†Chapter 6: Tainted Blood†

 

 

 

†Chapter 6: Tainted Blood†

 

BLOOD!

Zelaide was struck hard by the faint smell of iron in the air. But he didn’t smell anyone new in the house. No enemy could break in without him noticing.

Then what the bloody hell caused this?

No sooner did Zelaide spring from bed than he bolted from the room. He traversed the lengthy hallway in five giant strides, feet bare, and leapt right over the mezzanine railing to skip the stairs. Faint noises were still coming from the kitchen. Not the sounds of a pistol, something softer.

“Euphemia!”

“Whoa!”

Euphemia nearly fell on her behind from surprise at the sight of the giant man bursting into the kitchen, nearly shattering the heavy wooden door in the process. If she hadn’t left her knife on the cutting board, she might’ve dropped it and sliced open her foot. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’d already cut herself seconds prior.

But even in the dead center of this bizarre situation, what had Euphemia reeling in shock was one remarkable detail.

Did he actually just—

“Are you okay?!” With one stride, Zelaide came to her side.

“Wh-Wh-Wh-What?!”

—say my name?

“I smelled blood! What happened?!”

“Huh? Blood? Um, uh…you mean this?” Startled by Zelaide pressing in close to her, Euphemia held up her left index finger to show him. Blood trickled down the side of it, drawing a straight line from the tip of her finger. Light flashed in Zelaide’s eyes at the sight of it.

What? Euphemia’s thoughts froze. He pushed her against the counter, nearly tipping her back. Tightly gripping her left wrist, he sucked her index finger…inside his mouth, and mindlessly licked the blood from it.

Did this kind of thing happen often in this kitchen?

Zelaide sucked on Euphemia’s finger with his eyes closed, like a baby drinking its mother’s milk or a kitten lapping milk from a bowl. Quite a bit of blood gushed from the tiny cut on her finger.

She’d stabbed her finger with the tip of a paring knife while trying to cut the sprouts out of a potato. It had created an awfully deep, albeit small, cut in her finger, hurting her so bad she cried out in surprise. She shouldn’t have attempted something new like cooking in a place she was unaccustomed to—just as Euphemia was thinking that, Zelaide had exploded into the room looking like death was on his heels.

A man’s tongue was surprisingly soft. And hot. Zelaide was clinging to her slender wrist with both hands, thoroughly licking away the blood oozing from the wound every few seconds with a prayerful gesture. His red tongue was like a living creature of its own. His firmly shut eyes with surprisingly long lashes casting a shadow on his chiseled face, was a sexy sight to behold.

Th-This is…

In a sense, what he was doing could be taken as a sexual act. Sure, the other day Euphemia had sucked his finger into her mouth too, but she was just messing around at the time and hadn’t gone far before letting his finger go. Zelaide seemed unaffected by the act as well.

Is doing it versus having it done to you that different? Zel was unaffected when I did it because he didn’t feel anything towards me, right? Why is he doing this to me now? I’m so confused…

Thoroughly confused, Euphemia barely prevented her knees from buckling by digging her toes into the floor. But she was at her limit. Shudders coursed through her body as his wet tongue flicked her finger from top to bottom. The stimulus wasn’t meant to be that strong, but all the blood in her body grew hot, radiating heat throughout her body from his touch.

Aah…it’s no good…I’m at my limit…

“Ahhh…” The moan escaped from her lips quietly, almost subconsciously.

The man’s eyelids peeled back and he jumped backwards like she had slapped him. “Wh-What was I…”

All rational thought had flown out the window when he saw blood trickling from her white finger.

What did I just do? Zelaide’s hands shot to his mouth, holding back the feeling of bile rising in the back of his throat. His stunning silver hair stuck to his suddenly sweaty forehead and his swarthy skin paled.

“I…I…I…” He slowly retreated until his back hit the wall, then bent forward as if about to puke.

A gap formed between where there was none before. There was something about the way he was acting; the gap transcended the physical space between them.

Euphemia still didn’t understand what had happened, but she could tell Zelaide was in a maelstrom of panic and confusion. It wouldn’t be a long shot to say he was scared to death. With his hands painfully covering his face, he breathed heavily and erratically.

What’s wrong with him?

The source of his panic seemed to lay with the fact that he had licked blood off of her. Sure, it startled her, but all he’d done was lick the cut on her finger, not treat her violently.

“S-S…orry… Sorry!” he squeezed out through ragged breaths.

“…Zel?”

“I…I didn’t mean to…! I’m sorry…”

“Uh…” Euphemia was at a loss on how to handle Zelaide’s distress, but she quickly regained her ability to speak competently. “Listen, I’m not angry at you.” She spoke to him like a mother to her young child. “Don’t panic.”

Zelaide edged his back up, faltering, “…That’s not it. It’s not what you think… I wasn’t…tryin’ to do anything, uh, indecent to ya…”

His rationality had vanished the moment he glimpsed her blood, and he greedily slurped it up with insatiable desire. Euphemia was unaware, but his manhood was excitedly rising inside his leather pants—even now.

“I told you, I’m not mad.” Euphemia stood up straight and approached the man whose eyes wildly darted around the room as he curled in on himself, like a child afraid of being scolded. She wanted to do something to set his fears at ease.

“Stay away! I…” Zelaide wrenched his eyes away, avoiding her gaze.

“I’m okay. I just nicked my finger on the knife and drew a little blood. The blood stopped, thanks to you. I shouldn’t have been cooking when I honestly suck at it.” She carefully reached out to touch his hair, but he retreated another step as if scared of her touch. A mountain of a man was afraid of a girl less than half his size, and wouldn’t even look her in the eyes. His shoulders quivered almost imperceptibly.

“Zel?”

