Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride

"Ugh!?"

Blood dripped down his fingertips as the atmosphere in the room collapsed. Big Bear's gaze focused on Nikolai, but he didn't move. Meanwhile, the woman sat on his lap, quivered, the moment his claws sank into her flesh, her eyes beamed golden.

Her sweet groan of pain sent a jolt of pleasure, a thrilling tingle that made Nikolai's shaft swell further in the woman's hand.

He wanted to push her down and tear out her neck.

This wasn't some sweet romance or courting ritual, because he could smell it, the sheer hatred she had for him. And if he let his guard down for a second, she must just be the one to bite his jugular.

Her reaction came swiftly, gripping his shaft tight, she sank her nails into his thighs as the growing mass spread her hand open.

Her lips brushed his ear as she snapped her teeth together.

A soft click.

A test?

Nikolai didn't jerk away. He let the sound fold into the whiskey heat in his chest and the low, mean buzz that had been living behind his eyes ever since the alley. Her pulse beat against his fingers where they sank into the back of her neck; strong, quick, not afraid so much as thrilled.

"Quite a wild one aren't you, young man," she breathed.

"Keep talking." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "I like hearing what I'm going to silence later."

The dog woman curled in Black Bear's arm like a satisfied cat pretending to be a canine, snorting at the two in amusement. Black Bear didn't. He watched without blinking, a steady mountain with a bottle in one hand and a sense of danger wafting in the air.

The other two guests, grinning with knives, pretended to study the digital screen, the way hyenas pretended to be bored around lions.

The tigress pressed closer, her thigh sliding against his. Heat, scent and the metallic perfume of her blood threatened into the pomegranate and rose. It tugged at something feral and hungry under his skin.

He kept his hand where it was, buried in her hair, thumb on the hinge of her jaw, telling himself that it was for leverage and not because touching her felt good.

You're injured," she said, amusement roughening into curiosity. "My claws, they itch, don't they?" Like a wire under the skin, every breath aches."

"So talkative for a death woman."

Her smile edged sharper. "Say it again."

"I said dead."

"Good~ I'll make beg me to keep going."

Her nails gave a polite warning through his trousers. Not a squeeze, exactly; a reminder that she could. He answered with pressure at her nape, the prick of nails through silk and skin. The room's air thinned. The dog-woman's tail stilled. The suits stopped pretending to watch the fight feed.

"Cubs," Black Bear rumbled, finally. "My den. I don't like the furniture getting ruined unless I'm the one throwing it."

"Mm." The tigress rolled a lock of Nikolai's hair around her finger, then let it go. "Your den's cozy, Ursa. Shame about the guest etiquette."

Nikolai loosened his hand a fraction. Not mercy; measurement. The woman's eyes were dark like ink, and that slip of gold held his without flinching. There was hate there, yes, but not the flabby kind. Focused. Sober. Like a debt tallied in careful columns.

"Name," he said.

"Tiger," she said.

He pushed a little harder until her lashes trembled. "Name."

A beat. Then, "Madoka."

No way... It's really HER!

"Eh, did your cock just bounce?" She looked shocked by the sudden full erection.

The dog-woman perked up, ears twitching under her sleek hair. One of the suits shot Black Bear a glance; the other wrote something in the air with his finger, a glowing glyph that fizzled harmlessly at the edge of a ward. Black Bear ignored them both.

Nikolai repeated it, quietly. "Madoka." Then he tilted his head and showed a dark smile. "How about we find a private place to play?"

Her eyes didn't blink. The gold in them seemed to tighten, like a slit narrowing. "Private?" she murmured, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "You think I'm shy, little wolf?"

"I think you're loud," he said. "And I'm not in the mood to share my prey."

If this woman were truly Madoka, then this meeting wouldn't end well for her. It was clear that Madoka's role here was the victim.

"Mm." A soft sound, not agreement. Appraisal. Her hand left his thigh; the ache she'd planted there kept humming anyway. The room seemed to lean forward with her, pulled by the gravity of her scent. "You've got your way with threats. They feel like invitations."

"Depends who's listening, but you're not too normal yourself"

"Depends who's asking," she said, and then she smiled for real, white, neat, almost innocent like an angel. It made the hatred in her eyes worse. "But no. Not tonight."

