My Blood Legacy: Blo Chapter 62: My precious son

Chapter 62: My precious son

The night had dissipated without fanfare, as if carefully gathered by invisible hands to give way to a new cycle. The first light of morning stread through the tall windows of the Training Center, filtering in soft tones that glided across the walls and floor with an almost ironic delicacy for a place that breathed discipline, blood, and power. The world outside was slowly awakening, but within that space... sothing had been in motion for much longer.

In the kitchen of the reserved quarters, Serafall moved with an unusual lightness for soone of her position. There was no rigidity in her gestures, nor that calculated coldness that defined her presence before subordinates. There, in that isolated space, there was only fluidity. She humd softly, a gentle and unhurried lody, while moving among the utensils with a natural familiarity, as if that kind of routine was sothing she rarely allowed herself... but which she mastered perfectly.

She wore only a dark apron that covered the essentials, tied tightly at the back, but still leaving her shoulders, arms, and part of her legs exposed, her pale skin contrasting with the soft morning light that filtered through the cracks in the window. Her hair fell loose, slightly disheveled, different from the impeccable image she normally presented to the world, as if this version of her belonged to a completely different context—more intimate, more silent.

On the counter, the preparation followed a pattern that, at first glance, might seem strange to human eyes. Small containers with blood of different shades were precisely arranged, so denser, others more translucent, each being handled with almost culinary attention, as if they were rare ingredients. The aroma that filled the room, however, was not unpleasant—on the contrary. It had layers, soft notes that blended in a curiously harmonious way, creating sothing that went beyond the simple idea of ????raw food.

Serafall stirred a pot in circular motions, the dark liquid reacting to the heat as she adjusted small details, adding sothing here, removing sothing there, always with the sa tranquil expression. From ti to ti, she brought the spoon to her lips, tasting carefully, frowning slightly for a second before precisely adjusting the seasoning.

There was sothing almost... dostic about the scene.

Sothing that didn’t match the figure that, hours before, had passed through bodies as if they were made of paper.

And yet, it was her.

Without contradiction.

Without effort.

In the next room, the silence that had been maintained during the night began to slowly fragnt. Victor, who until then had remained imrsed in a deep sleep, began to react almost instinctively. First, a slight movent of his fingers. Then, a subtle change in his breathing. And then... the sll.

It ca before any thought.

Before full consciousness.

An alluring aroma, unlike anything he had ever experienced before, yet... inviting. There was sothing about it that drew his attention almost automatically, awakening not only his body, but sothing deeper, sothing directly connected to his nature.

His eyes opened slowly, still heavy from rest, blinking a few tis as he tried to adjust his vision to the soft light that already dominated the room. For a mont, he simply remained there, looking at the ceiling, letting his mind organize itself, letting the mories return to their proper place.

And then he realized.

Sothing was... different.

His gaze drifted to the side of the bed.

Nothing.

He frowned slightly, shifting a little more, tugging at the sheet gently as if expecting to find soone there.

But there was no one.

Not Scarlett.

Not Carmilla.

He was absolutely certain they had both been there when he fell asleep. He rembered their presence, their warmth, their closeness—it wasn’t sothing his mind could simply invent. And yet... the space beside him was empty, as if it had never been occupied.

Victor propped himself up on his elbows, looking around the room more attentively now, his senses beginning to expand as he fully awoke. There were no signs of a struggle, of a hurried departure, of any interruption.

Just... absence.

And, at the sa ti—

The sll.

Stronger now.

Closer.

He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed it. There was sothing almost hypnotic about that aroma, sothing that not only awakened hunger but also curiosity. It was different from the raw slls he had previously associated with blood. This was... prepared.

Worked.

Refined.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a small sigh as he finally got out of bed. His movents still carried a trace of slowness, but there was attention in them now, a slight expectation that grew as he oriented himself in the space.

His feet touched the cold floor, and he walked towards the bedroom door without haste, but also without hesitation. Each step seed to align his thoughts a little more, connecting what had happened the previous night with what was now unfolding before him.

He opened the door.

The hallway was silent.

But the sll... now it was unmistakable.

It was coming from the kitchen.

Victor followed in that direction, curiosity guiding his steps naturally. There was no tension in his body, nor excessive caution. If there was anything strange, he showed no concern about it—only interest.

And then he arrived.

He stopped at the entrance.

And he saw.

