†Chapter 3: Beast Blood Zelaide†
†Chapter 3: Beast Blood Zelaide†
EUPHEMIA got plenty of sleep after she crawled into bed.
Suffering assault at early dawn had inflicted a great deal of damage to her psyche and only added to the mental and physical exhaustion she had built up over the past several days vigilantly observing the Night Blooms.
When she woke up in the late-afternoon, she became painfully aware of how famished she was. Her housekeeper Mrs. Mayo would arrive anytime now. While Euphemia was always grateful for the food Mrs. Mayo brought, she still much preferred starvation to dealing with the overbearing woman’s impassioned nagging.
Mrs. Mayo had already treated her to an inquisition more appropriate for a preteen granddaughter than a grown woman the other day, when Euphemia had sent a D-com message about staying at the lab for three days. Mrs. Mayo gave her an earful, going on about how she wouldn’t allow it if Euphemia’s older sister Erica didn’t sign off on it—permission which Euphemia did succeed in obtaining—and then she had demanded Euphemia send her a D-com every night at the exact same hour.
I can’t handle her! I absolutely, positively, can’t take her crap right now!
But she still needed food, even if she didn’t feel like fighting for it.
Thinking about it now, she’d barely eaten anything in over twenty-four hours. She no longer experienced an urge to puke at the thought of food, indicating her much needed rest had helped pacify the feelings of utter disgust and revulsion roiling inside her. She had recovered much faster than she thought she would.
Maybe this shirt helped the healing process? I’ve turned it into my pajamas for the day. Euphemia buried her fingers into the shirt she’d borrowed from Zelaide. I’ll deal with the immediate problem by eating out.
Being away from home for three days paired with the fact that she rarely cooked for herself had left her refrigerator empty of all but drinks. Plus, her thoughts spiraled down into a dark, depressing place when she was alone. Euphemia didn’t want anyone coddling her out of sympathy, but she also didn’t want to be by herself.
She reached over and snatched up her Interactive Handheld Terminal, referred to more often as an IHT, and tapped Mrs. Mayo’s picture in her contacts.
“Hello? Mrs. Mayo?”
“Euphemia?! Are you back? I was worried sick when you didn’t contact me last night. I was just getting ready to leave for your place,” Mrs. Mayo’s voice said through the IHT.
“Ah, I was just calling you about that. I’m stuffed for the day, so can I take a rain check until tomorrow?”
“Pardon? Did you eat out?”
“You can say that. I’m sorry I forgot to D-com you last night… I’ll be sure to have you come over tomorrow. I’ll go ahead and let my sister know.”
“Oh my. I don’t mind, but are you all right? Make sure you let Miss Erica know you stayed out for three whole days. You know what, maybe I should just head on over there and confirm you’re okay for myself.”
“No! Don’t go through the trouble! I’m heading out to meet up with a friend, so it will be a waste of your time to come right now. I’ll be sure to send a D-com to my sister afterward. I better get going. Thanks for everything and really, sorry for worrying you. I’m looking forward to what you make me tomorrow. Bye!” Euphemia ended the call in the friendliest manner she could manage through her guilt.
Sleeping for so long made her feel sweaty. Euphemia tossed her IHT onto the couch and sluggishly plodded over to her full-length mirror.
The horrifying marks left on her fragile skin had almost completely faded away. Her knees peeked out from under the hem of the giant black shirt. She twirled in front of the mirror for no particular reason, then stuck out her red tongue for no particular reason either, before stripping off the baggy shirt and lobbing it into the washing machine with the gusto of a pro basketball player.
It’s not a lie if I actually go out to eat with a friend! Okay, now I know what to do!
Euphemia was the type to immediately take action once her mind was made up. She took another shower and was toweling off when she realized her specs were missing, and rummaged through her purse to find the case empty inside.
They were my favorite pair, and they were expensive too! She was upset over the loss, but it wasn’t a huge inconvenience because they weren’t prescription lenses. She only wore them as a kind of prop, to make her appear more intellectual, since everyone tended to take her appearance to mean she was some sort of frivolous, ditzy blonde.
Euphemia remembered seeing the specs on top of the end table beside the bed when she woke up in Zelaide’s house. She had positively forgot them there altogether.
Now I’ve done it. I was in such a shock at the time, it slipped my mind. Will he think I’m a stupid girl again? Then again, this could be my chance! Now I’ve got two excuses to see him—his shirt and my specs.
No longer concerned with her specs, Euphemia quickly set about planning her outfit. Putting her hair up didn’t look good without specs on. That said, she hated how much she stood out in a crowd with the waist-length hair she couldn’t cut short because of her older sister’s nagging. Euphemia contemplated what to do for a few moments before deciding to part her hair and braid it down both sides of her face like she used to do during her university days. Throwing a hat on and going for a casual look would be enough to disguise what she didn’t like about her appearance.
She considered contacting one of her girlfriends until she remembered that one of her university friends worked as a police officer.
Wei Lin-jie is trustworthy. I’m positive he’d be willing to look into Zel for me if I ask him to, Euphemia concluded, satisfied with her stroke of genius. I’ll send him a D-com now. I hope he worked the early shift today.
Euphemia threw off her towel and set about picking out the clothes she was going to wear.
†††
“IS that true, Wei?”
“It’s true. I wish you wouldn’t underestimate our information network like that, Mia,” Wei Lin-jie said, lowering his velvety voice to a whisper.
Wei’s hard chest accentuated with well-defined muscles refined by his daily training as a police officer defined his tall frame. Though he served in the Second Criminal Investigation Division, one of the most dangerous divisions of the Gothic City Police Force, he never forgot how to be charming.
He readily accepted Euphemia’s invitation to dinner and had joined her at a diner near the Central Police Department after his shift. Euphemia only had to mention Zel’s name and features to Wei before he effortlessly listed off the man’s full name and job.
“I don’t know his full profile since he’s outside my jurisdiction, but I’m familiar with the name. You don’t need me to look him up for you. Zelaide Silvergray’s a famous freelance Contractor, you know? His type calls themselves Hunters though.”
“Neat! So, what’s a Contractor?” Euphemia asked, leaning across the table between them.
“Contractor, bodyguard, mercenary, odd-job man—they go by many names and professions, but the gist is they undertake any kind of dangerous job that involves fighting.”
“Bodyguards? Mercenaries? Sounds like something out of the movies. Who knew those professions actually still existed?” Euphemia mused.
“Well, anyone can take on whatever public title they like. We live on a dangerous world far out on the fringe; bodyguards have plenty of work. You just aren’t aware of it because you’re an easygoing young lady from a rich family,” Wei said while he slurped the noodles wrapped around a cluster of vegetables like it was the most delicious thing in the world. Deep-fried chicken garnished the top of his bowl.
“The city might look peaceful from the top of a shiny, heavily guarded tower,” he continued, “but criminals swarm in droves beneath the bright lights. Countless criminal cases happen every day without public knowledge. That said, things have gotten better thanks to your older sister increasing the police budget.”
“Young lady from a rich family? Now that’s rude,” Euphemia protested, pointing her spoon at him.
“What’s rude about calling a woman a young lady? You just proved my point, because only a young lady sheltered from the rest of the world would complain about a compliment like that.”
“Hmph.”
Euphemia stuffed her mouth with seasoned rice wrapped in a fluffy egg. The mouth-watering dish had been doused in vegetable sauce and did wonders for her tired body.