He felt the refusal before she spoke it. Her soft lips, a taste of hot air and the big eyes peering at him, the life in her pulse. Madoka pulled away as the room suddenly tasted of copper and citrus instead of roses.

She had no intention of dying here.

She had every intention of setting the table and choosing the knives.

"Shame," he said.

"I prefer Tomorrow," Madoka said.

"Tomorrow?"

"See you then." She corrected, and the word came out like a toast.

Black Bear set his bottle down with a thick glass thunk. "Cubs," he warned again, a patient glacier. "The more you talk, the more I worry."

The dog-woman scowled at Madoka while curled in Bear's arms like a sinful silk blanket as she tilted her head. "The bitch is trying to escape, handle your debs Maddie."

"Handle him," Madoka flicked her head to Nikolai as she slipped off his lap, her words filled with laughter yet lazy like smoke. "I'm busy."

Nikolai eased his grip from her neck and sat back enough to breathe. Not out of retreat, but somehow, when they made that promise, her attitude towards him changed. The hatred and desire to kill turned to the people on the opposite couch.

"You know my name?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "Black Fang. Much more exciting and delicious than the Silver Fang."

Madoka used Ivan Volkov's Arena nickname, or one of them. It made Nikola happy, but also confused... she hated his father, but the strange fluctuations of her emotions when speaking to him sent both tingles and chills down his spine.

"You a spy?"

"Hunter," she said simply. "Sometimes those look the same."

Madoka slid off his lap as if she hadn't been there at all. The room exhaled; the couch leather sighed. He didn't move. She stood before him, smoothed her skirt with two fingers, and looked down at him like a queen deciding which soldier to knight and which to gut.

"You've cut me deep... but," her seductive voice danced in his ear, quiet and private. "Next time, aim for here." Her two fingers slid towards her pelvis, and along her pubis... an erotic sight as she chuckled.

"You'll break, it won't be worth it."

"Then break me until I cannot seek revenge, big wolf."

The strange atmosphere confused everyone present; even Nikolai couldn't quite understand if it was the blood loss, alcohol or his desire.

"I'm going." she said, and the flirt was gone in that breath, a clean cut down to steel. "Tomorrow. Don't be late."

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

The dog-woman uncoiled at last, slid from Bear's arm, and padded over with a white tin in hand. "First aid," she said, voice bright but eyes measuring. "Up, pretty boy. Shirt off."

He didn't argue or ask why...

The moment he removed his shirt, dozens of sharp cuts, fresh ones that bled with a tiny bit of blue, this was her poison, and during their exchange, she stabbed him a dozen times, while he endured.

The poison in his side fanned heat when he lifted his arms; the room tilted a degree and righted. The woman worked quickly—cool cotton, the sharp kiss of antiseptic, tape pressed firm. Each touch settled the wolf-itch by another hair.

"Hold still," she murmured. "It's a blood-eater. Your heart wants to produce more blood. But this thing forces it into a dangerous cycle."

The dog woman then spoke about the poison in more detail. A poison that only affects monsters. That carried a compound that dissolved the red blood cells in the blood, leading to the need for more of them to bring oxygen to the brain.

"Thanks, what's your name?" he asked her because he hated not naming things that could decide whether he woke up tomorrow.

"Mila," she said.

Mila's tail was sleek, dark, obviously not hiding anything for anyone to flick once like a metronome. "You sound like Ivan when you get angry."

"You knew my dad?"

"Darling, there isn't a monster in here that couldn't. He was someone who could take the top spot no matter what tricks the Arena Master played."

"Careful," Bear said. "You'll make it hard for the cub to rise, don't give so much pressure."

***

Meanwhile, on the outside, Madoka's neck oozed with blood from Nikolai's deep wound, as she stepped close to a giant screen.

Madoka drifted toward the live feed of the cage. A replay flickered: Jessie's hammer compressing air, the shockwave rolling sand in a ring. Neville's fall. The crowd's faraway howl. She watched herself watch it in the glass, freezing the moment she noticed her fingers stroking Nikolai's cheek in a close-up.

"Your father killed the wrong people," she said without turning.

"Don't blame me, little wolf."