The Blood Rose Lady

By Nymeria Yennefer Roisin

Rozelyn found out she is a vampire when she turned eighteen. Her stepmom is secretly a vampire as well. Cyrill, her stepmom's adoptive son, is a werewolf behind the shadows.

As she live the life of being a vampire, several people had come for her—including the infamous Blood Mistress, a witch who hunts vampires and werewolves.

Rozelyn become more fascinated with the vampire life, especially when she found out that sex plays a huge role in a vampire's everyday living and it acts like blood: once they tasted it, they will crave for it even more.

 

Will Rozelyn be able to voice out her secret love to Cyrill without risking the familial relationship they have built for years? Or will she watch her loved ones perish due to her identity as the most powerful vampire to ever live?

Amidst all these, only one thing is certain: Blood is thicker than water—either literally or figuratively.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iSuperNovel
• Release date: Aug 11, 2022

Book preview

Chapter One

Rozelyn is not quite a common name, but not so special either—especially for a freshman who managed to survive her first week.

Psychology was the major subject she chose and Philosophy was the minor one. She currently studies at St. Patrick’s College, located only five minutes from their abode in the heart of Shamrock, Ireland.

Her raven-black hair was in a tight bun, causing her nape to be wholly exposed as she walked by the streets of the city.

The sky was already enveloped by the tawny sunset when she arrived home. Their house was not that grandiose, but it can already be called home due to its cozy ambiance and serene atmosphere.

Romaine was cooking an Irish stew and some anchovies. Rozelyn’s appetite suddenly dropped from being famished to being forcefully full. She hasn't liked anchovies or Irish stew since she was five years old.

But, respectful as she is to her sweet stepmom, she willingly changed from school clothes to household apparel; then eventually sat down on the rectangular dining table. On her left side, her emerald green eyes suddenly caught an intriguing scenario—a third plate and wine glass was laid beside Rozelyn.

Are we expecting anyone tonight, Romaine? Rozelyn’s hoarse voice echoed in the private dining room.

They usually dine in the kitchen when no visitors or friends seem to bother by unexpectedly ringing their doorbell with a bottle of champagne in their left hand and a chocolate cake in their right hand.

Cyrill’s already home, Rosie. Romaine’s reply seems to be a bit gloomy.

Does it have something to do with his surprise return to their place? What could have happened to Cyrill in London?

Cyrill Clarke has been studying and performing in London as a professional musician, particularly being a cellist and a violinist. Clarke was neither her cousin nor her stepbrother.

Cyrill was the son of Romaine’s best friend Cassiopeia Clarke—Cassie as Romaine usually called her. Cassie killed herself due to being pregnant at the age of sixteen and having STD at a very early age.

Romaine was always sweet and altruistic ever since Eku introduced her as Rozelyn’s substitute mother. Though Visenna will always be Rozelyn’s blood mother, it was Romaine who gave justice to the title and responsibility of being a mother. After all, not all women who give birth are already considered a mother, and not all women are required to bore a child in order to gain the title and honor of being a mother.

Because of her amiable attributes, Romaine willingly adopted Cassie’s son and took him under her wing. He was her protégée since Rozelyn’s stepmom cannot bear a child due to medical complications according to her father Eku.

She just smiled at the thought that her stepmom was gradually becoming an orphan sympathizer. Not mentioning the fact that even the triplet cats she adopted are also orphans and stray ones.

Coincidentally, she and Cyrill both grew up without entirely knowing their parents and their respective backgrounds. They are both stray roses in the middle of the thistles’ bed. If not for Romaine, perhaps they’ll end up being weeds in an orchard that will eventually wither away in the silent winds of this planet.

***

Where is he now? It’s already six in the evening and the food is getting cold already. She tried to sound like someone who’s about to gobble everything prepared on the table.

Rozelyn was always a big eater despite her gender. But this time, she can no longer feel the hunger in her stomach—especially the smell of anchovies kept on spoiling the fragrance of her velvet shirt’s fabric conditioner.

In a blink of an eye, the door by the foyer suddenly burst open before she could even take her next breath.

The entity’s electric blue eyes stared right at her, or perhaps at the served food on the table. His olive skin glistens by the living room’s chandelier light—making her a bit insecure. His towering 6’0 height already intimidates Rozelyn; even by just standing by the room’s threshold.

Cyrill was the perfect hybrid of Leonardo DiCaprio and Eric Bana. Nope, he’s not her so-called knight in shining armor, but he was her perfect example of a flawless handsome man.