“Sorry… But don’t look at me, please. I’ll get better soon.” He grimaced painfully before whirling around and fleeing the room with the same insane speed he showed up with.

“Wait! Hey, Zel!” Euphemia quickly ran after him, but he was already gone from the hallway and stairs.

She went upstairs and stood in front of his bedroom door. Knowing she shouldn’t just go inside without permission, she dared to call out to him and took a peek through the cracked open door, but he was nowhere to be seen. Euphemia found herself dumbfounded by the nearly empty room beyond the door. It reminded her of a monastery.

“What’s with this room?”

In center the massive room sat a gigantic bed—and nothing else. As the sole piece of furniture, the four-poster bed was impressive, but beneath its canopy was a stiff mattress without any pillows, blankets, or sheets. Euphemia thought she was being rude, but she boldly walked over to his bed and tested the mattress with both hands. There was something distorted beneath. She struggled to move the heavy mattress aside and uncovered two large survival knives, jammed in the space between the mattress and box spring.

The steel blue sheen of the unsheathed blades hazily reflected Euphemia’s face. Featuring a double saw edge and serrated spines, they looked strikingly adept at killing someone in one hit. She picked one up and felt the cumbersome weight of it in her hand—the blades were clearly combat weapons.

“Oh my shining stars.”

This was Euphemia’s first time seeing such a wicked knife. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt like she had caught her first glimpse into the real nature of his work.

Danger chases him even when he’s asleep.

Feeling like she saw something she shouldn’t have, Euphemia carefully returned the blade to its hiding place under the mattress and moved the mattress back in place. No doubt various weapons were hidden all around the room and the rest of the house, though she had never noticed them.

Euphemia straightened up after adjusting the mattress and swept her eyes around the empty room. She’d come this far in invading his privacy—going further wouldn’t make a difference. Defiantly making excuses for why she needed to be there, she took it upon herself to study his room some more.

She threw open the walk-in closet doors to find nothing but black clothing hanging from the neatly arranged racks. The natural, organic smell of the finest leathers tickled her nose. The hanging clothes largely consisted of leather jackets, coats, and pants, some sporting decorative metal buttons and zippers for a stylish classic look. Undershirts and other cotton shirts hung on a separate rack from the leathers. Every piece of clothing was blacker than ink and looked either as if they were new and unused, or recently brought back from the cleaners.

Two pairs of durable and hefty, full-grain leather boots stood upright under the clothing racks. Several types of holsters for guns and knives hung on the walls, some with knives and pistols already equipped. The shelves on the back wall were dedicated to large firearms of varying calibers. Euphemia had the suspicion the guns were loaded, but even she wasn’t stupid enough to touch any gun, loaded or not. She gently closed the closet doors and glanced around the room again.

She couldn’t find a single thing meant for peace and relaxation. Taking a look inside the master bathroom as well, she discovered with little surprise that it contained nothing but new soaps and white towels, the bare minimum.

“How exactly is he living his life?” she muttered, her voice echoing off the undecorated bathroom walls.

Euphemia knew nothing about Zelaide aside from his name. Not even his age. Would he tell her if she asked?

I couldn’t even ask him if I wanted to right now.

Disappointed, Euphemia left his room with her shoulders hunched. Zelaide showed no signs of coming back. But searching for him, she knew, would be a waste of effort. If he didn’t want her to find him, she wouldn’t. Her only option was to wait until he chose to show up again. She reluctantly returned to the kitchen and saw her half-cooked meal, reminding her of her empty stomach.

I’ll make something to eat and wait for him. He might be hungry when he comes back.

This time with care, Euphemia picked up the sharp kitchen knife. She plopped the vegetables and meat she’d done a horrible job of cutting up into the pot and turned on the fire. Hopelessly anxious about when Zelaide would return, she returned to the hallway every few minutes with no luck. Had he left her completely alone in the house?

Why did Zel look so sad and horrified? Was he that shaken up by the fact he licked my blood? He had taken Euphemia by surprise, but it hadn’t bothered her. There has to be something more to it.

She knew it was pointless to think about it, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Zelaide was condemning himself for what he’d done to her, no question about it. But he wouldn’t tell her why. He never told her anything about himself. Certainly, as a Beast Blood, it wouldn’t be strange for him to keep many secrets from humans. The two things he was vocal about were his lack of trust in others and his distaste for humans in general. Whenever Euphemia thought she’d discovered his gentle side, he immediately returned to keeping her at arm’s length. And it didn’t take a scientist to hypothesize he treated the majority of humans that way, not just her.

I wonder how he treats Pal. Is it any different?

Pal was the only other name he ever mentioned. On more than one occasion, at that. Judging by what he’d told her, Pal freely entered and exited this house quite often. Euphemia hadn’t seen her once since moving in, so she figured Pal visited while the master of the house was away. But it wouldn’t be unreasonable if she occasionally chose to drop by to discuss work matters. Maybe she didn’t show herself because Euphemia was around now.

What’s she like? How close is she with Zel? Is she pretty?

Zelaide never mentioned Pal’s looks or personality. Yet, Euphemia could tell the woman was skilled at her job from the way she managed the house and especially from how Zel spoke of her. He probably trusted her more than anyone else. If he didn’t, he would’ve never let her inside his house. Would Euphemia eventually meet her?

The thought wasn’t a pleasant one for Euphemia, though meeting her could present an opportunity to ask about Zelaide.

The stew began to boil while Euphemia’s mind wandered, bringing her back to reality. What else could she do right now? She decided to concentrate on cooking for the time being. After skimming the scum from the soup, she poured in her roux.

Euphemia picked up a glass jar. Inside was a seasoning called curry paste, which, according to Erica, made any meal delicious no matter who used it. Apparently, the seasoning had been invented by her paternal ancestors on a faraway planet. Euphemia remembered the packaging from the time Erica had showed her how to make curry, so she decided to give it a try.