A young lady sheltered from the rest of the world. Euphemia couldn’t deny there was some truth to his accusation. Knowing what Wei was getting at, she decided to drop the topic altogether.
The more important thing was that she had learned her mystery man’s full name.
“So he’s called Zelaide Silvergray…” Euphemia repeated to herself.
Zel was his nickname, not an alias.
“Why are you asking about him anyway?”
“Hm? A bunch of stuff kind of happened… I’ll tell you about it later. But first, is there any way I can see the data on him?” Euphemia pulled her IHT from her purse and propped it up on the table. “I’m asking too much trying to see police intel on him, aren’t I? Can I take just a teeny-tiny peek?”
Euphemia peered up at the taller Wei from under her newsboy cap she had positioned at an angle and blinked her long eyelashes. His cheeks flushed a faint shade of scarlet as he shook his head.
“No can do. Even if you beg me with those puppy dog eyes, it’s still no. Mia, need I remind you how you rejected me during our university days?”
“I totally forgot!”
“Ugh, this is why rich young ladies from the high security districts aren’t worth the trouble,” Wei teased, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Still, you don’t have to go out of your way to search the police databanks for information on him. I can’t show you our files, but you can look him up on the DataNet like a normal person, you know? He’s famous in his, uh, line of work. Let me borrow your IHT for a sec.”
Wei accepted the IHT from Euphemia and his fingers made quick work of the search screen. The search results popped up immediately, and he spun the screen toward her.
Zelaide Silvergray’s profile filled the screen next to his picture.
It’s him!
Euphemia’s eyes widened. On her IHT was a picture of Zel from the bust up sporting shorter hair, and some basic information listed in the text beside it.
Zelaide Silvergray
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown (has the appearance of an adult male in his early-twenties)
Place of Birth: Unknown
Physical features (approximate):
Height: 193
Weight: 84
Hair: Silver
Eyes: Teal
Skin: Swarthy, Scars of Various Sizes.
Occupation: Freelance Contractor and Muta Hunter. Both S Rank.
Job Requests will only be accepted through Palmina Nielsen of Negotiator G.
Contact: ××××‐××××‐××××
List of Primary Past Jobs:
……………………
…………
nota bene: Beast Blood
“Beast? He’s a Beast Blood?” Euphemia asked.
“Yeah, he’s a Beast Blood all right. Kind of rare, aren’t they?”
“Beast Blood…”
Euphemia closely stared at his handsome profile image as if devouring every pixel with her eyes. Then she pulled the IHT toward her to swipe her fingers over the keys. The new search results popped up right away.
Beast Blood (Therianthrope)
A subspecies with a chromosome arrangement that is subtly different from humans. The occurrence rate is estimated at 1 Beast Blood to every 10,000 humans. The ratio between men and women is about 4:1. Their average life expectancy is 106 years (according to the current data of 20×× year). Though there is variance among individuals, Beast Bloods are generally physically stronger and larger than humans, with their physical abilities and senses far surpassing human base stock and does not cover class A or higher genetic sculpting. Their intelligence tends to be on par with or slightly lower than humans, but there have been rare reports of exceptionally intelligent individuals. Beast Bloods have a naturally aggressive and combative disposition. Their most distinct physical characteristic is that their irises glow in the dark. It has yet to be discovered why or how they glow.
While still unconfirmed, anecdotal data suggests Beast Bloods dislike alcohol and nicotine, and love animal meat. They are disinclined to conform, and display poor collaborative skills. Hence, although Beast Bloods born to human parents are granted citizenship, the majority seek out independence at an early age. Beast Bloods born to Beast Blood parents, on the other hand, might not have citizenship. Although it is possible for humans and Beast Bloods to copulate, there are few reports of children born from a mixed-species union, likely due to the longer lifespans of Beast Bloods and the fact these cases are underreported. Regardless, scientists have calculated that the offspring of such a union has about a 90% chance of resulting in a Beast Blood.
The following is a list of the most atrocious crimes committed by Beast Bloods….
The rest of the page featured a table filled with the names of Beast Bloods on the run or in custody next to the horrific crimes they had committed.
To Euphemia’s relief, Zelaide Silvergray’s name wasn’t on the list. She scoured the Data Net with several other queries, but it provided similar results. Every description on the species detailed their bestial nature and mentioned a wild, violent disposition.
But he didn’t do anything to me. He was so reserved, Euphemia thought. Sure, he threatened those pigs, but he stayed calm and didn’t act like he was going to violently kill them. Killing the Muta was more out of self-defense than anything else… If he hadn’t, we would’ve been dead.
Beast Blood. No wonder why his eyes glowed so bright in the dark. That silver glow was tinged with a beautiful blue.
“Mia? Euphemia?”
“……”
“Hey! Mia? You okay? What are you zoning out on me for?” Wei asked, waving his hand in front of her face.
“Huh? Oops, sorry. What were you saying?”
“Why are you looking up weird stuff like Beast Bloods and Zelaide Silvergray? Those aren’t topics you come across normally. Something happened to you, didn’t it?”
“Y-Yeah,” Euphemia admitted.
She should’ve expected as much from a police officer.
Figuring it was smarter to tell a certain degree of truth than to cover it up completely, Euphemia summarized the events of the prior night for Wei. She told him what she could remember of her attackers as well, but she omitted the part where they had nearly raped her, choosing to leave it at them forcing her out of her car at gunpoint. Their possession of a Muta might’ve connected to a bigger crime, so she left out the graphic details and gave a simple explanation about what she saw.
“I see. Zelaide was right; you did something extremely stupid and careless going out at that hour! It didn’t end poorly for you this time, but there’s no guarantee someone will always randomly show up to save you. Don’t do it again.” Wei told her the same exact thing as Zel after he finished attentively listening to her story. She had avoided mentioning the most horrifying aspects of her encounter, but wound up with a scolding for it. If Wei knew the full-extent of what had happened he would’ve addressed it completely differently.
“I’m regretting it all as we speak,” she admitted, playing with her braids.
Wei sighed. “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better. Still though, I agree with him. They might not have been targeting you personally, but this reeks of a syndicate’s handiwork. Normal Vermis would never deal in deadly creatures like the Muta. An even bigger syndicate subcontracted the work out to them. You said someone called Shank hired them?”
“Yeah. I don’t really remember what was said before and after his name though.”
“Hmm. Shank. Searching just the name doesn’t come up with anything that matches the kind of person we’re talking about,” Wei said as he flicked through the images on his IHT. “But there is a rich pervert who gets off on watching young women being raped and tortured to death. There have been cases of that. It’s nauseating to think about, but your case might be related. I’ll look into it more for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyways, I’m shocked by Zelaide’s actions. I guess it goes to show he’s got more than enough women lined up he doesn’t need to jump on every opportunity?” Wei muttered.
“What is that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?”
“Huh? You really amaze me sometimes,” Wei shrugged at Euphemia for missing the meaning behind his words. “Never mind. Just don’t ever roam around outside the city after the sun sets again. Don’t wander around inside the city after dark either!”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Ack, should you really be showing a face like that to a man you’ve already rejected? Not that it matters too much.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ll send you a D-com once I’ve looked into it more. Stay on guard in the meantime.”
“Thanks. I’m counting on you.”
“By the way, have you told your sister yet?”
“I haven’t. If I screw up how I tell her, she might force me to quit my job. She’ll at the very least strip me of my right to live alone.”
“I thought so. But I definitely think you should tell her, or more like, you have to. Even in the worst scenario, you know she’s not doing that stuff just to annoy you.”
“Yeah… You’re right.”