When they were younglings, they kind of despised each other—probably because they both sought and competed for attention from Romaine. Nevertheless, this doesn’t stop Rozelyn from being in awe of the lad’s incomparable sophistication. She even wished that perhaps in an alternate world, he’ll be her boyfriend. But unfortunate as she is, according to their close acquaintances, Cyrill was not even interested in women—he prefers his lover’s sexuality identical to his own.

***

Where have you been, Cy? She queried him courteously.

Is that how you greet an old pal, Rozelyn?

He raised his eyebrows like he always does when interrogating her; even when he asks simple questions to her like what’s the product of 13 x 394.?

Frankly speaking, Rozelyn is always talented in mathematics and strategic planning. However, she sometimes sucks in decision-making and even standing up for herself. She’s a dependent rose that always waits to be watered by her caretaker.

Just curious about your whereabouts, she stated blandly.

Curiosity kills a cat, Rosie

Enough of you, two! Romaine shrieked, making Cyrill and Rozelyn shut their mouth. Food’s already as cold as the winter’s frigid air.

Ah yes, October has finally come, Cyrill’s wry grin can be seen even from afar. He constantly reminds Rozelyn of her heartbreak anniversary by uttering the tenth month of the year. His sarcasm and teasing will always be an A-Lister; especially when it concerns Rozelyn.

Rozelyn was about to mutter more words but her stepmom gave her a warning look and gestured to her to just keep it to herself.

Fine. She mumbled in her own mind. The dinner went well; though the Irish stew’s bitter flavor still stuck in her tongue. She always hates anything bitter and foul-odored. That's why she never eats dark chocolates and bittermelons.

Before the two proceed to their private chambers, she badly wanted to ask either of her family what the hell has happened to Cyrill in London. Both are miraculously quiet—contrary to their usual dining. Either Cyrill or Romaine always narrates their comedic experiences in a vivacious manner as the two were always the sunshine of the family. It was only Rozelyn’s presence that often radiates nuisance and devastating avalanche wherever they go.?

But today…today was eerily and bizarrely silent. Only the clanking of the silverware and dishes reverberates in the dining room. If not for the lo-fi music playing in the background, their dinner would honestly end up like the inmates’ last meal before their death row.

Jacinta, one of Romaine’s cats, approaches her with a wagging tail and a beseeching purr. In a matter of seconds, anchovies were already on the cat’s personal plate made from their discarded dishes.

Rozelyn was in deep thoughts while she washed the dirty dishes. Cyrill is one of those men who, even at first glance, can make anyone give in to sudden release—regardless of a person’s sexual orientation.?

There’s something unexplainable to Cyrill’s aura.? It’s kind of dark… but not evil. And his eyes, she swears she saw his eyes flicked to golden ones the moment he saw Francisco—the youngest of the triplet cats that Romaine adopted since Rozelyn’s twelfth birthday.

Was Cyrill somehow sick? Or was she just spending half of her time reading Anne Rice’s novels and watching the Twilight movies?

Either way, she knew something’s terribly and immensely wrong. She can smell it. Her intuition, who’s been guiding her since girlhood, keeps on whispering to her that it’s something beyond Science’s explanation—something paranormal is going on. This was due to the fact that a person’s eye colors do not switch in a heartbeat; unless she’s having one of her ‘awakened dreaming’ again.

During her grade school days, she sometimes bragged to her classmates that she can smell anyone a hundred miles away and that she can even guess their birthday without physically asking them.

?Rozelyn is one of those weird girls who always thought that they’re the special ones. She's one of the girls that you don’t want to be in your company during lunchtime because of her constant loquaciousness on how she can light a candle in a blink. She also brags to others that she can move objects with her mind—somewhat like Roald Dahl’s Matilda.?

She’s one of the people, even up until now, that believes that she has superpowers and extrasensory perception. If daydreaming paid money, Rozelyn would probably be richer than any billionaire by now due to her constant fantastical reverie.

***

Rozelyn…

Visenna’s wine-red hair was swaying by the surface of the lough. The place was dark as a crow’s feathers and utterly spectral.

Rosie…

Rozelyn was perplexed by the identity of this entity. Her mother has green eyes like her. But this Visenna, she has citrine eyes. No, those are golden eyes.

Who are you? She still dared to ask this woman—if she is one.

I am the woman who gave birth to you.

Are you my mother?

Are all women who gave birth already considered a mother?

Rozelyn took a minute to process that query. She’s terrible at deciphering figurative statements. That’s the primary reason why she didn’t take Literature despite her best friend’s invitation.

Though, the sarcasm is familiar to her. She knows deep in her guts that she already met someone who has subtle sarcasm like this entity.

The figure’s eyes shimmer by the moonbeam. Her lips formed a tight adder-like smile as if to mock Rozelyn’s presence. The crimson dress she wore seems to dance gracefully in a Mephisto Waltz in mid-air. Blood stained the lough’s water, and some of those still cling on this creature’s teeth.