Before long, a delectable scent wafted from the food despite her sloppy cooking. Euphemia hoped Zelaide would come home if he smelled it.

I need to learn more about Zelaide and Beast Bloods. I can’t get close to him unless I do.

Regardless, at least one thrilling thing had happened in the past hour. Zelaide had called out her name for the first time when he burst into the kitchen. Up until now, he never called her anything other than “you,” “girl,” “lady,” and “woman.” Maybe he’d unconsciously said “Euphemia” in his moment of panic, but it didn’t change the fact that he said her name.

Hey, maybe I’ve made progress after all.

Euphemia’s lips tugged into a small smile.

†††

THE flapping sound grew closer. Tipsy spread his thin, membrane-like wings and awkwardly alighted onto the rooftop. He was good at taking off and flying—not so much at landing. Zelaide held out his arm, and Tipsy happily climbed up to his shoulder.

Over their heads was an endless expanse of indigo. The stars weren’t all that visible towards the end of summer, but the moonlight made up for it.

“Lucky you, you’re free.” The man sitting on the large roof scratched Tipsy’s head as the Muta nestled up against his face. Tipsy basked in his attention and let out a content chwirk. “You’ve got it made, Tip. You don’t gotta live by concernin’ yourself with others. Well, you’re a little less free than your friends in the Wilds, but you’ve got far more freedom than your average human.”

Tipsy inclined his head and made a questioning sound, then started tugging on Zelaide’s hair with his beak.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout me. Enjoy your flight! The night’s long.” Zelaide stroked Tipsy once more, then swung his arm out for takeoff. The Muta easily took flight, impressing Zelaide by soaring through the air.

Is she asleep yet?

Noise came from the kitchen while the young woman was boiling something, but two hours or so had passed without a peep from the house. Zelaide sprung to his feet, stretched, and hopped from the roof into the backyard. He’d turned on all the security sensors since Euphemia moved in, making it faster for him to jump down than walk on the ground. He soundlessly landed in front of the garage, temporarily disabled the sensors, and manually opened the door. He didn’t turn on the lights.

The garage was wide enough to fit two cars and a large motorcycle with room to spare. Zelaide advanced deeper inside to where a blue box had been stashed between two toolboxes. He popped the lid open and was hit with the strong stench of fresh meat and blood through the vinyl pouch. Thrusting his hand into the pouch, he ripped off a handful of meat and bit off a chunk with his sharp canine teeth. The slimy and chewy sounds of his meal filled the room, sounding barbaric to his ears.

See? I’m a repulsive monster. He crushed the meat between his teeth with a loud splat. That’s right. This is who I am.

He masticated the bloody meat. Flavor was unrelated. He was a Beast Blood. This was his food. His eyes glowed bluish-silver. There was no question about it: he was a fearsome monster, not a person.

With each swallow, the hunger in his stomach and heart gradually abated. He was more famished than he initially thought. The bloody meal consumed him.

“…Zel?”

His hand jerked to a halt at that ghost of a voice; only his eyes shot to the side. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Why hadn’t he noticed the small form and its slight presence?

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Her voice echoed very gently in Zelaide’s ears.

Shit! Why didn’t I notice her? I thought she was asleep!

Terrified, Zelaide dropped the chunk of bloody meat from his hand. It landed with a loud splat on the concrete.

Had he been so starved his senses betrayed him? He frantically swallowed the lump of meat in his mouth and kicked the box at his feet, dropping the latch in the process. He rubbed the blood off his stained lips and slowly turned around to where Euphemia’s petite figure stood in the doorway. She hadn’t changed into her pajamas yet. Instead of walking into the room, she waited for a reply. He might still have a chance to wiggle free without her finding out about what he was doing.

“I was takin’ care of some business. It’s filthy over here, so stay out,” he answered her in a deep snarl. He wanted to make it clear he was rejecting her presence.

“No… I’m coming over to you now.”

“Stay away!” he ordered. The petite shadow slowly moved toward him regardless.

“Zel…”

“I told you to stay away!” Zelaide yelled with pure venom.

The petite shadow shrunk back from the anger in his voice. Then he heard something metal flip over and skid across the concrete as the shadowy figure pitched forward. Humans were ridiculously helpless in the darkness Beast Bloods easily maneuvered through. Euphemia had tripped over something in the corner of the garage and was hurtling to the ground.

“Ack!”

“O-Oi!”

Sturdy arms were holding her up a split second later. The bare arms underneath her were thick, their muscles flexed to hold her aloft. Zelaide roughly helped her back on her feet.

“Whoa!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away?! Get out of here now!”

He pushed her away, turning his face aside. Euphemia clung to his arm, desperate to stop him from dismissing her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I wanted to know! I want to know!” she pleaded.

“Know what?!” he snapped back.

His head was pounding. Hurry and go away! Please go…I’m begging you…

Zelaide had nearly been brought to his knees when he caught her. The sweet scent enveloping her body assaulted his nose. Her long, wet hair trailed over his exposed skin. And then the young woman had to go and wrap both arms around his, clinging to him with his arm anchored between her breasts. The soft, round pillows enveloping his arm made his blood flow backwards.

Their silent battle continued for minutes before Zelaide lost the will to fight and slumped hard against the wall.

Please, please just stop givin’ off that sickeningly sweet, tantalizing smell.

Zelaide groaned and let the tension slip from his muscles. Sensing the change in him, Euphemia relaxed her embrace on his arm and gazed questioningly up at him. He closed his eyes, putting out the glowing lights she would’ve seen in the dark garage.

“I want to know about you…even more than I do now,” she persisted.

