Chapter 50: A Path Crossed Twice

Ruelle’s bruised bare feet hung midair, her pulse pounding in her ears. Lucian’s words were a contrast to the heat of his grip—firm and steady.

“My shoes tore when I was being chased,” she said, her voice hoarse, a faint tremour betraying the fear still clinging to her. Remembering the corrupted vampire, she blurted in a rush, “That corrupted vampire is—”

“Is dead,” Lucian interrupted flatly.

Her breath caught. Dead? Surely, the creature hadn’t died on its own. And considering they were now alone, it wasn’t difficult to guess who had ended it.

“Can you…let me down now?” she asked finally, her cheeks flushing as embarrassment crept up her neck. For the first time, she noticed the steady rise and fall of Lucian’s chest against her back, the faint brush of his breath near her ear, and the way he carried her effortlessly, as though she weighed no more than air.

“You are injured,” Lucian replied abruptly, as though this were unquestionable fact. Without waiting for her argument, he stepped back a pace, lowering her towards the ground with deliberate care, while instructing her, “Point your feet down.”

Ruelle wondered if it was to avoid the dirt and mud from sticking to the cuts she had received on her soles. She complied, expecting the harsh bite of the forest floor. Instead, her feet brushed something solid and warm.

Shoes.

Her bare toes curled awkwardly inside the large leather boots. She blinked, glancing down in surprise. Lucian’s shoes.

He was barefoot. He remained utterly unbothered, shifting only to steady her before his red gaze swept the darkened forest, sharp and predatory. Ruelle quickly realised what he’d done.

“I’ll manage without them,” she said quietly, already shifting to pull her feet away, embarrassed at the gesture.

Lucian’s gaze snapped back to her, narrowing with an edge of irritation. “Do you plan to bleed through the forest and draw every creature lurking in the shadows?” His tone was blunt with the faint flicker of exasperation in his eyes. “My patience has worn thin, Belmont. Don’t test it. Put your feet back in. Now.”

Ruelle froze under his glare, her fingers tightening reflexively around the folds of her gown. Lucian wasn’t shouting—he didn’t need to. His voice alone was enough to drive the point. Begrudgingly, she settled her feet back into his shoes, their size swallowing her own entirely.

“They’re too big for me,” she murmured softly, her voice careful and hesitant. The words weren’t meant as a complaint—more like an unspoken invitation for him to take the shoes back. Wearing something so fine while he was left to walk barefoot felt… wrong.

There was a twitch at the corner of Lucian’s jaw, and he remarked, “Perhaps next time you decide to stroll into a vampire soiree uninvited, you should carry a spare shoe along with your terrible judgment. It might save me the trouble.”

Ruelle bit the inside of her cheek, the faint sting grounding her as guilt twisted low in her stomach. Twice now—twice—Lucian had pulled her from disaster this evening. The words of gratitude hovered on the tip of her tongue. She glanced down, avoiding his harsh gaze as her lips parted to speak. But he beat her to it.

“What were you even doing there sneaking into a soiree you had no business attending.”

“I told you I was accompanying my friends,” Ruelle replied. “We, I didn’t think it would turn into this.” Running into corrupted vampires was the last thing any of them had expected tonight.

For a moment, Lucian said nothing. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant sound of fleeing creatures. Then he exhaled sharply, a sound of irritation or resignation—perhaps both.

“You’re fortunate that your foolishness hasn’t cost you your life yet,” Lucian remarked finally. “Just because my brother left you to share my room, I have no intention of rescuing you every time you decide to stumble into danger.”

Ruelle frowned, the sting of his words chafing against her already raw nerves. She softly said, “I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”

“You didn’t have to,” Lucian said, his eyes narrowing faintly.

The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy cloak, and Ruelle looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The truth of it was undeniable—he had saved her twice tonight.

Her gaze drifted down to his shoes. She then said, “Thank you.”