“Your sister is worried about you. So am I. I’m glad you chose to rely on me.” Wei reached out and brushed aside Euphemia’s bushy bangs.
“Yeah, thanks for everything.”
“Ha. Don’t look like a puppy left in the rain. I’ll send you home. Let’s head out.” Wei stood up and patted her on the shoulder encouragingly before leaving the diner. Euphemia smiled and followed him out.
It’s not the same.
Both hands that had touched her shoulder were big and warm, yet Euphemia felt there was something distinctly different between Wei’s hand and his. She felt the same way gazing at the broad back and shoulders walking in front of her too. He hadn’t been the least bit kind to her, choosing instead to remain unapproachable during their short time together. Yet for some reason, she hadn’t been able to pry her eyes from him.
Once Wei dropped her off in front of her apartment building and went home, Euphemia ran straight to her room.
She had left the lights on as a precaution, but promptly flipped them off and stood in front of her floor-length mirror. Obviously, the eyes in her reflection didn’t glow in the dark. Not like his did.
They were so beautiful—almost like shooting stars breaking through the night sky.
Yet, he immediately put on his specs the moment his eyes met Euphemia’s, disguising their radiance. Almost as if he were ashamed of his own beauty.
Being a Beast Blood explained Zelaide’s tremendous strength and his curt attitude.
Euphemia specialized in plants and never had much knowledge or even interest in Beast Bloods, until now. But she’d encountered a Beast Blood woman downtown before. Her friend had elbowed her side when she stared in fascination at the wild beauty walking toward her with a well-rounded body and long, toned legs. The woman in question shot her a sharp glare in return.
What are you looking at? Her eyes had said.
Euphemia’s encounter with the Beast Blood woman had ended there, but when the news came on TV several days later with a report about a Downtown Beast Blood prostitute’s murder, the picture they aired was of the woman she had crossed paths with. The news anchor dispassionately mentioned that the woman had been a victim of the Beast Blood Hunts.
Even a sheltered young lady like Euphemia knew that Beast Bloods were a unique species. One of the articles that had popped up during her Data Net search stated that 70% of all mass murders on the planet were committed by Beast Blood males. She’d come across many articles denouncing Beast Bloods as detestable abominations.
If there was one Beast Blood to every 10,000 humans, then at least 100 of them should be living in Gothic City, given its population was one million. Did he count as one of those hundred?
He’d chosen the perfect occupation for effectively using his aggressive nature. Bodyguard and Muta Hunter jobs needed combative people. Not to mention the fact he lived in a stunning home spoke volumes about how successful he had to be to pull in that kind of money.
He said we won’t meet again. He didn’t want to know my name either.
He retreated from Euphemia without eye contact, as if he were afraid to become involved with her. He didn’t show himself again after he left the room either.
“We’ll probably never meet again.”
His rusty voice lingered in her ears.
You’re wrong. Euphemia lifted her head. The pale-blue sky reminded her of his eyes. I won’t let things end here. Zel—Zelaide Silvergray!
Euphemia recalled the last image she had seen of him. I’m coming to get my specs! And to return your shirt. Don’t think for one moment you’ve gotten rid of me so easily!
†††
FAST, rustling brush gave away the positions of multiple creatures scampering through the dense undergrowth.
This was the middle of the Wilds, far away from the city.
They’ve made this easy by surrounding me. Zelaide slowly opened his eyes.
Dusk deepened, dyeing the endless sky a reddish orange. It looked like the color of freshly split blood smothering the earth.
Spear-like bushes taller than Zelaide jutted from the ground without any gaps between them. He strode calmly through the sharp thicket. The predators stalking him rapidly closed in on his location, executing a series of agile maneuvers to surround him and cut off his escape route. Unconcerned by their antics, he trudged forward.
He eventually spotted a large boulder looming black against the fading colors of dusk.
Is that it?
Lightly bending at the knees, his feet pushed off the ground and Zelaide soared into the high reaches of the sky. In less than a second after leaping out of the sea of spear bushes, several dark shadows sprung into the air after him, invited by his sudden movement. The predators stalking him were feline Muta.
Whoosh!
Soaring through the air like a demonic black bird as his coat fluttered behind him, Zelaide took out the first Muta with the gun in his right hand. The gun was a high-precision handgun with a relatively small caliber for its size, the newest model capable of loading twenty bullets at a time.
The bullet blasted the first Muta away, and it let out a harrowing death shriek as it plummeted to the ground, blood trailing behind it.
Cancer—the rather small Muta species with soft fur and translucent membrane webbed between its forepaws and hindpaws. One should never be deceived by their fluffy, feline appearance, for they possessed two rows of razor-sharp fangs and normally traveled in packs of more than ten, making them a real threat when they attacked.
Zel shot a second and a third Cancer out of the air without even glancing at the first one he took out. He slowly descended to the top of the boulder as blood gushed like a can of spray paint with a hole in it from the Mutas.
Using his gun and the wire in his left hand, he took down the Cancers leaping at him without pause.
A weight was affixed to the end of the wire strings, already a dangerous weapon in and of itself, but Zel’s smooth manipulation of the wire rendered it fatal. The Cancers that resembled adorable animals at first glance had their heads blown off and their torsos severed in half by the weapons Zelaide wielded, soaking the hard undergrowth with their blood.
It was the end of a sunny summer’s day. The Wilds of purple dusk were instantaneously transformed into the scene of a gruesome slaughter.
Sheesh, there’s no end to them. The client was right, there’s some abnormal breeding going on here. Did the number of natural predators decrease? No wonder the people living here were desperate.
Burning through the bullets for his rifle, Zelaide tossed it aside and pulled a new gun off his back. Seething with primitive rage, the remaining Cancers waited with bated breath in the shadows of the spear bushes he stared down upon, their bloodlust unshaken by the bodies of their murdered pack mates.
There was never a peaceful night in the Wilds.
†††
AFTER Zelaide had succeeded in shooing away the feisty young woman he’d saved on a whim from his home, he contacted his personal agent, Palmina Nielsen, for any available job requests. He hadn’t cared whether it was bodyguard or hunter work, or even a hard labor job filling in at the docks—his only requirement was that the job got him away from Gothic City for a few days.
Palmina persistently asked if he had screwed up on a job or gotten involved with the wrong kind of woman, but she promptly dropped the topic after Zelaide ignored her and bluntly stated he would ask elsewhere if her agency didn’t have any work for him.
“Okay, Zel. I get it. I do. So please don’t accept any jobs that don’t come through me first. It might not look like it to you, but I carefully select and research the jobs I send to you. You know that, don’t you?”
Palmina’s agency was located in the best district, near Gothic City’s Center Circle. Decked out in the highest quality suit, Palmina swiped her IHT screen with her beautifully painted nails.
Zel scoffed. “Don’t try to wheedle a sense of gratitude out of me, Pal. In return, I won’t be picky about the job this time around. Do you have any work for me outside the city or not?”
“I do. Plenty of it. Let’s see… How does a job providing private security to a bourgeoise wife sound? She says she’s being stalked by the different men she was cheating on her wealthy husband with. The pay’s good.”
“No women.”
“What the heck? What happened to not being picky? You sound awfully choosy to me,” Palmina quipped. But contrary to her words, her voice had a cheerful lilt.
“Sorry, no women is my one condition. I want nothin’ to do with them for a while.”
“Oh dear. Sounds to me like you really did run into trouble with a woman, Zel.” Palmina’s tone grew sharp. “Don’t hide it from me. What kind of woman is she?”