“…Nothin’ good will come to you for knowing ‘bout me.” Zelaide mustered his remaining willpower to reach out and pry the girl from him; his final attempt at resisting. But Euphemia didn’t budge, letting his hand merely rest on her shoulder.

“Zelaide…”

“Don’t look at me like that… Don’t look at me period,” his deep voice came out sounding weak. “You shouldn’t touch me. I’m unclean. I’m utterly filthy!”

Zelaide covered his face with his other hand as if to hide from her. This was the first time she’d ever seen him act so weak. The giant beast of a man who could kill Mutas with his bare hands was shrinking in on himself like a child abandoned by their mother.

Slowly regaining her composure, Euphemia noticed the smell of blood permeating the garage. Though she couldn’t see too well, she made out the shadow of a large box at their feet. A distinct stench—the heavy and festering scent of a slaughterhouse—rose from the box.

She quickly caught on—this was what he was trying to hide from her.

“Why? You were eating, right? Nothing strange about that.”

“…You don’t understand… An upper-class, refined lady like you could never understand… I’m a Beast Blood tainted by blood.”

“Zel…” Euphemia placed a hand on the solid arm she was certain was there in the pitch-dark. Zelaide trembled.

“Please don’t touch me… I’m filthy.”

She ignored his feeble request and gently stroked the back of his hand. Zelaide growled deep in his throat in warning as he clenched his fist, but slowly, her touch made him relax and his fist unfurl.

“…Zel?” she called his name with a whisper of a voice. “I’m fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. See?”

Euphemia’s hand steadily ran up his arm. Zelaide leaned his back against the wall like he was stapled to it, his hand glued to his face.

“It’s okay…you aren’t filthy.”

“……”

“…I like you. How could I not when you’re so strong and kind?”

Zelaide stayed perfectly still. Euphemia dropped her hand to hold his wrist in both hands. His wrist was so thick her fingers couldn’t wrap all the way around it.

“Do you dislike it when I do this?” She felt an almost imperceptible vibration from his wrist that she took to mean he lightly shook his head. “You don’t? Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because…isn’t it obvious…aren’t you disgusted by me? I was devouring fresh meat drippin’ with blood.”

“I know.”

“You know? …You’re a thoroughbred lady from the elite of society… Aren’t ya repulsed?”

“Not in the least. You touching me doesn’t bother me one bit. I mean, haven’t we been touching each other since we met?” Euphemia pointed out.

“…Only when it was unavoidable.” Zelaide gingerly placed his free hand on top of her hands around his other wrist. Euphemia’s heartbeat sped up with the feeling of his large, warm hand encapsulating hers, but her hopes were dashed as he gently removed her hands from his wrist.

“But don’t you see? Nothing’s happened because you touched me. Besides, I’m no proper young lady from an elite family. I’m just a junior researcher. This is normal. Everyone does it,” Euphemia objected in the calmest voice she could manage, in spite of the hammering heart she feared Zelaide’s sensitive ears would pick up.

“How are you not a young lady from an elite family, when you’re the mayor’s sister?”

“My sister’s unrelated to this.”

“That sister of yours is who paid me a pretty chunk of coin for your protection, y’know?”

“Oh yeah…hahaha…” Euphemia always tripped herself up by speaking before thinking. Still, that wasn’t the problem at hand. “…Anyways…what I’m trying to say is…whether you’re a Beast Blood or not one is unrelated. I like you for you—er, as a friend,” she suggested, thinking that was the best place to start from. She prepared herself for rejection. At long last, he opened his eyes.

Gorgeous… I knew it, he’s stunning…

“How did you know I was in here?” Zelaide abruptly changed the topic.

“Yeah, about that… I actually took some time to seriously think about the reason you don’t eat anything after you left. I haven’t seen you eat once since I moved in. I thought maybe you eat somewhere during the day while I’m at work, but something felt off for that to be the case. You can’t go out at night because I’m home. I was sure there was something else to it. A reason why you can’t eat around me…” Euphemia explained, her eyes riveted on his.

“I know I don’t look or act like one, but I’m a junior researcher, so I borrowed the institute’s research database and dug through the research documents for some information. It was hard because there’s not much research on Beast Blood nutritional intake, but it was enough to come up with a hypothesis. I calculated the necessary nutrient and calorie intake for someone of your build and muscle mass… So naturally, I deduced that if you didn’t want to be seen while you eat, you must be eating away from the main house while I sleep. And then, I theorized you don’t want to be seen because you eat something different from the rest of us.”

“I see… And? What was written in that database?”

“There wasn’t much recorded about eating habits. Current research hasn’t placed much value on studying diet, so I decided to construct my hypothesis by taking in to account the possible sources of nutrition according to evolutionary probability, as Beast Blood genes trace back to this world’s original inhabitants… The major flaw with this approach is that it’s hard to generalize based on species as complex as ours, since eating habits tend to vary on an individual basis.”

“I don’t know the complicated, science-y reasons behind it. All I can say is that I occasionally…have an insatiable hunger to eat that stuff. I know it’s disgustin’, but I can’t resist it… I’m sorry ‘bout earlier… Refraining from eatin’ for so long made my mind go blank with hunger when I saw your blood. I normally never do that. It must’ve been scary. Sorry,” Zelaide murmured, his voice softer than a whisper.

Who knew he could sound like this too.

“I told you, I’m cool with it.”

“You’re cool with it? You do realize I was slurpin’ up your blood, don’t you? How can that not be frightening as hell?”

It bothered Zelaide more than Euphemia could’ve guessed. He acted deeply ashamed of his natural food inclinations, like a teenage girl fretting over a blemish on her skin. His life must’ve been fraught with suffering because of it.

