Anna led the family down a long, echoing corridor lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, eventually arriving at a private, luxurious dining room reserved for the immediate family. Inside, a huge, polished mahogany table was already laden with an array of foods: steaming meats, crystal bowls of colorful fruit, and a silver carafe containing a dark, shimmering liquid.
John's stomach gave a loud, embarrassing rumble. It was a hollow, demanding sound that cut through the ancient quiet of the castle.
"Oh my, looks like the little one is hungry," Anna observed, her beautiful red eyes glinting with amusement. "Did he drink any blood yet, Angeline? Since his awakening?"
Jiren did not know what to say. His experience was with raw, messy consumption and beastial instincts, not this cultured setting. He looked helplessly at Angeline.
"No, Mother," Angeline confirmed. "John did not drink any blood since his awakening. He ate a human breakfast this morning, but there was no immediate reaction." She looked at her son with a mixture of concern and anticipation.
"John dear," Anna said gently, gesturing toward the carafe of dark liquid. "Do you want to try drinking blood now?"
John looked at his father, his eyes wide and uncertain.
"It's your choice, buddy," Jiren said, his voice quiet but supportive. "No one's forcing you."
John took a deep breath, his curiosity overriding his nervousness. The sweet, metallic scent of the blood, now close, was a subtle lure. He nervously said, "I would like to try some, please."
Anna smiled, delighted. She looked at Angeline. "Should I, or would you like to do the honors, my daughter?"
Angeline instantly shook her head. "No, I think I must be the one." This was an initiation, a powerful maternal ritual.
Angeline walked over to John. Her movement was graceful and deliberate. She extended her left wrist, turning it inward, and with a small, sharp snap of her teeth, she punctured the skin. Two small, perfect holes immediately began to weep a dark, rich stream. She presented the wound to him: "Drink, honey."
John brought his mouth closer to his mother's wrist. As the first hot, thick drop of blood touched his tongue, his mind fractured.
It first felt overwhelmingly addicting, like someone who can't get enough of using drugs, a chemical, primal need slamming into his consciousness. At the same time, he drank with a frantic, desperate intensity, like someone who is drinking water for the first time after running a fifty-mile race through a desert. His throat worked furiously, gulping down the rich, iron-heavy fluid. He could hear his mother's pulse beneath his lips—a steady, intoxicating rhythm.
He drank, and drank, and drank, pulling deep drafts of his mother's essence. The world narrowed to that single, perfect taste.
After what felt like an eternity, he instinctively let go of his mother's wrist. Angeline immediately pressed a hand to the wound, which stopped bleeding instantly.
A wave of profound, intense euphoria washed over John. "I am okay," he managed to say, feeling as though he was transported to a place of perfect peace and serenity. It was the feeling of absolute fulfillment, a sensation akin to being a baby safe inside a pregnant mother, cradled and nourished.
Then, just as swiftly, the serenity was annihilated.
Suddenly, his head began to throb and ache violently, starting behind his eyes, where his crimson pupil pulsed. The pain spread like wildfire across his entire body. "Aaaaaaaahh…. my head and my body hurts! Make it stop, Mommy, make it stop!" John screamed, grabbing his skull with both hands, his legs buckling. The beautiful castle hall spun around him.
Angeline felt nervous, her face pale. She rushed to his side, trying to hold his flailing body. "What do I do, Mother?"
Jiren, unable to bear the sight, felt his own werewolf senses screaming. He stood there, frozen, his hands clenched into fists, watching his son in unimaginable agony. He thought, "Whatever it is, fight it, son. Fight it or it will consume you."
Anna, the ancient vampire, was utterly baffled. "This has never happened before," she whispered, her crimson eyes wide. "This intense a reaction... This has never happened to any vampire drinking blood for the first time. Not even the weakest."
John felt everything in his body was on fire. His blood felt like boiling sulfuric acid coursing through his veins. His body was slowly beginning to transform from the inside out, the powerful fluid activating every dormant gene simultaneously.
All of the negative, toxic byproducts of the awakening began to leak from his sweat pores; the air around him filled with a sharp, sickening smell of burnt iron and something metallic and foul. Simultaneously, his veins and muscle fibers began to tear and repair themselves at a blinding speed. He could feel the fine, brittle snap of old tissue giving way to new, denser, stronger tissue. Every bone ached as it was infused with unnatural energy. Everything in his body—his strength, his durability, his very essence—was being fortified and amplified.
After what felt like an hour of unending, scorching pain, the agony slowly subsided, replaced by profound exhaustion. John's screams faded to a shallow pant, and he pitched forward, falling into an unconscious state.
Jiren rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside his son. His eyes flashed glowing blue as he instinctively scanned John's entire body using his werewolf senses. "He's stable," Jiren murmured, relief flooding his voice. "My son's body became stronger, but not strong enough. He still has a lot of room for improvement."
Angeline looked at John's sweat-soaked body, a strong, offensive odor wafting up from his clothes. "But he needs a bath, Jiren! He smells awful!" she said, closing her nose with a dramatic gasp.