple of seconds, the smell slipped through the gaps of the windows and finally entered inside the house. Mrs. Belmont’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Is that…” Mr. Belmont whispered, dread flooding his veins. “Gasoline?”

His face drained of colour as he realised what was happening. He shouted in panic, “What are you doing?!”

Lucian let the empty drum fall from his hand, where it struck the ground with a dull clang. He then sat on the side of the drum, one leg drawn back, the other stretched out at ease as if he had all the time in the world.

The pureblooded vampire pulled out a cigar and placed it between his teeth before pulling out a lighter from his coat. The small click of the metal sounded far too loud in their quiet surroundings before he lit the end of the cigarette. He remarked,

“It is only proper to cleanse the house.”

“D–Don’t—don’t do it!” Mr. Belmont cried, panic tearing through his voice.

But Lucian threw the lighter that was still burning to the ground and fire quickly caught the ground, spreading towards the house.

“Open the damn door! Open it—before he burns us inside!” Mr. Belmont spun toward his wife and shouted.

And once the main door was cleared and opened, Mr. and Mrs. Belmont burst out of the house in a blind panic, coughing violently as their feet slipped on the damp ground. They ran without looking back and as far as their legs could carry them.

Heat stirred the night air, ruffling Lucian’s dark hair as he remained seated. He lifted the cigar and drew once before exhaling slowly while the fire crawled across the ground and then stopped, leaving the house untouched.

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