“Just so you know, humans eat meat too. Ever hear of steak tartare? It’s made from raw ground meat and served as a high-end dish. I love eating meat too,” Euphemia said in a cheerful voice to put his mind at ease. “To eat that meat, we have to slaughter the animal, skin it, and clean it as well. People who feel bad for the animals won’t touch meat at all. It all comes down to a matter of taste. Take my father’s people for example. They have a habit of thinly slicing raw meat and fish and eating it together with strong additives called soy sauce and wasabi. We each have our own ways of consuming meat, but it’s not that different from what you’re doing. If I had one complaint, it’d be your table manners. They aren’t the prettiest. You’re eating with your hands…while standing in a corner of a dark garage.”

“I can’t argue with ya there.” Zelaide’s throat rumbled with nervous laughter.

“So why don’t we eat together when you’re hungry?” Euphemia suggested. “I’ll make it look pretty on the plate for you. I don’t mind one bit.”

“Are you offering to teach me table manners?”

“You’ve got a problem with that?”

“You’re a funny one, princess.”

Euphemia put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue. Zelaide laughed again. It was a short laugh, but the deep rumble sounded amazing on the ears. Not being able to see his face in the dark was disappointing. Euphemia wanted to hear him laugh more, even if just a little. She wanted his voice to grace her ears once again…

“Hey, come on now, all you’ve said is ‘you,’ ‘princess,’ and ‘lady’ this time!” she complained. “Just call me by my name already! You said it earlier tonight!”

“What?! I did? When?” Zelaide was genuinely surprised.

“Back when I cut myself. Remember when you busted into the kitchen?”

“I busted in because I thought you were under attack…”

“That’s when you said my name. You called out, ‘Euphemia!’”

Zelaide held his tongue.

“Say it again,” Euphemia hounded him since he was hesitating. For whatever reason, she sensed she had the upper hand on him tonight.

“…Eu…”

“Yes, yes,” Euphemia joyfully urged him on.

“…Forget it.”

“Why?!”

“Your name is insanely difficult to say. I have no education. I can’t pronounce elegant words like your name,” he argued, forgetting he pronounced it just fine earlier.

“Then call me Mia. Most people do.”

“That’s worse.”

It was too hard to tell in the dark, but he seemed to be frowning.

“Why?!”

“Those people call you that.”

“What people?”

“Your coworkers. The blonde lady and smug dude.”

“Well, yeah…we’re close in age.”

Wasn’t it only natural for them to call Euphemia by her nickname?

“Yumi,” Zelaide abruptly said.

“Pardon?”

“Like I said, Yumi.”

“Why Yumi?”

“It’s easier to say. You’re Euphemia, so I took the Yu sounding part and Mi part to make Yumi. Nobody calls you that, I bet.”

He’s saying my name with that gravelly voice of his. A nickname meant only for his use… That fact alone was enough to make Euphemia want to cry.

“They don’t. But I think…that’s a common name among my father’s people.”

Her father’s ethnic group possessed a fairly unique culture, and she’d spent a lot of time learning about it by reading every book she could get her hands on to feel closer to her older sister, who had inherited one hundred percent of that ancestry.

“You don’t say.”

“Yup, I like it. Call me Yumi. And to seal the deal…”

“What now…?”

“This is…like a ritual gesture…”

“…?”

“I really hope you will accept it. I want you to believe me when I say I don’t hate you… So…I sure hope you don’t hate me either…”

Euphemia could tell her cheeks were flushing bright-red in the dark, the heat rising to her earlobes. Did Zelaide see all of her with his sharp senses? It’d be terribly embarrassing if he did, but now that she had said it, she couldn’t take it back.

“Zel…”

She blindly reached out her hand and immediately encountered smooth skin. From the feel of it, it was probably his cheek. Muscles tensed under her fingers. But he quietly let her have her way with him, without pushing her away like before. Pleased, Euphemia reached her hand a little higher and slipped her fingers into his mane. Dark-silver in the light, his hair felt softer than it appeared, and her fingers slid through the fine strands. When she dug her fingers in, he slowly leaned down with her guidance. The potent smell of blood clung to his lips. It was too dark to tell, but she didn’t need to see to guess the area around his lips was smeared with bright-red blood. And it didn’t bother her one bit.

“I like you, Zel.”

Euphemia heard him sharply inhale. She still didn’t hesitate to kiss him. She had a general idea of where his lips would be, but she was a little off the mark and ended up kissing the corner of his lips. He only flinched a bit. Euphemia moved her lips over and kissed him in the right spot this time, twining her arms around his neck.

Their touch lasted for but a moment, but it was enough. Her hand moved back down to caress his cheek.

“This is a kiss signifying that I like you. I hope you come to like me somewhat, too.”

“…So soft…”

The cheek muscles under Euphemia’s palm moved. He might’ve smiled. Unable to see a thing despite her efforts, Euphemia was left feeling like she had missed out on a once-in-a-lifetime sight.

†††

THE thick darkness of night was at its deepest shade just before the dawn. Rain fell in the interstice left between the end of night and the start of morning, hiding the moon and stars with heavy clouds.

There were irrefutable things that stirred only in these darkest hours as opposed to the dead of night.

 

Zelaide was lying face up on his bed. What he called a bed was actually a stiff mattress with no covers. The bed in question belonged to the house’s former owner, who had splurged on a pointlessly huge box spring and mattress that was roomy enough for Zelaide to sprawl out. The bed came with the house, but the pillows and sheets hadn’t and he never purchased any. He normally stripped off just his boots and jacket and indulged in a short sleep of two to six hours. Beast Bloods were generally light sleepers and capable of quickly falling asleep when they laid down. Tonight was an exception for Zelaide.

This is where she touched…

He pressed his fingertips to his lips. His calloused fingers were incapable of recreating the delicious softness of Euphemia’s touch. He tried to recreate the feeling anyway. They’d touched for but a moment, but the feeling was burned vividly into his memory. Remembering it made his blood quicken.