The scene presented itself before him almost identically to the mory he already carried... and, at the sa ti, completely new.

Serafall was there.

Her back was partially turned to him, moving lightly between the counter and the stove, her apron adjusted to her body while her hair followed her every small movent. The morning light drew soft contours around her, highlighting the naturalness with which she occupied that space.

She was still humming.

As if completely oblivious to his presence.

Or perhaps... not.

Victor remained silent for a second, leaning slightly against the side of the door as he observed the scene. His eyes scanned the room, absorbing the details attentively, from the organized containers to the steam rising slowly from the pot.

And then... he smiled.

A slight smile.

Almost inevitable.

"Not this again..." he murmured, his voice low, laden with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist in that context.

He tilted his head slightly, still observing, with no hurry to interrupt the mont. There was sothing almost rare about it—not the action itself, but who was performing it.

And, for so reason... he didn’t want to break it imdiately.

But the scent... That definitely didn’t help maintain distance.

Victor took a few steps forward, now entering the room completely, his eyes still fixed on her as he approached close enough for his presence to cease being rely a possibility.

Victor approached slowly, still carrying that relaxed air of soone who had just woken up, guided more by the scent than by any sense of urgency. He stopped right behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body and the slight movent of her breath, and then, with an almost dangerous naturalness, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her slightly closer while resting his chin on her shoulder. The gesture was intimate, comfortable... and completely irresponsible, considering who he was dealing with.

"You’re quite excited, Mom..." he comnted, with a slight, lazy smile in his voice, as if this were just another ordinary morning.

Serafall didn’t turn around imdiately.

Nor did she back away.

On the contrary—she only tilted her head slightly, as if she were fitting her face closer to his, while continuing to stir the contents of the pot with an almost unsettling calm. The corner of her lips lifted slowly, forming a smile that was too soft... too beautiful... and, for so reason, utterly wrong.

"I’m preparing your last al~" she replied, in the sa sing-song tone as before.

Victor’s body reacted even before his mind could follow.

A shiver ran down his spine so suddenly that his muscles tensed reflexively, as if sothing instinctive had scread danger directly from within his bones. That wasn’t just a sentence.

It was an on.

"What—"

"HMMM!! !AMMMm!!!"

The sound cut through the air abruptly.

Muffled.

Desperate.

Victor turned his head quickly toward the source of the noise, his brow furrowing reflexively—and then he saw.

The room.

Or rather... what had beco of it.

There, in the space that until then seed rely a tranquil extension of the lodging, Carmilla and Scarlett hung upside down, suspended in the air as if they were particularly problematic decorative pieces. Lines of blood—thick, vibrant, pulsating—intertwined around their bodies, binding arms, legs, torso, everything with almost artistic precision. The restraints weren’t just physical; there was energy in them, a pressure that made the surrounding air vibrate slightly, preventing any real attempt at escape.

Their mouths were gagged.

Their eyes... definitely not. Scarlett looked ready to explode.

Her face was flushed with rage, her eyes blazing as she writhed as much as she could, which wasn’t much, considering she was basically encased in a cocoon of hostile blood. Her tail—still partially manifested in hybrid form—whipped frantically in the air, betraying a level of indignation that words couldn’t express.

Carmilla, on the other hand...

She was angry.

But in a much more... conscious way.

Her eyes were fixed on Victor with an expression that mixed judgnt, exhaustion, and a slight, silent "I told you so." She didn’t struggle as much as Scarlett, but the tension in her body made it clear that if she had the slightest opening... soone there would probably lose a limb.

Victor blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three tis.

Processing.

And then slowly turned his face back to Serafall.

Now—

She held a knife in her hand.

Not just any knife.

The blade was long, elegant, but completely enveloped in a thick layer of blood that wouldn’t drip—it vibrated, pulsed, as if alive, enveloped in an intense red energy that slightly distorted the air around it. It wasn’t just a weapon.

It was a statent.

Serafall still hadn’t opened her eyes.

But the smile...

Ah, the smile.

If before it was gentle, now it was... complete.

Closed.

Extending almost excessively, curving to where it seed no longer natural, while her eyelids remained closed, as if she didn’t need to see to know exactly where everything—and everyone—was.

"Would you like to explain..." she began, her voice low, sweet... dangerously sweet, each word coming out with a ticulously controlled calm, "...why there are two vampires..."

The knife twirled slightly between her fingers.

"...Sleeping with my precious son..."