Chapter 62: Fallen Vampir [3]

Pathetic.

He crawled like a worm through the filth, bloodied and broken, clutching a crude little dagger as if it meant anything. As if it could stop her.

The poison burned faintly where he’d scratched her. Insulting.

Did he truly think she hadn’t tasted worse? That she hadn’t bathed in far crueler toxins during her centuries of slumber and war?

She had let him breathe. Let him think he had a chance.

Because that was always the most delicious part.

Watching the hope rot out of their eyes.

Velra tilted her head, stepping over a splintered chunk of the wall she’d reduced to dust.

“You think you’re still in a game, don’t you?” she said, smiling as his dagger-wielding hand trembled.

There was blood on his teeth. His ribs were cracked—she could smell the splintered bone. One leg bent the wrong way. The thrum of his life force was faint now, fluttering like a dying bird’s heartbeat in winter.

And yet… his eyes hadn’t fully broken.

Not yet.

He was still thinking. Still plotting.

It amused her.

How they clung to survival like that.

She could end it now. A flick of her wrist, and his spine would split open like wet bark. His soul would scream as it tore free from his body. She could trap it, even—turn his essence into wine, or ink, or something useful.

But she didn’t.

Because she was angry.

And because she was curious.

He had done something unexpected.

He’d sent her away.

That girl. The one who carried traces of his blood. Faint, diluted, but unmistakable. The Draken legacy. How long had it been since Velra had tasted such a thing?

And now the girl was gone.

Stolen from her.

By him.

Velra stepped closer—slowly—letting him hear the deliberate scrape of her heel against the shattered stone. Letting him feel that death wasn’t just looming.

It was walking toward him.

He didn’t speak.

But there was a shift in his eyes.

Not surrender.

Not desperation.

Something else.

Ah…

A lie.

He was preparing to speak.

How interesting.

Velra folded her arms, head tilting with serpentine grace.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, her voice dripping like oil over fire. “Speak. Whatever little bargain you think will save you.”

He flinched—barely. A breath hitched in his throat. Pain rippled through him again, and it pleased her.

“You’ve earned a few final words, don’t you think?” Her smile stretched, slow and terrible. “Say them well. I might even pretend to listen.”

She could already imagine it—some laughable bluff, some desperate tale of alliances or gods or hidden powers watching over him.

She’d heard them all.

And she had silenced them all.

But still… this one intrigued her.

A worm, yes—but a stubborn one.

Perhaps she would peel back his mind, layer by layer.

See what made him different.

Why he had thrown away his chance at life to save her.

Why he believed a Return Stone was enough to steal from Velra.

Let him talk.

Let him try.

The more he spoke, the sweeter his silence would be when she tore it from him.

So she waited.

And she watched.

Because sometimes, prey revealed something far more valuable than blood.

Sometimes… they showed you where the other prey was hiding.

And if he was smart—very smart—he might survive just long enough to regret it.

Maybe.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

His voice cut through the silence—sharp, angry, and defiant.

Velra blinked.

Surprised, for a moment.

Just for a moment.

“I did what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow, amusement curling at the edge of her lips.

Interesting, she thought. So he wants to play.

She welcomed it. A little game before his inevitable death. But her amusement faded just as quickly with his next words.

“You put your fangs on my target,” he spat, dragging his mangled body upright with sheer stubbornness. “You got in my way.”

Velra stared at him, stunned by the sheer audacity.

“…Have you lost your mind?” she said slowly, studying him with new eyes.

“The crazy one is you,” he shot back. “Who gave you the order? It wasn’t Nolkk, was it? Or… has Nolkk even been chosen yet?”

That made her pause.

Genuinely.

He knew the name. That name.

The name of the Great King.

Velra had expected a lie. A bluff. A last-ditch attempt to buy a few more seconds of breath before she crushed him.

But now?

Now she realized he wasn’t just some reckless, stubborn human.

He knew things.

Dangerous things.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You dare speak that name?” she hissed. “You, who aren’t even of noble blood. You have no right to speak so freely!”

“My apologies,” he said coolly, tilting his head just enough to make it feel like mockery. “Even if it’s the throne of a ruined kingdom from another race, I suppose a little respect is still due.”

His eyes opened slightly—just enough for her to glimpse the madness flickering beneath. Subtle, but unmistakable.

“As long as you stay away from my prey, we won’t have a problem.”

Velra’s smile vanished.

What audacity. He didn’t even have a hint of magic in his blood. No aura. No power.

Yet here he stood, glaring at her like she was the one who’d crossed a line.

Fearless.

Or stupid.

Or something else entirely.

She found herself… puzzled. For the first time in a very long time.

Who was he?

He knew Nolkk name—a name known only among the highest echelons of vampire nobility. That wasn’t information any ordinary human could stumble across.

So maybe he wasn’t human.

A vampire? No. His eyes, when she caught that brief glance, weren’t red—they were black.

And his scent was unmistakable.

Human.

Ridiculous, she thought. A human, picking a fight with me?

Velra let out a cold laugh, more at herself than at him.

Had she really allowed herself to be shaken?

She must be weakening.

But it didn’t matter.

Even if he was something more—something hidden behind flesh and blood—it changed nothing.

She would kill him.

Soon.

But not yet.

Not until she understood.

Not until she knew why he risked everything.

Velra composed herself, folding her arms, her voice steady again.

“Very well,” she said softly. “Let’s see how long you can keep that fire burning.”

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