The taste of human blood had put her into a deep slumber, and it made her dream as well. Her dreams were fragmented—sometimes she was arguing with her parents, other times she was having heart-to-heart conversations with the old man and the child whose blood she had drained. The sun had already bathed the Blood Mist Forest in light, signaling the awakening of all creatures. Yet Ilsa was still trapped in her hazy dreamscape. Occasionally, she seemed to regain a sliver of consciousness, sensing someone moving her limbs. Vaguely, she caught a glimpse of Tom's worried face. At noon, as the scorching sun evaporated the forest's humidity and the beasts lay resting by the waterholes, Ilsa regained a bit of her senses. She stretched, feeling utterly exhausted; Tom's blood had brought more than just beneficial effects. Half asleep, she rolled over and noticed a piece of paper beside her bed. She picked it up, squinting at the words.

"I went to find some food. Keep sleeping, Ilsa."

Food... She remembered Tom's disheveled appearance the day before. Yes, the poor boy hadn't eaten anything. No wonder he was hungry...

After setting down the note, she realized she was already dressed in a gown. Well, well... A smile blossomed across her face. What a gentleman—didn't take advantage of me, and even dressed me while I slept. And to think I was considering tearing him limb from limb last night... He always manages to surprise me... She smirked to herself. Maybe I'll keep him around, have him by my side forever, always producing blood for me...

Ilsa lay back down, the remnants of the fresh blood still coursing through her body. She felt drowsy again as her body slowly digested Tom's blood, and her head grew heavy once more. Just a little more sleep...

Sleep can rob one of sensations, and worse, it can blur one's perception of time. The sun had long set, and darkness once again ruled the Blood Mist Forest, hand in hand with the moonlight. Ilsa slept straight through to the night, only now stirring awake. Her body had fully absorbed Tom's blood, but another reason for her waking was the faint rustling at the cave's entrance.

...Who's there? She propped herself up on her elbow, trying to see the entrance clearly. The campfire had long since burned out, leaving only the faint light of a few candles.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"...Tom?" Her voice was hoarse.

A shadow crawled forward, and Ilsa tensed, trying to awaken the killing instinct buried deep within her. Damn it... Human blood was far more intoxicating than strong wine... Her limbs still felt heavy, but despite that, the vampire prepared to lunge forward. However, the candlelight soon revealed the boy's face—Tom crept toward her, and upon seeing her awake, he smiled.

"I knew it was you..." Ilsa smiled too, but her smile froze the moment she noticed the shortbow extending from Tom's shoulder.

In the next second, a yellow-fletched arrow buried itself deep in her left shoulder.

"Wha...?"

As she attempted to raise her right hand, a second arrow found its mark in her abdomen. Two arrows were enough to incapacitate her, at least temporarily.

"Tom—"

Tom was holding something, though she couldn't make it out clearly. Whatever it was, he forced it into her mouth, and the taste of iron instantly filled her senses. "Now!" Tom shouted toward the back. "Hold her down!"

It was only now that Ilsa realized Tom had brought two others with him. Besides the tall, lanky archer, there was a fat boy, so round he looked like a loaf of bread. The archer glanced at Ilsa, a hint of disbelief in his eyes, as if he found it hard to believe he had just harmed such a young, beautiful girl.

"Hold her down, now!" Tom bellowed like a wounded beast. "She's a vampire!"

Bun, terrified of anything remotely supernatural, nevertheless found his courage when it was needed. Tom had already gagged Ilsa with the iron bit, locking it in place at the back of her head before she could react. To make sure she couldn't speak at all, the gag was wrapped in burlap, stuffing her mouth completely. Bun rushed forward, pinning down her hands—though she made no attempt to resist, her expression dazed. Sir Thrinn quietly slung the shortbow over his shoulder, then retrieved a large bundle of oil-soaked rope and iron shackles from Bun's pack, methodically tying Ilsa up.

Ilsa Glory stared blankly at the cave ceiling, allowing them to do as they pleased. Sir Thrinn flipped her over with practiced skill, showcasing his expertise in binding. With her ankles and wrists securely shackled, the three finally let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Pull out her nails," Tom added.

"Is that really necessary?" Sir Thrinn hesitated for a moment, but Bun interjected, "She looks like just an ordinary girl! Besides, she didn't even fight back!"

"Look at my neck." Tom pointed to the two puncture marks on his throat. "Do you want to end up a dried corpse too?"

Bun fell silent, terrified. "Bring the pliers," Sir Thrinn ordered coldly.

What happened after that, Ilsa couldn't remember clearly. She recalled pain—immense, searing pain from her wounds, but the worst of it was the ache in her heart. A deep, raw pain of betrayal. The agony tore through her, stealing her breath and choking her with a grief too profound for tears.

And then, she blacked out.