“Nothing’s there. I mean, nothin’ happened,” Zelaide replied as he fought to erase the beautiful emerald color from his mind’s eye. “I just don’t want the trouble involved with women right now. Got anything else for me?”
“Hmm. Oh, how about something like this? It’s a bit far from here, but Cancers are infesting the area near the farmland on the outskirts of Ajanta City. You might get to enjoy some hunting.”
Ajanta City was a relatively small city in the middle of the Wilds, about 200 kyros south of Gothic City. The city was built by the people who had spent a great many years putting their blood, sweat, and tears into cultivating the Wilds, and they survived by providing grains and produce to metropolises such as Gothic City from their vast encompassing farmlands.
“Cancers? They’re small,” Zelaide commented.
“They are. They’re a species of Muta that usually inhabits the Sea of Trees. Normally, they don’t show themselves to humans, but for whatever reason, they’ve bred abnormally fast and have eaten through most of their natural prey. Three days ago, they broke into a poultry farm’s battery cage, which unfortunately had a malfunctioning electric fence at the time,” Palmina explained, summarizing the information provided on her IHT by the client.
“Almost the entire flock was devoured. Ten of the farmhands who tried to fight them off were injured. Several were severely injured. Luckily, no one died, but the reports state the infestation is large, so who knows what could’ve happened if the altercation hadn’t occurred indoors.”
“All I’ve gotta do is exterminate them?”
“That’s it. Their numbers are far too great for one person, so there should already be several other Hunters on the job. But the pay isn’t great. The job is below your skill level,” she advised.
“Don’t care. They’ll have an easier time if I take out a hundred or so. Cancer meat is edible enough, and their pelts come off easy. That should be enough to counterbalance the losses sustained in the farmer’s flock. Job accepted. I’ll head right over.”
†††
STILLNESS fell abruptly over the Wilds.
Had he already wiped them out? Or had they finally fled due to the sharp decrease in their numbers? Whatever the reason, the incessant barrage of leaping Cancers all but disappeared. Barely any of their blood had splattered on Zelaide, but the same couldn’t be said of the boulder he stood on. It had grown slick from the blood pouring from the gaping wounds in brutally mangled corpses.
The sun had set on the area and stars twinkled in its place. Only the bottom of the indigo blue sky was tinged with red. Zelaide cast a shadow against that backdrop, the two silver-blue brilliant lights inlaid against his face shining brighter than any star twinkling in the sky above him.
Zelaide slowly stooped his tall body over to scoop up one of the Muta corpses at his feet. Blood dripped down it. Undeterred, he stripped its pelt with one pull.
Wind roared through the Wilds, rustling the dried bushes soaked in blood in the rhythm of a flute-like melody.
Stark against the sky was a man crouched on a bloody rock, greedily devouring the still-warm flesh of his fresh kill.
†††
ZELAIDE ended up killing 128 Cancers over three days. The three other hired Hunters took out 54 each, dramatically diminishing the Cancer population in the area.
The golden pelts stripped from the Cancers weren’t luxury items, but the thick fur was still marketable, and the Cancer meat would fetch its fair share of coin. The farmhands with serious injuries were still in the hospital, but Ajanta City’s government was pleased with the Hunters’ results and paid their reward in full.
“Good work out there. You’ve really saved our necks. As you know, our city is sustained by our ability to produce food in the Wilds; it’s a matter of life and death for our people to be able to safely work in the farmland outside city walls,” the mayor said, glancing out the office window at the agricultural expanse beyond the fortress walls.
“I still wonder how the Cancers managed to multiply at such an abnormal rate,” the first deputy mayor chimed in. “We’re aware they reproduce much faster than other Mutas, but these numbers are unheard of. We’ve hired a specialist to look into the matter for us as we speak.” He dropped his tone to something more informal, “I’ve been hearing rumors that similar things have been happening all over this planet recently.”
“We might hire you again for the next harvesting season,” the mayor said amicably, taking the rumors seriously. “I offer you our thanks on behalf of the entire city. Your lodging is on us tonight. Enjoy yourselves. However,” he paused, shifting his gaze to Zelaide, “please don’t lay a hand on any of our people. If you need a woman, we have professionals who can service you. They’re fine women who are used to comforting manual labor workers. I’d say they’re in better shape than women of the same profession in the bigger cities.” He had judged Zelaide as a liable risk to the city’s women from his appearance alone.
Black coat fluttering behind him, Zelaide left the mayor’s office without saying anything.
“Yo, Zel. Ain’t this a dull job for a man like you?” a man as large as a small mountain called out to him from behind.
The man was another Beast Blood in the same trade as Zelaide. He was of a similar height, but twice the size in width. Yet, he didn’t look fat despite his girth because of his frighteningly large muscles, which bulged from his taut frame like balloons. His appearance was exotic and inhuman, in ways only a Beast Blood could be.
The left sides of his eyebrows were split in two, like the tip of a snake’s tongue. Beneath those eyebrows, his right eye was an indistinct brown that contrasted the color of burning gold in his left. He wore his long, stiff brown hair with red tones ruggedly swept straight back from his forehead. Most of what he wore was a shade of brown, making him look like a bull from a time long past with his leather jacket, hat, and cowboy pants. Standing beside Zelaide’s all-black attire and silver mane of hair generated an air of danger, an invisible bubble that overtook the space around them. They were men whose alien aura made the other Hunters keep their distance.
“Shut up, Vulcan. I could ask the same of you. Aren’t the spoils from hunting Cancers too meager for somebody who’s always boasting of his own strength?” Zelaide quipped as if this conversation was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.
“Damn right about that. But there ain’t too many jobs needin’ superhuman strength falling my way these days. Just doin’ what I need to for a meal. How ‘bout hanging out with me tonight?”
“Hmph. I’m heading back to my room.”
“Why? Buzzkill. Let’s have a drink for ol’ times’ sake.”
“No need. Hey, stop followin’ me! Buzz off.”
“C’mon, it’s just a little drink? You’re rolling in dough, you can afford it.” Vulcan wrapped his arms in a vise-like grip around Zelaide’s neck. “Buy me a drink, man!”
“I told ya to leave me alone!”
†††
FORCED to accompany Vulcan after all, Zelaide tipped back his glass from where he leaned against the bar counter in the city outskirts. He kept his face free from emotion, as usual.
Their inhuman features should’ve been hard to discern with their black-tinted specs on in the dark and gloomy bar, but there was no end to the women flocking around the conspicuously handsome men.
Men crowded the rest of the bar.
More than a few men shot jealous glares at the two Hunters attracting all the women, but none were willing to openly challenge Beast Bloods more than twice their size and physically endowed with enough strength to bench press a hundred men at once.
The pair’s conversation naturally drifted to their trade.
“How’s business been lately?” Vulcan asked.
“It’s anybody’s guess. Not too bad or too good. Not much has changed, but life feels like it’s gettin’ somewhat easier than before,” Zelaide answered honestly.
“Oh? How so? You’re working outta Gothic City, right?”
“Yeah. It’s hard to explain. Things have gotten slowly better since the new mayor came to town. The city kids and womenfolk agree too.”
“Isn’t Gothic City run by a female mayor? What’s changed?”
“Nothin’ big. She’s cracked down on some corrupt government officials. The Boss ‘round my place said as much. There’s been a gradual decrease in crime from what I can see.”
“Sounds like a lackluster approach.”
