The night was dark, and the cool mountain air enveloped them, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. The group trudged through the dense forest, exhaustion etched on their faces.

Juana was the first to break the silence. "Lola, you should consider Arnaud's offer. There's no hospital nearby, and you need urgent attention."

Lola glanced at Arnaud, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Fear and distrust were still fresh in her memory, but something in the way Arnaud looked at her, with a mixture of concern and guilt, made her want to trust him.

Finally, she exhaled a shaky breath. "Alright. But if you try anything..."

"No," Arnaud promised solemnly, understanding the warning. "I promise."

They stopped in a small clearing, moonlight filtering through the branches. Arnaud carefully set Miguel down and approached Lola. With a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the brutal strength he had shown earlier, he helped Lola sit on a fallen log.

"This... not good," Arnaud warned, kneeling before her. "Hurt. But help."

Lola nodded, her heart pounding. She watched with a mixture of fascination and apprehension as Arnaud examined her wounded leg. His fingers, cold but gentle, probed around the injury.

"Bullet... inside," Arnaud muttered, frowning. "Must take out."

Lola felt the color drain from her face. "How... how are you going to do that?"

Arnaud met her gaze, his eyes filled with determination and something else... compassion? "Claws. Quick. Less pain."

Before Lola could protest, Arnaud bent over her leg. She felt his cold fingers on her exposed skin and couldn't suppress a shiver. Then, without warning, Arnaud's claws sank into her flesh.

Lola couldn't hold back a scream of pain. Her hands gripped the log so tightly her knuckles turned white. Juana quickly moved closer, holding her hand in support.

"Shh, it's almost over," Juana murmured, stroking her hair.

The pain was intense, as if her leg was on fire. Lola could feel Arnaud's fingers moving inside the wound, searching for the bullet. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in short gasps.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only seconds, Arnaud withdrew. In his hand, he held a small, deformed, and bloody bullet.

Lola looked at her leg, expecting to see a bloody mess. To her surprise, although the wound was open and bleeding, it wasn't as bad as she had feared.

"Now, I heal," Arnaud said, his voice soft but determined.

When Arnaud's tongue touched her wound, Lola had to suppress another scream. The sensation was strange, a mix of burning and relief. Gradually, the pain began to subside, replaced by a warmth spreading through her leg.

Arnaud worked in silence, his movements gentle and methodical. For a moment, Lola forgot he was a supernatural being capable of unimaginable destruction. In that instant, she only saw a man determined to help.

When Arnaud finally pulled away, Lola looked at her leg in amazement. The wound, though still visible, had stopped bleeding and seemed to be closing before her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured, surprised by the sincerity in her own voice.

Arnaud nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Welcome," he responded, one of the phrases he had learned from Arturo.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. There was something in Arnaud's gaze, a mix of remorse, gratitude, and something else Lola couldn't name, that left her breathless.

The moment was interrupted by a groan from Miguel, who was beginning to regain consciousness. Arnaud quickly moved away, returning to his side to help him.

"We need to move," Juana said, looking nervously around. "My house shouldn't be far, we can take shelter there for now."

Lola stood up, surprised by how easily she could put weight on her injured leg. "Are you sure, Juana? Your store is already compromised, your house could be the first place in which they look for us."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Juana nodded with determination. "It's a risk we'll have to take. We need a place to regroup, rest, and plan our next move. Besides, I've lived in these mountains so long I know these forests like the back of my hand."

The group resumed their journey, this time with Miguel leaning on Arnaud and Juana. Lola insisted on walking by herself, though she couldn't help but notice how Arnaud stayed close, ready to help if she needed it.

As they made their way through the dense forest, Lola couldn't stop thinking about how surreal the whole situation was. Just a few days ago, she was living her normal life, and now she was on the run with a supernatural being who had massacred dozens of men, a child, an old woman, and an injured man.

"You... okay?" Arnaud's accented voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Lola looked at him, surprised by the question and still wary. "I'm fine," she responded curtly, not wanting to engage in conversation.

Arnaud nodded, catching her tone. After a moment of awkward silence, he added, "I... sorry. For everything."

Lola felt a pang of... something. She wasn't sure what. Part of her wanted to believe in his remorse, but the images of the massacre were still too fresh in her mind. "Words don't erase what you did," she finally said, her voice tense.