Why can’t I think of anythin’ else these days? …Is it because she’s a woman? Didn’t Manuela satiate my need for women yesterday? I should be able to contain my desires for another month.

Zelaide was failing to fully comprehend the situation he found himself in. He should’ve satisfied his sexual urges and his stomach’s natural urges as well—he had eaten to his heart’s content only a short while ago. Yet, for all that, something was still lacking. Tortuously lacking. For someone who wanted to always have an accurate understanding of where he was situated, these circumstances were extremely unpleasant.

That reminds me… Zelaide recalled the short conversation he had exchanged with Manuela.

His companion Manuela was a natural-born, thoroughbred Beast Blood as well. Yet Zelaide had never smelled blood on her. “Isn’t it necessary to consume flesh and blood as a Beast Blood?” he had asked her, finding the lack of blood strange.

“It was like that for me in the past. But I haven’t had the urge to eat meat since starting this line of work,” she readily answered. “If I get a craving, I can satisfy it with a small amount. Normal cooked food will do for me most of the time. Maybe it’s because of all the sperm I receive on a daily basis? Either that, or I’ve gotten too old to experience the same kind of desire?”

Manuela certainly had quite a few years on Zelaide, but it was too soon for degeneration to have an effect. Degeneration in Beast Bloods was similar to the physical deterioration in aging humans, occurring once they reached their seventies. Setting that possibility aside, if what she had said was true, could frequent intimacy with the opposite sex reduce Beast Blood hunger pangs for both flesh and sex?

“Hehehe. You’re still a young pup who hasn’t known the comfort of many women. So let me let you in on a little secret. Ever hear of the Dek’Shen reproductive cycle? Beast Blood women who’ve been sexually satisfied or have had children can get by just fine without binging on meat. I don’t have to eat anything for days after having sex with you because your sperm is especially potent…

“All of us women have an innate need to reproduce and are stuck in the vicious Dek’Shen cycle until we have a child or are engaging in the acts that lead to one. That said, men and women experience the cycle and desire differently, so as a woman, I can’t say for sure what’s troubling you. But the one thing I can say for sure is that even men won’t have the same level of lust if they’ve satisfied their role in the cycle,” Manuela told him, teaching him things he never knew before.

So if I don’t want to be driven to the brink and accidentally expose my ugly side, I have to fulfill my role as a Beast Blood male in the Dek’Shen Cycle by constantly havin’ sex with women? She said she wasn’t bothered by it…but I am.

Unused to deeply analyzing things, Zelaide flipped over on the bed, the springs squeaking under him.

Does that mean I have to keep havin’ sex with women I don’t want or love just to stop my craving for meat? Disgusting. That’s more repulsive than eating raw meat.

Zelaide continued contemplating the problem, his two eyes emanating silver light like stars in the darkness.

Was there no method out there capable of putting an end to his appalling lust and hunger? Would the Dek’Shen Cycle dictate his life forever?

He had nowhere to go for an answer. It wasn’t as if there was a book on the Dek’Shen Cycle, and Euphemia mentioned nothing about it when she talked about her research into Beast Bloods. Just like Vulcan loved to tease him, Zelaide wasn’t the type to pursue women. Human women weren’t even a passing thought for him, and he refused to do anything with a Beast Blood woman unless he was going to lose his sanity to the cravings. He felt guilty whenever he had sex with women because it reminded him of the way his mother died. He found his Beast Blood propensity for raw meat equally detestable.

So I’m basically stuck in this damn cycle with no way out?

He had to sleep with women if he didn’t want to eat meat; if he didn’t want women, then he needed to feast on raw meat like some sort of animal. Were those the only options available to male Beast Bloods? Euphemia’s work database probably knew more about Beast Bloods than Zelaide knew about his own species. He hadn’t even known about the Dek’Shen Cycle until Manuela told him.

“Damn blood… Wait, hold on.” Zelaide shot up in bed as he arrived at a sudden realization.

What if I become intimate with a woman I’m fond of and who’s willing? A woman I’m fond of… Who would…?

Peering through the darkness, he stared at the door.

One annoying woman was sleeping just beyond this door. A strange woman who’d pressed her lips to his not too long ago. She rolled around in bed like she couldn’t fall asleep for an hour and then hadn’t made a sound since after midnight.

What if I asked her? Didn’t she say she liked me earlier? I know she said it. Is it possible if I ask her properly…? No way. I must be mad. As if somethin’ that convenient would ever happen. How could I be so stupid to think about askin’ a human female…? Reason objected his hopes. It didn’t stop the idea from appealing to him though. He slowly rolled off his bed and slipped from his room.

I ain’t gonna do anything weird… Just gonna check in on her. I want to see if she’s sleeping well after the shock I gave her earlier…

The left end of the hallway—that’s where Euphemia’s room was located. He stood outside her door, feeling for her presence inside, when he heard the regular breathing of someone in a deep sleep. He swore he’d turn right around and leave if her door was locked. When he gently pushed the door to see, a thin space opened up with no resistance.

She didn’t lock the door! I knew it, this girl has zero sense of danger. That’s a huge problem! He realized the irony of his thoughts, being the man sneaking into a grown woman’s room in the dead of night. But when he really thought about it, he could break down the door with one hand if he seriously wanted to. Locks served little purpose.

But it still comes down to that thing…what’s it called? A d-deterrent? Anybody can come waltzin’ inside like this! Gah!

The sweet aroma of vanilla and honey that hit his nostrils the second he opened the door nearly took his breath away. At the same time, the sexual desires he managed to resist earlier came flooding back in full force. Steeling himself from turning tail and fleeing the room, he slunk over to her bedside like a cat on the prowl. The magnificent canopy bed looked like an impenetrable fortress.