Lucian regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned abruptly, his attention shifting back to the darkness. “We need to move. This area isn’t safe because we don’t know who else has gotten bit and if they have drifted this side.”

Ruelle blinked, “The corrupted vampires?”

“Yes,” Lucian replied dryly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Walk. I’ll follow.”

So now she walked, her steps uncertain in the oversized boots. Lucian’s presence loomed behind her, silent but impossible to ignore—like a shadow that breathed. Every crunch of leaves or snap of twigs beneath her tread felt embarrassingly loud.

They moved through the dense forest. And though Lucian had made Ruelle take the lead, she felt nothing less to a dangling carrot to the mouth of the corrupted vampire. She could hear him following, his movements impossibly smooth compared to her awkward stumbling.

What if there were more corrupted vampires lurking in the forest?

Unable to help herself, she turned her head to glance back, catching the faintest outline of Lucian—calm, composed, and ever watchful. His red eyes glinted faintly in the moonlight, carrying the intensity of a predator’s gaze.

Why fear about the corrupted vampires, when Lucian appeared scarier than anyone?

“Find something interesting this side?” Lucian asked without missing a beat, his tone cool but there was a hint of flicker of irritation reigniting.

“No,” Ruelle replied hastily, shaking her head. She hesitated before asking, “How did the corrupted vampires appear at the soiree?”

“Because they were already there,” Lucian said flatly, as though the answer should have been painfully obvious. His eyes flicked to her, and he added, “Perhaps if you paid attention in class—page thirty-four, Vampire History—you would have already known that corrupted transformations often occur among humans with weak constitution. But it seems you’ve been falling behind in your studies.”

Ruelle stiffened at the jab, heat creeping up her neck. “I wasn’t falling behind!” she protested quickly, though her voice faltered under his gaze. “I thought the students here were expert in turning humans to Halflings… that’s all.”

“There are various factors to consider when a human agrees or needs to be turned,” Lucian began to explain in a nonchalant tone. “Humans who lack the will to hold vampire blood in them, often lose their minds and their bodies rot with their hearts. But it is also important that the vampire who is turning the human, needs to have strong blood lineage. Have you heard that blood needs to be thicker?”

Ruelle wasn’t sure if what she heard was true about the vampire’s blood needing to be thicker… What she had heard was everything from her parents and she pursed her lips.

“Anways, the ones who attempted to turn the humans, and caused disruption and loss for Sexton will be held accountable for their actions. They shouldn’t have bothered to turn the humans in the first place,” Lucian said, his eyes skimming through the place ahead of her.

Ruelle absorbed Lucian’s words in silence. The notion of turning humans into vampires had always unsettled her, but now it seemed more horrifying than ever. She then said,

“You think the same then. That humans shouldn’t try to become vampires. It’s… unnatural.”

“True,” Lucian’s tone was flat, disdain dripping from it. “Because humans are not worth turning. They are weak, fragile, and utterly incapable of understanding what it means to carry our blood. It’s not something they can earn or achieve. It’s something they defile the moment they touch it.”

Ruelle wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, because there was contempt towards her kind. She replied, “But there are humans who survive the process. The Halflings.”

Lucian’s expression darkened. “Survive. A poor choice of words. They endure—barely. They become something caught between two worlds, neither truly human nor truly vampire. It’s pathetic. Take left,” he instructed her.

She briefly turned to look ahead of her, following his instruction. She finally asked, her voice quiet, “Then why does anyone even allow it? Turning humans, I mean.”

“Because some of my kind lack the discipline or the pride to refuse. To them, it’s a game, a way to expand their influence or sate their boredom. But the cost—” Lucian’s tone dipped lower, edged with something colder, darker. “The cost is what you saw tonight. Corruption. They are a bunch of idiots.”

Ruelle turned back to look at him. Only Lucian Slater would insult both humans and vampires at a time. She wanted to ask him why he hated her kind with such passion, but his voice broke the moment,

“Eyes forward. If you keep turning around, you’ll trip again—and I have already saved you enough times tonight.”