“Ya can say that again. But you’ve gotta start somewhere, yeah? Reformation doesn’t just happen with a bang. It’d be the perfect package if it makes business boom for me in the process,” Zelaide said, rolling his shoulders. He took a sip of his amber drink and added as an afterthought, “Another big change is the city’s new approach to handlin’ Nightz.”
“Speakin’ of business, I’ve heard your mayor’s policies are pushing lotsa people to the edge. Some brutes I was drinkin’ with the other day had their drug trafficking route discovered. They were ranting n’ raging that their years of work went up in smoke just like that, and that they’d kill the bitch responsible for it,’” Vulcan said, mimicking the thugs.
“A policy that benefits one person puts somebody else outta business. That’s life. It benefits half-decent guys like us though.”
“Whoa, that’s one scary face you’re makin’. You’re souring your good looks, sexy.”
“Stuff it, Vulcan.” Zelaide scowled at Vulcan’s teasing. What was sexy about a beast the size of a giant and the strength to match compared to humans? The young human men having a blast behind him were much more attractive than he could ever be.
Zelaide shrugged away the insignificant thoughts, caught the dark glass sliding down the counter toward him, and downed half of it in one gulp. He wasn’t sure if the burning sensation in the back of his throat and the bite dragging along his tongue was pleasant or unpleasant.
“You boys have amazing bods,” a woman with luscious black hair sitting next to Vulcan cooed as she ran a finger over his thick thigh. “I wonder if you’re even more amazing down there.” Her fake nails were a poisonous shade of purple.
“You can bet your pretty little fingers on it! Did ya think our size ended with our muscles?” Vulcan barked out a laugh.
“I didn’t. But you look like you’d be too heavy for me. I might just break, y’know?” she flirted.
“How ‘bout I let you ride on top then?” Vulcan had a habit of immodestly splurging on the most expensive liquor whenever he drank on someone else’s coin, and he downed his glass with wild abandon. He was liquored into the best of moods.
Another woman in a short dress with a low neckline scooped up a lock of silver hair flowing down Zel’s back. “Silver hair’s really rare. It’s super shiny. And it’s softer than it looks. Feels like silk.”
“Don’t touch me,” he growled.
Accustomed to angry men, the woman was unfazed by Zelaide’s clearly unhappy growl. “Oh my, you’re a scary one. But I know a good man when I see one. How about it, handsome? Wanna spend a wild night with me? I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it,” she invited, her voice hot and heavy.
“I’m good.”
“Huh? You’re good? I can’t let that slide. Who could’ve satisfied the woman-hater Zelaide Silvergray? Where’d ya get a woman? What shop’s she from?” Vulcan pestered, temporarily turning his attention from the woman feeling him up to his friend.
“She’s not a woman from some shop. I don’t have a woman to start with,” Zelaide muttered grumpily, shaking the ice in his glass. It was a strong shot of liquor, but he’d yet to ask for a third glass and there was more than half left in his current one.
That’s right. Nothin’ happened. Her bright emerald eyes and tantalizing red tongue…just caught my eye because it’s not somethin’ I see every day.
But those two contrasting, complementary colors belonged to only one person, and they came to life in his mind, accompanied by feline-like movements. He wanted to bury his hands in the back of her hair, tug her towards him, and suck on that soft, red tongue until it drove her crazy.
How would it feel to tangle my fingers in that gold hair and stare into the depths of those emerald eyes…?
“Hey, Zel? What’re you closing your eyes for? Is it your bedtime already, little boy?”
“Huh?” Startled back to his senses, Zel jerked his head up to find Vulcan and the others studying his face with great interest.
Zelaide panicked when he realized Vulcan wasn’t just teasing him—his head was on the counter, his hand still gripping his glass. What in the world was he trying to do during the few seconds he was in dreamworld? He was relieved he was wearing a long leather coat.
He finished off the rest of his glass in one gulp and tossed his coin on the counter.
“I’m leavin’,” he grunted.
“C’mon, man. Done already? Get that coat off, would ya? It’s damn hot in here.”
“Shut up!”
Beast Bloods were naturally intuitive and always perceptive. It was a given that Vulcan had picked up on the wild male scent radiating from Zelaide.
“Can you sleep as you are if you go home like that? Isn’t it better for ya to bring one home with you? Here.” Vulcan lightly pushed the woman toward him from behind.
“Ah!” The woman purposely tripped forward and nestled coquettishly against Zelaide’s rock-solid chest. Her perfect yet artificially dyed blond hair spread over his coat, illuminated by the dim bar lights.
“Sheesh! You’re so rough!” she complained over her shoulder while she wrapped her arms around Zelaide’s waist, not forgetting to casually press her voluptuous breasts against him.
“Stop. I’m not buying a woman.”
“You don’t have to pay for me,” she offered. “I’ll do you for the sheer pleasure of it. How about it, sugar?”
“Don’t need it.”
The deep red lips closing in on his were nothing close to the transparent red clinging to his memories. He turned his face aside, as if fleeing the kiss, and stepped out of her embrace.
“I’m leavin’. You can do what you want,” Zelaide said to Vulcan.
“Now that’s a real shame. I’ll just enjoy myself for the both of us, then. Thanks for the drink! I’ll hit you up again sometime!”
“Find somebody else.”
“Ouch, that hurts. Don’t you mind him, ladies! That’s just the kinda guy he is. I might not have his looks, but I’m far gentler. I’ll play with all three of you at once!” Vulcan howled with laughter and watched his friend stalk coldly out of the bar.
†††
STRANGE. I haven’t felt like this in ages.
Zel arrived at his assigned room, tossed off his coat and boots, and dived into bed.
Beast Bloods didn’t have a sex drive as strong as their appearances suggested. In contrast to their physical strength, which was twice that of a human’s, their libido was either on par with humans or slightly less. They didn’t marry according to the law as humans did. Their longer life spans played a part in what was known as a weaker species preservation instinct compared to humanity.
But some Beast Bloods experienced intense sexual urges during the excitement of the bloodbath after a slaughter or upon identifying their lifelong mate. There wasn’t any accurate comparative data on the phenomenon, and, like with humans, individual differences were considerable, making it difficult to determine the exact cause.
How did this happen?
Zelaide moaned, desperately fighting off the urge to reach for his nether region. He couldn’t stop his hips from squirming. This was a first for him. He didn’t understand why he felt this way.
Of course, Zelaide was a man too—he wanted a woman at times.
But even then, his feet never took him to the human pleasure quarters. He felt no desire for human women. Not to mention, they were so slender, he feared they’d break like a twig beneath him. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d distract himself with other things, only ever pulling out his IHT to contact a friendly Beast Blood female when he absolutely couldn’t withstand the pain. Then, once they’d finished the act, he’d leave right away. That should’ve been enough to keep his mind and body in check.
Dammit! Is this that breeding season thing they talk about? But doesn’t that only apply to females?
Naturally, Beast Bloods were capable of having children, too.
Beast Blood women in particular had a certain season where they incessantly tempted men in order to conceive a child. This was called the breeding season. Some women begged Zel for his sperm, but he flatly turned them down. He didn’t want to father a child with any woman other than his destined mate. And Zel had decided he didn’t want a mate period.
But then there was her. The young woman with eyes the color of emerald gems—
“Ah!” The second he thought of her, a moan burst from him, heated desire growing in his lower region.
Is this that woman’s fault? Can’t be. I’ve no interest in women, especially human women. Her hair would stand on end if she knew a beast like me was gettin’ aroused by the thought of her. This is wrong. This is terribly wrong, in so many ways.