If you’re not my mother, then who are you? Rozelyn was growing impatient.

You’re asking the wrong query, darling. ‘What are you?’ is more accurate. Her smirk was even more vicious and infuriating.

Rozelyn seems to undergo her ‘internal screaming’ moment. Is this a banshee??

She…no, It.?

It was wearing a crimson lace dress, just like Visenna’s dress when her father proposed to her biological mom.

But a banshee has a deafening, continuous shriek. This entity seems to not shriek or wail or weep at all.

Surprisingly, the entity’s face began to morph in a much hideous appearance. It resembles the appearance of a hag, a crone, and a Lamia all combined.

In a second, she saw its face was of her stepmom, of Romaine’s

But Rozelyn didn’t waste any moment. This time, Rozelyn tried to sprint far, far away from the Lough Erin. She tried to get out of this ghastly place that she doesn't know if this was a dream or she was somehow transported to an alternate world.

She was about to turn around by the corner when the entity’s claw-like hands grabbed her right foot and she excruciatingly stumbled in the solid ground.

In a heartbeat, she was now staring at the entity’s face—whose emerald green eyes and brown-skinned face was identical to Rozelyn’s, as if the latter was facing a mirror.

Chapter Two

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Cyrill’s voice was as loud as an ambulance’ siren. It was his voice that woke Rozelyn up from her seemingly surreal dream.

He turned around to face the thick burgundy curtains that hinder the sunlight from entering the chilled room by the glass window. He then grasped the hems and swiftly split it open without any hesitation, despite the fact that she’s half-naked.

Rozelyn looked to her left. Her alarm clock reads 6:15 in the morning; too early for a Saturday birthday celebration.

The sunlight swept the darkness; filling her entire room with beaming light that glared at her emerald green eyes, causing her to slip away from her vivid thoughts—courtesy of last night’s nightmare. She groaned as she covered her eyes with Marvel’s Avengers pillow from the blinding rays of the sun while suddenly realizing the presence of her stepmom’s adoptive son.

Calm down, Cy. I’ll prepare in a minute. Rozelyn’s hoarse voice sounded like a broken antique radio.

Huh, can you really do your morning shower in a minute?

Cyrill crossed his arms like a little child that’s about to throw tantrums. He was just pinning himself on the edge of his seat to remain patient and composed.

Rozelyn rolled her eyes and proceeded towards the shower.

She gazed at her statuesque reflection by the bathroom mirror. She slid the straps of her nightgown against her spotless brown skin—causing her dress to smoothly plummet on the floor, revealing her enthralling physique. Perhaps even the primordial gods and ancient nobility would surely be ensnared with her captivating beauty.

Her hourglass-shaped figure greatly accentuated her curvaceous hips. Her generously proportioned and firm chest barely moved with the rhythmic oscillation of her breathing.

Her dainty fingers traced the bands of her undergarments and quickly grabbed it. Her body slithered from side to side as she pulled it from her hips down to her knees until it freely tumbled onto the lustrous floor.

She then began to bathe herself in a refreshing shower. The water was a bit cold, probably because of the morning’s temperature. Her rose-scented soap was always present every time she took a shower. Not to mention the fact that her lavender shampoo was already waiting even before she stepped into the bathroom.

Rozelyn let her thoughts wash away, along with the horrors of her previous night’s dream.

***

With a smile as sweet as red roses, Rozelyn tried to remain tranquil. She was wearing a sexy bloody red lace dress, emphasizing her curvy form. A sparkling ruby heart necklace—identical to Titanic’s Heart of the Ocean—ornaments her gorgeous neck that indeed highlights her profound glamour and completed her queen-like mien.

How do I look? Rozelyn asked upon reaching the floor to the still gaping Cyrill.

The very definition of beauty.?

Cyrill’s sweet smile dumbfounded Rozelyn. She’d never seen the man five years her senior smile like this before.?

Rozelyn hopes that one day, she can write into the stars all the emotions she felt towards the lad before her.

Or perhaps there are just some sentiments that are not meant to be reciprocated. Love is indeed an ocean that we all long to be drowned into—and Rozelyn is the sturgeon that keeps on cascading into the vast waters of this emotion.

Hiding her astonishment and the redness of her cheeks, she raised a brow and said, I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Clarke.

The man chuckled. This time, his voice was huskier and more masculine compared to the smile a minute ago that seems to resemble a lovesick highschooler.

There you are birthday girl—

Romaine was wearing a pink checkered apron upon greeting the two of them and was awestruck by her stepdaughter’s breath-taking appearance.

Your dress is beyond perfection and you…you are Aphrodite incarnate.