She quickly turned with a slight scowl, staring at the forest path ahead as heat rose to her cheeks. “I won’t—”

“And don’t worry,” Lucian interrupted, his tone carrying that familiar undercurrent of sarcasm. “If something comes out of the dark, you’re still in front. I’ll have plenty of time to react after it eats you.”

“That’s not funny,” Ruelle relied with worry.

“Who said I was joking?” Lucian murmured with an overly calm expression that had Ruelle’s eyes widen.

Behind her, Lucian’s quiet steps continued, steady and unbothered—like a predator perfectly at ease in its domain. They finally arrived by the manor, which now loomed somewhere ahead, a dark, empty shape carved out of the night. Its stillness unsettled her—the grand windows, once glowing with light and life, now stared blankly through the trees like hollow eyes.

As they continued to walk, the forest began to thin, the dense canopy overhead giving way to patches of moonlight that illuminated the path ahead. Ruelle could hear the faint crunch of leaves under her awkward steps, mingling with the steady rhythm of Lucian’s quieter movements behind her.

And soon the faint glow of Sexton’s corridors appeared through the dark, flickering faintly as though beckoning them closer. The sprites flitted just beyond the treeline, their soft light guiding the pair out of the shadows before one could see Sexton’s towering silhouette

“Put the mask back on,” Lucian said abruptly.

Not too far from them, she could hear murmurs coming from the far end side of the corridor. She quickly pulled the mask into place. They continued walking, the faint hum of voices growing louder.

“Lucian,” Ruelle spoke his name with a softness that matched the fabric she wore.

“What?” Lucian asked in nonchalance.

“Why did you come for me?” The question hung in the air, unanswered. For a heartbeat, Ruelle thought he might ignore her entirely. But then his voice came, quiet and clipped.

“Because letting you die would have been inconvenient.”

As they took a turn, Ruelle noticed some of the instructors stood there a few Elite students which also included Alanna who looked like she had fallen considering the mud smeared across her dress and face. The golden light from the hanging lanterns spilled into where they stood.

“It is good to see you are fine, Lucian,” spoke Mr. Mortis, while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We have sent the guards to scout and make sure to avoid the corruption spreading.”

Dane, who was there, noticed his brother missing his shoes. Or rather it being on the young lady’s feet who wore the mask. His eyebrows subtly furrowed, as he asked her,

“And how about you…?”

Ruelle could sense everyone’s eyes, especially Alanna’s looking at her. All because she had earlier lied about being someone else and not part of Sexton. She answered with a steady voice,

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Ruelle’s voice, though steady, carried an edge of fatigue. Her answer hung in the air for a moment, before the others began to talk about what happened in the soirees and a few humans who were dead.

And while that happened someone spoke her name next to her, “Ruelle.”

She stiffened at the sound of her name, startled she turned and noticed it was Ezekiel. “Mr. Henley.” Thankfully the others were too busy to hear her name.

How did he even recognise her? Could others tell it was her? Wait… her eyes! And the scent! She should hurry out of there!

“You shouldn’t stay here. Come, let me walk you back to the dormitory,” Ezekiel lightly rested his hand on her arm.

While Ezekiel had recognised Ruelle, he was confused as to how and what she was doing in the vampire’s soiree. It was possible that one of the Elites, or this roommate of hers had forced her to attend it, he thought to himself. His gaze flicked to the oversized boots on her feet and lingered briefly.

“I’d like that,” Ruelle murmured, because she didn’t want anyone else knowing that the person behind this mask was a Groundling.

As Ezekiel guided Ruelle out of there, his hand continued to rest on her arm.

Unnoticed by anyone, Lucian’s observing gaze shifted to them, noticing Ruelle’s awkward footsteps. But his eyes then followed the instructor. The way the Halfling’s hand lingered on her arm, his head inclined towards her—too familiar.

Lucian’s dark eyes lingered a moment too long, his expression unreadable in the dim corridor light.

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