“Run away, Zel! And forget all about this!”
The mental image he’d sealed in the back of his mind threatened to break forth—he rushed to reseal it. He inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, until the air was free of his lungs. Repeating the same act several times helped to calm him to some extent.
This is happenin’ because of all that blood while exterminating the Cancers. I haven’t let loose like that in a long time. It’s not unreasonable for it to have this effect.
Neither deriding himself nor deceiving himself had any affect, leaving him with no choice but to get up and stagger to the bathroom. Only the icy cold water pelting him with his clothes still on could subdue the impulses that were impossible to hold back regardless of what he tried.
†††
THE next day, Zelaide managed to regain his presence of mind after immersing himself in a few boring jobs once he finished his main job for Ajanta City, and he now drove down the freeway through Gothic City’s front gate—Forzarin Gate—during the sunny morning hours.
About six whole days have passed since I left. I wonder if her things are gone. They should be.
Thinking the woman might come back for the specs she forgot, Zelaide had considerately hung them from the metal fittings on his front gates before leaving home, even courteously bagging them first. At first glance, it wouldn’t look like more than a trash bag hanging from his gate, removing most of the danger of theft. No one ever came to his place. The young woman would be about the only person to come with a purpose. And he was positive the smart woman would pick up on the message he’d left for her. Put simply, the message was, “hurry up and go on your way once you take these.” He wasn’t particularly confident in his intelligence, but he thought it was a pretty good idea on his part.
It’s been a week. If she was gonna come, she would’ve already done it. If she hasn’t, I can just get rid of them myself.
It didn’t take long after he entered the beautiful tree-lined Uptown street at dawn to feel disappointed in just how naïve his idea had been.
He had driven all through the night until the rains let up. After finally returning home, Zelaide reached out for the biometric sensor to open the gate when he spotted Euphemia sitting on the ground, sleeping in the shadows of his front gates.
“Dammit! What the hell is her problem?!” Zelaide groaned, grinding his teeth.
That proves it—I’m cursed.
†††
THE display screen glowed bright in the dark room. Reclining in a comfortable chair, a man stared at it. In his hand, he held a fancy cut-glass cup featuring clear colors and delicate patterns.
The luxurious, spacious room lacked signs of being lived in.
Although the screen gave off a bright light, the scenes unfolding on it were too gruesome for any sane person to look straight at. Several videos took turns playing on the display, automatically shifting to the next one when the previous finished.
The film quality varied from pro to amateur level, but the contents of the videos were all the same: a man or woman running for their life, under attack by bloodthirsty Muta. Muta cornered the humans whose eyes were wild with fear, and sunk their fangs into their throats before they could squeeze out a scream, ripping their bodies to shreds while several other Muta hungrily devoured the entrails spilling out from their lifeless forms. Every video on the display was the same gory scene, cut from different locations and times.
In other words, there were many victims to this horrifying crime. Some videos also showed scenes of women being raped by men before being fed to the Muta. It was precisely because there was no sound that the fear and despair filling their wide eyes was transmitted directly through the screen. These were videos a sane person wouldn’t be able to watch for more than a few minutes before throwing up.
But the man watched in pure ecstasy. The liquor in his cup grew warm from his palm, his lips yet to touch the glass. The videos only became increasingly more gruesome and gory, blood spraying from the victims’ onto the camera lenses during some shots.
Suddenly, the man sat up. He had watched every appalling, bone-chilling scene without batting an eye until he had reached out to pause one particular video. He operated the control board with his fingers and rewound the video.
He stopped rewinding at the scene of a young woman underneath two men in the night plains.
She was a young woman who looked like she had only taken her first steps from being a girl into womanhood. Her shirt was ripped, exposing her white skin under the dim light. The woman violently struggled for her life, but her supple limbs were seized by filthy hands. It was only a matter of time before her body was violated. She swung her head to both sides to see if there was anywhere to run, and her bitter, tear-filled eyes locked on the camera for a moment. It must’ve been just a coincidence, but the man paused the video right there.
I…know this woman.
The video was horribly shaky with a bad blur. He didn’t know the time or place the video had been taken, but he had no doubt it was filmed very recently. He could never mistake this woman’s feisty face. He hit play again.
The expression of the woman on the screen suddenly became serene, as though she had come to some sort of peace with herself. Then she thrust her hand into her hair, pulled out a small object, and raised the hand clenching it above her head. A split-second later, a gloved hand came out of nowhere and stopped her, casting a black shadow over the video. Something had stood in the way of the camera.
Without realizing he was drooling, the man pressed his nose against the screen to make out every pixel he could. His hand shot to his groin where he began to caress the naked flesh, and he patiently waited for the image that would bring him sheer bliss. But the dry summer grass was the only image displayed when the camera came back into focus. The man clicked his tongue impatiently and upped the volume. It was unprecedented for him to care about sound when he normally got off just by watching. Were they talking close to the camera? The sound quality was captured better than the video.
“Wow, you’re filthy. Don’t drool on me, you piece of shit. Spit it out already!”
“We’re called Insects…we ain’t no more than Vermis…”
“Vermis? Is that true? You aren’t Inferni?”
“I dunno that! A man named Shank hired us to rape and kill the woman who was going to pass through this area just before rainfall…”
“Return to your employer and give him the message to never go after this girl’s ass again. If you say it’s from Zel, he’ll know who you mean.”
Zel? Zelaide Silvergray? I’ve heard the name before. He’s a famous Beast Blood. This pisses me off. He just happened to show up at the right time?
The man returned his attention to the screen, but his pleasure was denied him because events were already at an end.
It didn’t take long before someone had opened the container door from the driver’s seat and a Muta prowled out of the open shutter. The trailer must’ve taken off at the same time, because the ground on screen began to sway and shake.
Damn it all! Something more interesting might have happened! What happened to the girl? Did the Beast Blood Zel defeat the Muta? I can’t tell from the video. But—
How fascinating.
The man sneered.
They were probably just some low-ranking thugs, but he had to figure out who had sent him this video right away. And then he needed to seal their lips forever. From the conversation he overheard, the thug was Shank’s lackey. Shank was likely the alias for one of the syndicate’s top brass. The man wasn’t familiar with it, but he knew it was a name used with hired hands. He’d know who it was in no time once he looked into it. By all appearances, the girl had escaped safely, but her identity was already exposed to the underworld.
She’s a woman with an expression that leaves a lasting impression.
The man rewound the video many times, replaying the scene capturing the moment of her clear determination. He did the same thing throughout the entire night, comforting himself with every replay. And within him grew the keen desire to see her face in person. He had to take action immediately to make that happen. But he needed to be as careful as possible. Being too hasty and rash was taboo.
Just before the rainfall signaling the end of night let up, the man reached for the IHT on the table beside him.
†††
SOMETHING adorable was curled up in a ball below the automated dual-panel gate. Her hands were wrapped around her jeans-covered knees, her small buttocks planted firmly on the cold concrete. Zelaide couldn’t see the expression hidden beneath her moss-green casket cap, but she appeared to be sleeping.
Does this woman have zero sense of danger? Does she think just because this is a rich neighborhood, it’s safe for a young woman to sleep outside in the early-morning hours? Bloody hell! Somebody needs to give her a stern talking to! Danger aside, sleepin’ with her butt on the cold concrete in those thin clothes is bound to chill her to the bone, even in summer. Even I know young women shouldn’t freeze!
