Chapter 17 – Whispers of Poison
The night was heavy, thick with an unease Min could not shake. He woke suddenly, his crimson eyes snapping open, though no sound had stirred him. His instincts — honed by years of blood and survival — whispered that something was wrong.
The house was too quiet.
Patrick's room, just down the hall, should have carried the faint sound of restless tossing or muttered dreams. Instead, it was still. Too still.
Min rose, his steps silent as he crossed the floor. He opened the boy's door. The bed was empty. The window was ajar, letting in the cold night breeze.
Min's jaw tightened. Patrick never leaves. Not willingly. Not without me knowing.
A flicker of realization burned in his chest. He moved quickly, his senses reaching outward, sniffing the faint traces of movement, of blood. The metallic tang of spilled life lingered faintly in the air — not inside the house, but somewhere near the streets beyond.
Min's eyes narrowed. So he's done it.
By the time he stepped outside, the village lay in shadows, still untouched, still sleeping peacefully in ignorance of what had been set into motion. But Min could feel it — the faint sting of corruption carried on the wind, drifting from the direction of the town's well.
He followed it, his long cloak dragging behind him like a shadow given flesh.
The scene at the well was damning. Two guards lay sprawled across the cobblestones, their lifeblood soaking into the cracks. Their eyes stared blankly at the night sky, mouths frozen mid-cry.
Min crouched beside one, fingers brushing the hilt of the wound. His expression hardened.
Patrick's work. No hesitation in the strike. No mercy in the kill.
Slowly, he looked toward the well. The faint ripple of disturbed water reflected the pale moon above. He didn't need to taste it to know — the boy had poisoned it.
Min exhaled, long and weary. He had seen many betrayals in his life, but this… this was different.
The boy he had sheltered. The boy he had given roof and bread. The boy who had lived in his shadow like a ghost.
Now, that ghost had bared its teeth to the world.
"Patrick…" Min whispered, his voice carrying both anger and sorrow. "Do you even understand what you've done?"
For a moment, he stood there, listening to the silence of the dead and the whisper of the poisoned waters. He could almost hear the screams of dawn already echoing in the distance — the town waking, drinking, and falling.
The vampire closed his eyes briefly. I kept you alive, and this is how you repay life itself?
When he opened them, the faint red glow of his pupils burned brighter.
Patrick could not hide from him. Not now. Not after this.
And if the boy thought he was ready to face the weight of vengeance… Min would be the one to decide whether he survived it.