Arnaud lowered his gaze, clearly affected by her words. He didn't try to justify himself, which Lola found surprising.

Arnaud looked up again and smiled slightly. "You... good," he said, pointing at her. "Like Arturo. I... bad, but want be good."

Lola's heart skipped a beat at these simple but meaningful words. She wanted to say more, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she simply nodded, offering a small smile.

♢♢♢♢

As they approached Juana's house, Arnaud began to show signs of restlessness. He constantly looked at the sky, which was beginning to lighten on the horizon.

"Sun... soon," he muttered, his voice tense with worry.

After what seemed like an eternity of walking through barely visible paths and crossing shallow streams, Juana finally stopped. "We're almost there," she whispered. "Our town is just over that hill, Lolita."

Finally, they reached Juana's house. It was a two-story dwelling, with a small garden in front. The store and warehouse could be seen next to it.

Juana led them to the back door, looking nervously around before opening it. The smell of rotten blood and gunpowder hit them as soon as they entered, a brutal reminder of the confrontation that had taken place in the nearby warehouse.

"My God," Juana sighed, bringing a hand to her mouth. "What are we going to do with all this mess?"

Once inside, Juana immediately set to work, searching for the first aid kit to tend to Miguel, who was now fully conscious but strangely quiet.

Lola sank into a sofa, exhaustion finally catching up with her. Arnaud stood awkwardly, as if unsure of his place in this familiar but now altered space.

"Sit down, Ar," Arturo said, tugging at his hand. "You're making my neck hurt."

Arnaud smiled at the boy and sat on the floor next to him. Lola observed their interaction with a mixture of fascination and wariness. It was disconcerting to see the same being who had unleashed such violence being so gentle with a child.

"We need a plan," Lola said after a moment, her voice laden with tension. "We can't stay here indefinitely, especially with... the evidence of a confrontation so close."

Juana, who was cleaning the wound on Miguel's head, nodded. "You're right. But for now, I think we all need to rest. In a few hours, when we wake up from a nap, we'll be able to think more clearly."

Lola wanted to protest, to argue that they didn't have time to rest, but the tiredness on everyone's faces made her reconsider. "Okay," she conceded reluctantly. "But as soon as it's safe to go out, we start planning and cleaning up that mess."

"Miguel," Lola said, turning to the injured man. "How are you feeling? You've been very quiet."

Miguel looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and shame. "I... I'm so sorry, Lola," he finally murmured. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't... if I hadn't gotten involved with those people..."

Lola felt a pang of compassion. Despite her initial anger, she could see genuine remorse in her former mentor's eyes. "What's done is done," she said, but still felt a bit of frustration. "Now is not the time for regrets, Miguel. We need solutions."

As Juana organized where everyone would sleep, Lola couldn't help but notice how Arnaud looked at her from time to time. Every time their gazes met, she felt a strange mix of unease and... something else. Something she wasn't ready to name and that deeply unsettled her.

"Arnaud will need a safe place from the sun," Juana said, interrupting Lola's thoughts. "The basement could work."

Lola nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Good thinking. Do you need help preparing it?"

"I can do it," Arturo offered, eager to help.

While Juana and Arturo prepared a space in the basement for Arnaud, Lola found herself alone with him for a moment. The silence between them was heavy, laden with unresolved tension.

"Thank you," Lola finally said, her voice barely a whisper. "For healing my leg. But that doesn't change what you are or what you've done."

Arnaud looked at her, his eyes full of an emotion Lola couldn't fully decipher. "I understand," he said simply.

Lola wanted to say more, wanted to understand him, but fear and distrust still weighed too heavily. Instead, she simply nodded and walked away, leaving Arnaud alone with his thoughts.

That night, or rather that morning, lying on the living room couch, Lola found herself unable to sleep. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. On one hand, Arnaud had shown himself capable of kindness and self-control. On the other, the memory of his unleashed violence was too vivid to ignore.

In the basement, Arnaud settled into a dark corner, surrounded by boxes and the familiar smell of Juana's store. He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. His mind was filled with images from the night: the blood, the violence, but also Arturo's trust, Juana's compassion, and Lola's conflicted gaze... that look that made him feel something he hadn't experienced in his centuries of existence.