It’s okay. I haven’t done anythin’ wrong yet. I’m not an animal who’ll attack her in her sleep. I’m just gonna watch her for a few seconds. Just gonna check on her, that’s all…

He placed one knee on the bed and peered down at Euphemia comfortably stretched out on the bed, sound asleep. Since it was midsummer, she was only clothed in a short spaghetti-strap pajama shirt with a thin sheet lightly draped over her.

How can she sleep comfortably in a strange man’s house? Stupid woman!

Her disheveled hair fanned out over her pillow. This was the second time he watched her sleeping.

Never in his wildest dreams could Zelaide have imagined this situation when he’d first laid his eyes upon her, but a strange feeling came over him as he gazed upon the young woman, the same woman who held fast to her pride even as she trembled with fear in front of her attackers. Here she was on his bed again, sound asleep with a tranquil look on her pretty face. Deep, tantalizing breaths escaped from her slightly parted lips. She was the embodiment of purity.

Zelaide shook his head. That’s it—I can’t ask her. It’s too much to ask for her help based on some random theory. A beautiful, fine woman like her would be wasted on me. A lowlife like me should just stick to chomping on meat and sleepin’ with prostitutes. So…

…just a little. I’ll head back to my room after touching her a little. Zelaide gently stroked Euphemia’s soft cheek with the back of his finger. Sorry. I’ll give up on the idea. So forgive me for this one thing.

Zelaide affectionately moved the hair off her face, placed his elbows on either side of her face, and slowly bent down. He tenderly nuzzled his rough lips against hers, then sucked on them, tugging them gently into his mouth. Her lips tasted like they were made of sweet nectar. After enjoying the sensation of brushing her lips with his, he licked the plump, red flower petal she often teased him with.

Aah…sweet…it’s so sweet…

Euphemia’s eyes snapped open just as Zelaide became entranced. In a heartbeat, her eyes, flashing emerald in the illumination cast by the nightlight, focused on him, and her face melted into a dazed, blissful smile. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Mm…Zel…? I love you…” she whispered. A second later, her arms fell back onto the bed. She had fallen right back to sleep.

“Huh?”

Oi, what the hell? Don’t give me that. That’s too much! …She didn’t do that on purpose, did she? She’s talkin’ in her sleep! She’s half-asleep, huh…she’s really asleep…

Below him was her peaceful face, white throat, and supple limbs, spread out to welcome him. She slept confidently, as if nobody would interfere with her beauty sleep.

“AGH!”

Sparks suddenly coursed through Zelaide’s body, electrifying every limb. Surging up from the deepest depths of his being, the current pierced his brain with a single word—a command from the primeval half of his body, his pure instinct.

“…Impossible…it can’t be. How…how can this happen…?”

To Zelaide’s dismay, he knew what the electrifying feeling meant. “This ain’t possible…there’s no way!”

Glittering silver light gleamed in the darkness.

Wrong. It’s gotta be wrong. She’s human. We’re not even the same species!

He clenched his large hands into fists. Pain coursed through his body until it eventually gathered in his center.

Shit! There’s only one explanation for this sensation. I thought I’d never encounter it… Dammit all! It’s irrefutable. Instinct tells me this feeling is—

“Chwirk! Chwirk! Chwirk! Chwirk!”

Zelaide’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Tipsy’s alarm screech.

His screech sounded surprisingly close. Reflex launched Zelaide right into combat mode. He leapt on the bed and positioned Euphemia protectively under him.

Enemy attack?!

He honed his senses and nerves to needlepoint accuracy. But he couldn’t smell or sense another human in the house. His ears picked up on short snatches of something small bumping around in the adjacent room, concurrently with Tipsy’s alarm screech and the clamor of fluttering wings. Human or not, a threat had made its way inside the house.

But how…?

Zelaide’s house originally belonged to one of Gothic City’s men of influence. The solitary man possessed enemies galore, steering him towards a paranoia that had him equip his house with an excellent security system usually not found in buildings of this size. Zelaide had purchased the house after the man died, when it was put up on auction for an outrageous price. Once he purchased the place, he scrubbed the system and devoted a year to reworking it to fit his lifestyle. It was near impossible for human or drone to infiltrate the house without either Zelaide or the super security system noticing.

The girl stirred beneath him.

“Mmm? Why’s it so heavy—Whoa! Zel?! What’s wrong?!” she cried out.

“Quiet!”

Zelaide scooped up the shocked Euphemia and stuffed her under the bed. The bed frame was constructed from durable materials that would provide temporary defense against physical attacks. As the situation currently stood, the enemy wasn’t attacking. Tipsy’s high-pitched screeches and flapping wings were the only noises.

“Don’t leave this spot until I give the okay!” Zelaide ordered, drawing the dagger from the holder on his back as he headed for the door across from the bed.

The adjacent room doubled as a bathroom and changing room. He held his knife in the reverse grip position, the edge facing outward. Something small was struggling on top of the bathroom tile; Tipsy wasn’t the only creature inside. Zelaide didn’t recognize the smell. Quietly, he opened the glass door. Immediately, he identified two small Muta tumbling around on top of the bathroom tile, entangled in a fierce struggle.

“Tip!” Zelaide kicked the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

Tipsy flew to the ceiling at once, a small chunk of bloody meat dangling from his beak. The potent stench of freshly spilled blood hung over the bathroom floor.

“What the…?”

Something sinister was squirming on top of the tile. The alien creature looked like someone had connected two wine bottles together by the neck. Zelaide crouched down and snatched up the Muta flailing around on the floor. He quickly discovered suction cups and suckers attached to its serpentine body. The suction cups had muffled any sound of its break-in. Creepier yet, this Muta lacked any organs capable of making sound.

