<div> Chapter 117: Valerian Cross 37 
 
 Darkness pressed heavily upon the Blood Mansion, thick with tension and unrest. The battle had been brief, but its consequences rippled through the halls like a relentless tide.
 Lucien Blood lay motionless on a grand bed draped in crimson silks, his once-imposing presence reduced to a fragile shadow of itself. His pale skin had lost its luster, his body covered in faint traces of wounds that should have long since healed. Yet, despite the gallons of virgin blood he had consumed, despite the relentless care from his most loyal followers, something within him remained broken.
 For a month, he did not stir.
 The mansion had grown eerily silent, as if holding its breath, waiting for its master to return to the world of the living.
 But even when his wounds had closed, even when his body no longer bore the evidence of battle, Lucien was not healed. He felt it deep in his bones—a festering weakness, a hollow void where his strength had once been. He was not the same.
 And the Elders knew it.
 They whispered in the great halls. Murmured behind closed doors. The mighty Lord of the Blood Clan had been weakened, and in their eyes, there was only one person to blame.
 Stephany.
 The foolish human-turned-vampire who had led him down this cursed path. If she had never come, that bastard of a brother wouldn’t have followed, wouldn’t have dared to wound their lord—wouldn’t have reduced him to this wretched, weakened state.
 This was her fault. All if it!
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 </div> The Elders did not seek permission. They did not wait for their Lord’s recovery.
 They took her.
 The Dungeon of the Blood Clan
 The cold of the stone walls bit into Stephany’s flesh, but it was nothing compared to the fire that burned inside her veins.
 She was starving.
 Her body had wasted away, her once vibrant form reduced to little more than skin and bones. She could feel herself withering, her mind unraveling at the edges. The hunger was unbearable, a gnawing, insatiable force that tore at her sanity.
 She needed blood.
 She craved it.
 And yet, they denied her.
 The Elders had thrown her into this forsaken dungeon and left her to rot. No blood. No warmth. No light. No Lucien.
 A newly turned vampire without blood was torture. It was a slow, agonizing death—one that stripped away all reason, all sense of self, until nothing remained but an animal.
 They had done this to punish her.
 To break her.
 And perhaps, Stephany thought bitterly, they had succeeded.
 She barely remembered the taste of blood on her tongue, the sensation of life flooding through her veins.
 She barely remembered what it was like to be alive.
 Days passed.
 Then weeks.
 Then months.
 She did not scream anymore.
 She did not even move.
 The door never opened. No one came.
 Until, one night, the halls trembled.
 A presence stirred.
 A familiar, powerful presence that sent the entire mansion into a hushed silence.
 Lucien Blood awoke.
 The moment Lucien Blood opened his eyes, the air in the mansion shifted.
 His red irises glowed in the dim candlelight of his chambers, burning with a fury that sent his attendants scrambling away. His body still felt foreign, heavy with wounds that would never heal, but that did not matter.
 Because the moment he returned to consciousness, he felt it.
 Her suffering.
 A deep growl rumbled in his throat as he sat up, every fiber of his being igniting with rage.
 "Where is she?" His voice was hoarse, raw from disuse, but it carried through the halls like a death sentence.
 The attendants hesitated.
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 </div> Lucien turned his head, his gaze locking onto the nearest servant. "Where. Is. She?"
 The vampire flinched. "M-My Lord, the Elders—"
 Lucien didn’t wait.
 He moved.
 His steps were unsteady at first, but his will was firm.
 He followed the scent—the lingering traces of her presence—down, deep into the underground chambers. Past the ornate halls, past the luxurious corridors, past the gilded elegance of his empire.
 And then, he reached the dungeon.
 He wrenched the doors open.
 The sight before him nearly drove him mad.
 Stephany was barely alive.
 She lay slumped against the stone wall, her arms limp, her once-glowing skin now a sickly pale. Her lips were cracked, her breath shallow. The vibrant young woman who had once defied him, who had stood tall with fiery conviction, was now nothing more than a ghost.
 Lucien’s fury erupted like an inferno.
 The very walls of the dungeon trembled with his rage, the shadows around him thickening, writhing as if alive.
 "WHO DID THIS?" His voice roared through the underground chambers, sending shivers through every vampire within earshot.
 The Elders had felt his awakening, and they arrived just in time to witness his wrath.
 "My Lord," one of them spoke carefully, "we only did what was necessary. She—"
 Lucien moved.
 In an instant, he was in front of the Elder, his hand wrapped around the vampire’s throat.
 "You dare touch what is mine?" His grip tightened, claws digging into flesh, fangs bared in a snarl. The Elder choked, his eyes wide with terror.
 "My Lord—"
 Lucien flung him across the room.
 The Elder crashed into the stone wall with a sickening crack, slumping to the ground in a heap.
 The others took a cautious step back.
 Lucien’s eyes burned with a dangerous, unstable light. He wanted to kill them. To rip them apart.
 But as he staggered, as the weakness in his limbs reminded him of his failure, he knew the truth.
 He could not.
 Not yet.
 He was still too weak.
 And that realization infuriated him.
 His fists clenched, his breathing ragged. He turned to Stephany, kneeling before her, his hands trembling as they reached out.
 "Stephany," he whispered.
 For the first time in months, her eyes fluttered open.
 She looked at him, and there was no anger in her gaze.
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 </div> No fire.
 Only emptiness.
 Lucien felt something inside him shatter.
 "Bring her blood," he ordered coldly, his voice dripping with venom. "Now."
ƒгeewёbnovel.com The Elders hesitated.
 Lucien’s glare snapped to them, his weakened body trembling with rage. "If you value your pathetic lives, you will do as I say."
 They did not dare defy him.
 As the blood was brought to her lips, as the color began to slowly return to her skin, Lucien vowed—
 He would never forgive them for this.
 And one day . . .
 When his strength returned . . .
 The Elders would pay.</div>
 

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Chapter 117: Valerian Cross 37

Chapter 117: Valerian Cross 37 Darkness pressed heavily upon the Blood Mansion, thick with tension and unrest. The battle had been brief, but its consequences rippled through the halls like a relentless tide. Lucien Blood lay motionless on a grand bed draped in crimson silks, his once-imposing presence reduced to a fragile shadow of itself. His pale skin had lost its luster, his body covered in faint traces of wounds that should have long since healed. Yet, despite the gallons of virgin blood...

The Villains Must Win

Chapter 117: Valerian Cross 37

The Villains Must Win - Chapter 117: Valerian Cross 37