Zelaide ground his teeth and slammed on his horn in a fit of anger. The sharp blare of the deep bull horn ripped through the moist air, wet from the rains.
The woman’s shoulders jerked from the sudden noise and her green cap slid from her head. She acted just like a small forest animal. Her emerald eyes lit up and sparkled the second her darting gaze landed on the irritated Zel leaning forward on his steering wheel.
“Welcome home,” she greeted with a grin.
“You,” he growled.
“You’re late. Oh wait, I guess that’s technically wrong, since it’s morning now. Maybe I should’ve said good morning instead,” the woman prattled, pushing to her feet. She casually dusted off her butt.
“Why are you here?”
“That’s no way to greet someone. I wanted to return this to you…” With both hands, she casually passed a black shirt wrapped in a fancy paper bag through the car window to the man who embodied a bad mood.
“You could’ve just tossed that over the gate and been done with it.” Zelaide tiredly accepted the paper bag and chucked it into the back seat.
“I wanted to give it to you directly. And I wanted to properly thank you for what you did for me.”
“Ok, I’ve heard it and got my shirt back. Go home.”
“I haven’t said thanks yet!”
“Then hurry up and say it so you can go home.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be thanking you.” Her emerald eyes glimmered. He seemed to have upset her, but Zelaide still wouldn’t budge.
“Huh?” he grunted.
“You’ll send me right on home when I do, right? So I won’t say it,” she reasoned.
“I don’t understand you. What did you even come here for, girl?”
“I’m not ‘girl,’ I’m Euphemia.”
“What?”
“Euphemia Ashencourt. It’s my name.”
“That’s a ridiculously fancy name. What do you hope to achieve by tellin’ me?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you.”
Zelaide answered her with silence.
“You’re Zel, Zelaide Silvergray, yes?” Euphemia continued, bending at the waist to peer into the driver’s seat through the window. Zelaide covered his face with one hand as if displeased to have his name discovered.
“That’s just the name I use. I don’t have a legal name.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s a meaningless topic. Ok, you’ve had your fun, move outta the way. I need to park my car inside.”
Zelaide ignored the woman staring in awe at his heavily armored sports car and slid his car through the front gate when she stepped aside. He had opened the gate by remote just enough to fit his car through. When he looked in the mirror, he saw her jogging alongside him.
“Sweet ride. Where do you usually park?” she asked, running to keep up with him.
“There’s a garage on the side of the house,” he answered without much thought. “Hey, why’re you following me, girl?!”
“I told you my name is Euphemia, not girl. My friends call me Mia. You can call me that, too.”
“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, girl? I’m tellin’ you not to follow me inside!”
“And have you listened to a word I’ve said, hm? I’m Euphemia. This is the third time I’ve told you my name.”
“It doesn’t matter how many times you tell me. O-Oi! Don’t come on my property without permission! Don’t stand in front of the garage door! It’s dangerous!” Zelaide protested, getting of his car when she stood unmovable in front of his garage door. “What’s your problem?”
“Didn’t you just release the lock on this big door? Why isn’t it opening?” Euphemia had spotted Zelaide shutting off automode and was eagerly trying to open the garage door herself.
“It opens. Here,” Zelaide said, grasping the inconspicuous handle and sliding the door to the side with shocking ease.
“Oh? Oh my stars!” she squealed.
“You’re easily distracted.”
“H-How? How is this possible?! A door that opens sideways? Is this for real?”
“This is how they did it in the old world. Satisfied yet?” Zelaide flashed a grin.
Euphemia couldn’t find the words to respond. The man who’d shown her nothing other than dark brooding smiled for the first time. It only lasted a millisecond, but a millisecond was enough.
“Wow.”
When he smiled, his sharp, wild facial features wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks dimpled in a sudden friendly expression.
Oh my stars. Can a person (or Beast Blood, rather) change this much with a smile? It’s completely different from his usual iron-faced demeanor.
“What’s wrong? Hurt somewhere? You’re starin’ into space.”
“Pardon? Oops, I’m okay! Some amazing system you’ve got in place here! Has anyone seen through it yet?”
“Not a soul. Then again, they’d be pecked at by Tip the second they passed through the gate unwelcome.”
“Who’s Tip?” A sudden gust rushed behind Euphemia’s back, she turned around to see a small shadow charge past her with earth-shattering speed, brushing her bangs. “Ack!”
Zelaide held out his arm, intercepting the small shadow. “This is Tip. Tipsy.”
Euphemia was nearly startled into falling over, but she managed to hold her ground. The bird-shaped Muta with razor-sharp talons and a bone-crushing beak landed on Zelaide’s shoulder and eyed Euphemia with the same level of suspicion as its master while it folded in its wings.
“This? Isn’t this a…Muta? A Tipsilox, if I’m not mistaken.”
“So I’ve heard. I call him Tipsy. I’m the only one he’s friendly to. You’ve escaped being clawed by his talons because I’m with you. Isn’t that right, Tip?”
“Chwirk? Chwirk?” The Muta quirked its head to the side in feigned innocence as Zelaide stroked its chin. They seemed really close.
“You’re called Tipsy? How do you do? I’m Euphemia. I’m not a bad human, so please don’t peck out my eyes.” Euphemia smiled at the bird-shaped Muta. “I’ll show myself inside,” she said to Zelaide, briskly walking inside his house without reservation. The memory of her last visit still fresh in her mind, she had a general idea of the house’s layout.
“Hey! Who said you—” Euphemia quickened her pace inside the house with Zelaide’s flabbergasted voice at her back, “—can go inside, girl!”
For some reason, the security system didn’t click on. Perhaps he left it to his flying security guard? Or maybe he had clicked off the system when he pulled into the driveway.
I’ve successfully managed to barge in! Go me!
Behind her cheerful façade, Euphemia was sweating bullets. Her heart hammered in her chest.
The last time she remembered being this nervous was during her university oral exam. She strongly believed Zelaide wouldn’t become violent with her, but she was being annoying enough that it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to snap and throw her out at any time. Her knees threatened to buckle if she didn’t put on a tough act by pretending to be a naïve girl who couldn’t read the mood. She was shaking in her boots even now.
But at least it was worth it to wake up early every day for almost a week to see him.
Euphemia had assumed since she’d met him during early dawn she would be more likely to catch him if she dropped by his house first thing in the morning.
She figured a man doing a dangerous job like Contractor and Hunter work would work through the night and come home in the morning. Obviously, she had learned her lesson from her last night outing and only left her house once daybreak colored the sky. She donned what weapons and protection she could think of, and parked her car as near as possible without arousing suspicion.
But I don’t have much time today. I have to head to work soon.
The day after she had dinner with Wei, she had put in a request with the laboratory director and her direct boss, Kreutz Burhardt, to switch her schedule to the late work shift for an entire week. Since she normally worked for six hours, the late shift had her working from just before noon until the evening. On the other hand, the early shift went from early morning until just before noon. Normally, the two shifts would be coordinated between the laboratory staff to make a proper work schedule, but this was the one time where Euphemia was grateful to have her sister’s authority. She knew all too well that she had played foul by using her sister’s prestige for this.
And so, she had waited every morning for him for five whole days.
By the time daybreak’s light broke through the diminishing rainfall, Euphemia exited her apartment, hopped in her car, and parked it beside a park within walking distance of his house. And then she waited for him to come home in the shadow of the tall, wide driveway gate, lingering up until the last minutes before her work shift every day. Today was her last late shift.
This is really what it means for something to happen just in the nick of time.