“What the hell is this thing?”

Where did it slip in from? Zelaide’s eyes shot to the window—it was ajar about the space of two fingers. The sucker Muta had suctioned its way up the house’s outer wall and snaked inside through the narrow gap in the window. Blood spurted from the thing’s neck where he gripped it; Tipsy had dealt it a fatal blow. But the bloody Muta violently whipped its head around to take a chomp out of Zelaide’s wrist with its wide mouth full of dagger-like teeth. It was still wildly ferocious, even after sustaining a fatal injury. The thing was a pure incarnation of the planet’s ferocity.

Who the hell released such a nasty thing?

Zelaide hurled the Muta on the tile and crushed its scaly head under his heavy boot. A nasty crack resounded beneath his foot and blood spewed out, spraying all over the room. Tipsy flew down from where he waited near the bathroom ceiling with a flutter, and landed softly on Zelaide’s shoulder. While vigilantly keeping lookout over his territory from the night sky, he had noticed the impending threat creeping up the walls before anyone else.

“Good job, Tip. Hurt anywhere, buddy?”

Tipsy gave a small cry. Zelaide examined him and found a tiny tear in the membrane coating his wings. Either he tore it when he forced his way inside through the narrowly cracked window or the serpentine Muta had ripped through it with its fangs. Zelaide would have to tend to his friend’s injuries later. Euphemia came first. He rushed back into the bedroom to make sure nothing was on the floor with her.

“You okay?!” he shouted.

“Yeah… Can I come out now?” came a relatively calm voice from the carpeted floor beneath the bed. From the look of it, she had patiently obeyed his orders.

“Yeah. I don’t sense anything else inside. You did good waiting it out.”

Euphemia crawled out from under the bed to see Zelaide with Tipsy perched alertly on his shoulder. Both Beast Blood and Muta were still wary of their surroundings.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

“Someone targeted this estate. Don’t turn on the lights yet.”

Euphemia silently sat on the edge of the bed. Zelaide’s answers were too short for comfort, but kicking up a fuss wouldn’t help. Carefully analyzing the situation was the priority.

“You left the bathroom window open,” Zelaide said.

“Whoops… I opened it to air the room out…and forgot to shut it. But it was just a crack, and I thought it’d be okay because there are thick bars on the outside… I’m sorry. Did something get in?”

“A small-sized Muta snuck inside by crawling up the exterior wall. It’s a type I’ve never seen before. Things coulda gone south without Tipsy.”

“Oh no…” Euphemia covered her mouth with her hand.

“I didn’t notice it either. The nightlight worked against us this time. The enemy noticed the open window and sent a Muta inside to—Tch! Who knew Muta like that existed? I screwed up big time,” Zelaide spat, his voice oozing with regret and irritation.

Someone was watching the house with a powerful night-vision scope. He thought a rich residential area would be safe, but the enemy, or the enemy’s allies, were stalking them from somewhere nearby. Nothing like this had ever happened before, so he let down his guard around the possibility.

“A Muta slipped inside? What kind?”

“Looks like a short snake with weird bumps. Ah…I killed the thing already, don’t worry. But don’t go in this bathroom for a while. I’ll dispose of the corpse. Won’t leave any traces of it bein’ there.”

“Okay…thanks… But does that…does it mean I’m under constant surveillance?”

“Either you are or I am… Plenty of bastards are gunning for me too.”

“For you, Zel? Why?”

“Because I’m a Beast Blood Hunter. There are more people who hate us than cockroaches livin’ in the slums.”

Infernum’s members especially despised Beast Bloods, and Zelaide had dropped a hefty amount of coin on this house to escape their obnoxious attacks. But he left that detail out for Euphemia’s sake, since there was no point in scaring the girl more. A dead Muta in her bathroom was frightening enough for one night.

“We’re probably safe for the rest of the night. Never open a window again. Bullet-proof glass is meaningless if the window’s open. There isn’t a suitable sniping location ‘round here so the chances of a shooting are low, but that won’t stop them from sending in rare Muta like this one or tossing in gas canisters. Don’t flip on the lights when you bathe at night. Keep the curtains shut at all times and never stand near the windows. They can see your shadow from outside,” he warned her.

“That’s a lot to take in at once…”

Isn’t he being overcautious? What proof does he have that the Muta was set on us by the enemy? Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?

Zelaide snorted at her remark and scoffed, “This is why people raised in shiny towers are a pain. You don’t have to like it. Just do what I say.”

“Okay…”

If the man who had sworn to protect her said to do something, she probably should. For the first time, Euphemia felt scared of their situation. Zelaide said he’d dispose of the corpse, but she felt it was her duty as a biologist to examine the dead Muta first, especially since it could give them a lead. The work required creeped her out and gave her the chills.

“…Tch.” Zelaide watched Euphemia shudder in silence until he couldn’t take it any longer. He sat down beside her and pulled her slender shoulder towards him. “It’s not wrong for you to be scared… I’m tellin’ you to be cautious as your bodyguard just for that reason, lady.”

He roughly rubbed the top of her head. He was treating her like a child, but that was for the best. Otherwise, he might not be able to control himself.

“Yumi…you mean?” Euphemia quipped. Dissatisfaction colored her tone, but Euphemia was certainly reveling in satisfaction as she leaned against his broad chest at his insistence. The fear she felt before steadily faded. He had saved her yet again. She was safe as long as she stayed with him.

“Yeah, I did…Yumi.” The usual strength brimming in Zelaide’s voice was absent.

For he had already come to realize the truth.

Droplets of rain fell from the sky in a cadence. It was the hour of purification, washing away the depravities and horrors of the night. Daybreak was just around the corner.

 

Yumi—Euphemia.

That was the name of his mate.