Corven laughed, gripping his head with both hands, fingers curling into his scalp.
"No way, right…?" he said aloud, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief, as if saying it might tether his sanity in place.
Wolves were one thing.
But humans?
Humans were a different kind of story.
A dangerous kind.
"Mister…? Are you alright?" a small voice called out from behind him, soft, hesitant.
Corven turned slowly.
A child. Barely four years old, with wide eyes and messy hair, clutching a tiny stuffed animal in one hand.
"Yes… I'm fine," Corven answered, forcing a smile. He let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sigh choked with dread.
But his instincts said otherwise.
They screamed otherwise.
The scent was too fresh. Too warm. Too real.
"Now, child, head back to your room," Corven said, his voice lower, firmer. He managed a gentle smile, but his eyes glinted with something darker.
Something primal.
He knew there was a cost to being a vampire.
He just didn't expect to face it this early… or worse, be tested by the kindness of strangers.
"But won't you be lonely?" the child asked, tilting their head, innocent concern in every word.
Corven's heart clenched.
"I'll be fine. You must go to bed, so you'll grow big, okay?" he replied, resting a hand lightly atop the child's head.
His hand trembled slightly as he ruffled their hair.
The child nodded obediently and toddled away, disappearing back into the hallway.
But Corven's panic only grew. His instincts clawed at his chest, dragging him away from the moral high ground like an anchor.
'I need to get out of here… now.'
He stood abruptly from the chair, steps shaky but determined, and reached for the door.
But then—
His body froze.
Every limb locked in place.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, his voice dry and tight.
The smell of blood had intensified. It coated the air like thick perfume, each breath a dagger to his restraint.
Then came the man.
The broad-shouldered figure returned, now holding a bowl and a jar of unfamiliar ointment, wrapped in clean cloth.
"No! Don't leave! You need treatment—you're covered in blood!" the man insisted, rushing forward, grabbing Corven's arm and trying to guide him back to the chair.
Corven winced, shaking.
"Please… get away from me," he said, a nervous laugh escaping him—thin, cracked, like glass about to shatter. He couldn't even say the word 'vampire.' Couldn't bring himself to explain.
Because a part of him didn't want the man to back away.
A part of him wanted to feed.
'No… not here. Not like this!'
"Do not!" he snarled suddenly, fangs bared, voice deeper, distorted by hunger.
He leapt from the chair with unnatural speed.
The man stumbled backward, crashing to the floor in a heap of confusion and panic.
"What…?" the man whispered, wide-eyed, finally seeing the full picture.
Crimson eyes.
Elongated fangs.
Muscles like carved marble, glistening under moonlight, and not a shred of clothing on his blood-streaked body.
The realization hit him.
A vampire.
A freshly turned one.
As for Corven, the fear in the man's heartbeat was deafening—each pulse like a drumbeat, thundering in his ears.
The other two people in the house—the woman and the child—were still unaware.
Still untouched.
Still safe... for now.
Corven's tongue slid across his lips again, as though acting on its own.
Even after feeding on wolves, the hunger had returned. Unfathomably fast. Unforgivably strong.
A hunger that defied logic.
'Please, not yet…' he begged in his mind, eyes blurring with desperation. Give me time, just a little more!
But his body had already decided.
Before conscious thought could intervene—
He snapped.
In a blur, he lunged forward, pinning the man to the ground with ease. His hand clamped tightly over the man's mouth, silencing the scream before it could escape.
Then he sank his fangs into the man's neck.
The warm, thick blood spilled into his mouth.
It was intoxicating. Heavenly.
A rush of life, of memory, of everything the man had been—flooded into Corven's senses like a divine drug.
'I… can't stop.'
'It's too… good.'
His mind dissolved into bliss as he drank, each swallow unraveling his control.
The man's limbs trembled… then went still.
Dead.
The blood loss took him swiftly.
– Blood (9 units)
The notification echoed across Corven's mind, cold and hollow.
He didn't stop.
Not until the body beneath him had gone pale.
Not until he felt full.
Not until the man was empty.
And then—
Tears.
Hot, bitter tears streamed down Corven's face.
He didn't even know when they'd started.
He gasped, trying to breathe, but the shame clogged his lungs.
Then came a sound.
Footsteps.
"I got the hot wa—" the woman's voice rang out from the hallway, cheerful and unaware.
She stopped.
The pot of boiling water crashed to the ground with a violent clang.
Her eyes widened in horror as she saw her husband's lifeless body.
And the creature drinking from it.
She collapsed to her knees.
The fear hit her instantly—raw, paralyzing.
She curled up, grabbing a nearby stick as a makeshift weapon and scurried to the far corner of the room, trembling, helpless.
Corven finally looked up.
The blood had stopped flowing. The man was dry. His eyes glazed, lips parted in a silent, permanent scream.
Corven's vision cleared.
His breathing slowed.
His fangs retracted.
Control returned.
But it was far too late.
He'd killed a man.
And now, the man's wife sat huddled in the corner, shaking in grief and terror, watching him like he was a monster.
Because he was.
'What have I just done?'