Euphemia was exhausted from her repeated early mornings and late nights. It was as clear as day to her that if Zelaide happened to return home while she was away, he’d never come out to greet her, even if she rang his bell. If she really wanted to see him, she had to catch him in the brief moment before he entered his driveway.
And that’s why Euphemia had done her best to make it happen this week.
She was proud of her career and would never let her work quality suffer. After all, she had finally secured the privilege of observing the Night Blooms’ flowering. She had acted selfish by having her work hours changed to the late shift, and she didn’t want to inconvenience work more.
As she traversed Zelaide’s hallway, she took an intuitive turn to the right. She opened the pristine door at the end of the hallway, revealing the kitchen she suspected to find. Zelaide could’ve caught up to her within a few strides had he felt so inclined, but he hadn’t tried to stop her yet.
The kitchen was spacious and bright, but it showed little sign of use. Euphemia, knowing she was being rude, promptly opened the large refrigerator door.
Aha. It’s just like mine.
That is to say, there was barely anything inside aside from drinks.
Euphemia was studying the contents of the fridge with great interest when her arm was suddenly tugged on from behind and the refrigerator door was slammed shut in front of her face.
“Don’t get carried away! What the heck is a young lady raised in a proper home doin’, rummaging in somebody else’s fridge?! And don’t ya forget, I never said you could come inside either!” Zelaide shouted, her actions greatly disturbing him.
“Oh, good point. Sorry. My curiosity got the better of me. I don’t look the part, but I’m actually a researcher, and was curious about what you normally eat… But I’ve overstepped my bounds. I’ll be leaving then,” Euphemia said all at once, ducking her head. She turned dejectedly back toward the door she had just entered through.
Even she realized she’d make him hate her if she pushed any further.
But apparently, her decision blindsided the fierce-looking Zelaide. “Huh? You’ll what?”
What’s with this woman? She just bulldozed her way into my house and now her attitude’s reversed and she wants to leave? I haven’t said anythin’ out of the ordinary, right? For that matter, why’s she so relaxed around me when normal humans tremble in fear or avoid me like the plague? She’s just gonna rummage through my place then leave like the wind? But I guess…this is for the bes—huh?
GRUMBBLLLLE!
Zelaide’s all-too-perfect hearing picked up on a slight yet curious sound.
GROWWWLL!
“Oh no!” This time Euphemia went bright-red as her hand shot to her loud growling stomach. “I’m so sorry!”
Her dejected saunter for the door had been her best attempt at luring him into stopping her from leaving, but her rumbling stomach was unintentional. Overwhelmed with dismay, Euphemia turned a deeper shade of red and broke into a run for the door. As a proper young lady, she felt her heart break having the sound of her growling stomach as the background music for her once-in-a-lifetime precarious gamble.
Just because I woke up early and skipped out on breakfast doesn’t mean my stomach needed to choose now of all times to act up. I’m such an idiot! Stupid! Dimwit!
“Want to eat before you go?” His deadpan voice stopped Euphemia in her tracks. “You sound like you’re starving.”
She timidly looked back and her eyes met his.
“I am, but are you sure?”
“You’re choosing now to be modest? Follow me.”
Euphemia wasn’t sure if it was amusement or exasperation she heard in his voice.
She contained her bubbling excitement and followed him, curious about what food he had to offer when she had only seen drinks in his refrigerator. She watched him, brimming with curiosity, as he returned to the kitchen and fetched several retort pouches from the built-in cabinet and brought them to her. He even had a pack of vacuum-sealed preserved bread.
“Do you stock up on food?” Euphemia asked, taking a seat in front of the kitchen counter. She placed her casket cap on the bar seat beside her. The golden hair cascading down her back in braids like a swift-flowing waterfall stole the man’s attention.
I can’t tell if she’s a woman with good or bad manners, Zelaide thought, exasperated with her.
“Me?” he asked. “Never. Pal takes it upon herself to leave food lying around without me askin’ for it.”
“Pal? Is that your girlfriend?”
“My agent.”
“I see.”
That reminded Euphemia of the name she saw listed in the database with Zelaide’s profile. The name Palmina Nielsen had stayed with her because it was a woman’s name. Pal had to be her nickname.
So they’re intimate enough to call each other by nickname?
Euphemia suppressed the urge to ask him a bunch of different questions. She didn’t want to incur his disfavor by being nosy when he had showed her a side of kindness she never expected.
Meanwhile, Zelaide skillfully emptied the retort pouches on top of the plates he’d pulled from the cabinet without her noticing, and tossed the plates in the microwave. The newest model microwave was capable of heating up several dishes at once.
“Oh wow. Everything looks amazing.”
He placed several dishes in front of her in a matter of seconds. Steam wafted from the top of a red soup and a savory-smelling loaf of bread.
“Thank you for the food,” Euphemia exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
“What’s that all about?” Zelaide asked, eyeing her.
“My older sister taught me about this old custom where you give thanks with your hands put together before you eat.”
“Heh.”
“You aren’t going to eat?”
“Coffee’s good enough for me.”
“You’ve got such a big body though. Don’t you get hungry?”
“I already ate,” Zelaide muttered evasively, casting his gaze to the side. “Time for you to eat, too.”
“Wh—” Euphemia swallowed the question before it left her mouth. She was about to ask him where he ate and with who.
That was close! The curiosity bug is getting the better of me. He still hasn’t let down his guard around me. I have to watch what I say right now.
“How long have you been waiting there for?” Zelaide put a question to her this time.
“Since dawn. I took the proper precautions. I have the latest personal safety alarm model on me too.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been comin’ by here ever since that day.”
“I have. Ever since two days after that incident, to be exact.”
This morning marks the seventh day since the attack, so she’s been coming by for five days? Zelaide concluded.
“Why have you been doin’ that?”
“I don’t know, really. But I’m interested.”
“Interested? In what?”
Zelaide poured the freshly brewed coffee into a cup. To Euphemia’s surprise, he dropped a single sugar cube into his cup and stirred. Did he have a sweet tooth despite his fierce looks? She didn’t have the courage to ask.
“You’re a Beast Blood, right? Your eyes were glowing when you saved me.”
“What’s that got to do with anythin’?” Zelaide asked defensively.
“It was…a first for me.”
“The first you’ve seen a Beast Blood? We don’t get involved much with proper young ladies like you, after all.” Bitterness stronger than his coffee coated his tone.
“I thought it was gorgeous. Breathtakingly so.”
“Huh? Gorgeous? What is?”
“Your eyes. They’re teal right now, but they were silver then. I thought they were breathtakingly beautiful when they glowed silver-blue. They were the only illumination in the pitch-black darkness, so I—”
“Wanted to see it again?” Zelaide cut her off. “Gimme a break.”
“I’m a biologist who studies plants, a phytologist to be exact. I’m still just a junior researcher, and I guess it’s not directly related, but I love any kind of rare living creature.”
“I sure am a rare species, aren’t I?” Zelaide snapped. “Want to gouge out my eyes and submerge them in formaldehyde for your research then? Or would ya rather skin me and study the culture on a Petri dish underneath a microscope?” He spoke in an offhanded manner, disparaging himself. Euphemia immediately regretted her poor choice of words.
“Don’t talk like that. I’m sorry for calling you a specimen; I messed up. I’m not very good with words and my sister is on my case for it all the time. But I won’t lie. I did want to see it again. No, I wanted to see you again. Very much so.”
Zelaide said nothing.
“I mean it. I wanted to see you,” Euphemia repeated to get her point across to him.