Chapter 96: tales of the vampires

"Hello, Auntie," lauren said answering the call with gentle ease.

Madame Veronica, her voice deeply tinged with concern, urgently inquired, "Where are you, my dear?"

Seated at the hospital, Lauren's response mirrored her aunt's unease, "I'm at the hospital... why do you ask?"

In the quiet pause that held within it a multitude of unspoken emotions, a silent dialogue of worry and understanding played out between the two. "What's the matter, Auntie?" Lauren asked, her voice betraying a palpable sense of concern.

Madame Veronica's reply, solemn and weighty in its delivery, made it clear that their conversation couldn't adequately convey the gravity of the situation, "This is not news to be shared over the phone. You must return to the estate as soon as you can, dear. It concerns your Director."

In the lingering silence that followed, a sense of impending unease, fragile and palpable, enveloped the space between them. Lauren's slender fingers lightly traced the intricate patterns of her night gown, almost seeking solace in its delicate weavings, as she replied, "I'll come to the estate once I'm finished with my responsibilities at the office - I promise."

She turned, seeking solace, and found it within his warm embrace. As her delicate form melded into his secure hold, he held her firmly as if to shield her from the burdens of the world and they found respite in the sanctuary of each other's arms. Time slowed, as if respecting the weight of their shared moment, before she reluctantly disentangled herself from their peaceful haven.

"Where might I find the bathroom?" she inquired, her eyes meeting his in a gentle and lingering gaze.

With a serene countenance, he guided her, his gaze never wavering, "As you enter the hallway, turn to the right—you will find it there."

As she made her way down the hallway, Damien, propelled by a desire to care for her, rose from his seat and made his way to the kitchen.

It had been years, many lifetimes it seemed, since he last prepared a meal for a mortal human. And yet, with an air of nostalgia, he deftly crafted an impromptu breakfast, an offering of his enduring affection. His culinary skills, honed through the ages, remained unrivaled, undiminished by the passage of time.

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In the silent hush of early dawn, Marcel stirred, beckoned from sleep by an unfamiliar fragrance that danced delicately through his senses, coaxing him to wakefulness. Slowly, he fluttered his eyes open and found himself gazing at an unfamiliar ceiling.

The room bore the unmistakable imprint of femininity in its decor, each delicate hint weaving a tale of gentle elegance that adorned the space. His attention then shifted to his right, where he observed the serene form of the one who had shared the night with him, nestled in peaceful repose

In that moment, the vivid recollections of the previous night surged to the forefront of his mind, and a bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he beheld her serene countenance.

"Why does my heart feel this way?" he pondered silently, grappling with the conflicting emotions that roiled within him. "I have held affection for Lauren, and my feelings for her true... How is it that my heart now entertains these unsettled longings for another?" Wrestling with the turmoil within, he found himself questioning the nature of his own desires.

An irresistible impulse drove him to extend his hand and trace the contours of her face, yet just before making contact with her flawless features, he hesitated, as if caught between the light of day and the shadows of his own conflicted heart.

Exhaling softly, he withdrew his hand, a poignant regret coloring his contemplations, "If only she were not a vampire... Besides, it would make me a hypocrite to entertain the notion of courting the very beings I despise," he concluded, his introspective dialogue with himself drifting like a silken wisp within the quiet expanse of the room.

Serafina, her voice tinged with annoyance, directed a plea for quiet to the intruder of her sleep,

"Could you perhaps be quiet for just a moment? I am trying to sleep here, and your mind appears to rattle louder than your voice." Annoyed, she fluttered her eyes open, her gaze, as gentle as a whisper, resting upon him. Marcel could not help but be momentarily taken aback by the sheer brilliance of her stunning hazel eyes.

'Those eyes,' he lamented inwardly, acknowledging their captivating allure.

"I heard that," she interjected, raising an eyebrow at him. Her countenance, however, did not exude anger or joy; instead, she bore an air of indifference as she regarded him.

"Apologies," he fumbled, a tinge of embarrassment coloring his confession as he realized he had been caught in his reverie.

A surge of curiosity compelled him to inquire further, "But truly, how does one such as yourself find slumber, being of the vampiric kind?" As he spoke, he leaned back against the bed's frame, his hands crossed in front of his nude chest.

Caught between amusement and incredulity, Serafina maintained her gaze upon him, her expression wrought with contemplation. "Let me guess, were you also led to believe that we vampires seek refuge within coffins and take flight in the dead of night like bats?" she quizzically proposed chuckling, while rising from her reclining position, a gesture that revealed the shortness of her gown, unveiling a sight that did not escape his notice.

"Marcel, lift your gaze to up here to my face," she beckoned, a sardonic smile gracing her lips as she caught his intent stare, lingering from her face to the expanse of her thigh.

Expertly sidestepping the discomfort of the moment, Marcel skillfully parried, "I never put much believe in the tales of coffins and the like."

Her laughter rang through the room, as pure and enigmatic as the moon's gentle glow.

Her laughter as silvery as moonbeams, she countered, "And what other legends were you fed? That we dont eat nornal food like the humans, that we hide from the warmth of the sun, or are bereft of the gift to bear offspring?" Each question brimming with a palpable invitation to delve into the depths of their enigmatic kind.

Caught in the current of her inquiries, Marcel's attention was suddenly ensnared by the weight of her last question. The whisper of his curiosity found voice, "Tell me, can vampires truly conceive?" The air between them thrummed with anticipation as he awaited her revelation.

Addressing his unspoken question with a measured gaze, she divulged, "In response to your unvoiced inquiry, vampires do indeed bear the capacity for procreation." Observing his response with a keen eye, she continued, deliberately extending the discourse, "However, such unions are largely restricted to our kind, with only rare instances throughout history where a vampire has sired offspring with a human."

"Damien for instance... his lineage bound to a human mother whom the former king of the vampires, king Draco, against all odds, so fiercely loved and wed," she recounted. Marcel's retort, a disbelieving assertion, punctuated the air, " Damien is half human?, thats impossible!"

"Indeed, it is a rarity. In roughly ten cases per million, such unions have occurred. I trust this satiates the curiosity that has long lingered in your thoughts," she mused, noting his slightly heightened pulse, a silent testament to the weight of her revelation

"I can assure you, I had no burning desire for the answer," he quipped flatly, perturbed that she could read him like a book.

In an instant, her demeanor shifted; her voice, once melodic and pleasant, took on a resolute edge, sending an unexplained ripple through the air