Thank you, Romaine, Rozelyn’s sweet smile illuminated her face.

And you have your mother’s eyes, Romaine stated in a sorrowful tone. Her eyes were about to be in tears; she was just holding it not to unwittingly stream down from her face. Romaine is one of the people on this planet that doesn’t like to cry in public.

Rozelyn was about to say something but her stepmom was already striding towards the kitchen.

It’s okay. She’s your mother’s best friend, remember? Cyrill comforted then gave her a gentle pat on the back. But Rozelyn saw a different expression in Cyrill’s—something anger and disgust. Or perhaps she’s having her awakened dreaming again…

She watched him follow her stepmom in order to assist in preparing breakfast as well as for her birthday barbeque party at lunch.

Lucia, the eldest of the cat triplets, suddenly popped in and hisses at her. Well, the cat has always been kind of unwelcoming to her since she was a lass.

Rozelyn winced at the cat. But, as she leaned closer to the feline, she witnessed in its eyes a heart-stopping occurrence.

Her eyes are golden in color in the reflection of the cat’s eyes.

She tried to blink once and, luckily, her eyes are now emerald green again.

Rozelyn sighed with relief. Perhaps her over-excitement caused her to have sweven early in the morning.

Why do you always ruin my day, Lucia? Rozelyn still dared to ask the cat as if the animal would reply.

The orange feline just scowled at her and swiftly walked away with feline grace.

She was always arrogant even when she walked. A familiar voice from behind mumbled.

The lady was wearing a mint green off-shoulder dress. Her lips were maven in color and her charcoal-black hair was beautifully made in dreadlocks. Her smiling turquoise eyes quietly greeted her and made her mood even brighter.

Anaztasia! Rozelyn’s joyous voice resonates in the living room.

Hello, birthday girl! Anaztasia’s voice was always pitchy in tone. Her best friend's grin was vividly painted in her porcelain-skinned face. Anaztasia and Rozelyn have been friends since they were ten. It was only the compassionate Anaztasia who seems to go along with Rozelyn’s peculiarity—both in attitude and the way she talks to people.?

I thought you'd come here by 11:00 am?

We’ll… I’m always an early bird, aren’t I?

She said with a tilted head and feminine voice. She raised her right hand and muttered, Bought you some French macarons and Chocolate éclair.

Rozelyn gave her a wide-armed hug.

Thank you very much, Ana.

She didn’t notice her tears were already streaming down from her eyes.

Well, well, well….The whore of Babylon has arrived. Where’s my cousin, Ana? Cyrill’s sarcastic voice was much louder than a trombone playing.

The ladies grimaced at the electric-blue-eyed man leaning by the living room wall.

Avril will be here at exactly noon, King Cyrill, Anaztasia teasingly responded.

I’m not a whore just because I rejected Henriz. Besides,? you’ll go into the Godzilla mode the moment I date him—who happens to be your currently on-and-off boyfriend. Also, I know that you’ve had a crush on him since second-year highschool.? It was I who found your love letter that was supposed to be given to Henriz...?

Anaztasia then winked at the embarrassed Cyrill. He was honestly humiliated by this dreadlocked-woman in front of Rozelyn.? ?

As a result of that throwback, his black jeans suddenly displayed a bump—courtesy of his ferocious velvet steel. It often happens when Cyrill’s embarrassed—the cause of that occurrence remains a mystery even to him. He then seized a calico from the golden couch and wrapped it around his waist. He doesn’t give a damn on what these two will think of his quirky action.

Aren’t you two gonna fill your stomachs with sumptuous breakfast? He asked to hide his awkwardness.

I already have my meal. Thanks for the invitation, Cyrill, Anaztasia replied to the lad.

You can have these desserts with us in the kitchen, Ana! Rozelyn stated elatedly.

Of course, Roz. Ana then exuberantly winked at Cyrill.

And the three tread towards the dining table.

***

Thirty people attended her birthday barbeque party, or perhaps more than thirty. Her bloody red dress was the star of the show, along with her enchanting pizzazz.

Rozelyn never thought that their front yard garden could accommodate tens of people. She only thought a family of three can fit in here due to their hiatus in holding parties of any kind for three years.

A huge lobster was set before her very eyes, as well as a well-cooked steak and a New Orleans-style shrimp gumbo.

Her stepmom always knew her favorites, even when it comes to food preference.

Cyrill was still roasting the pork belly over there, Rosie. Anastasia Arryn’s voice never failed to better lift the mood of Rozelyn. She sounded like a female disk jockey and Emilia Clarke’s voice combined when talking.

Your voice is like a lark singing in the ebony dark, Rozelyn spoke, as if she was a poet. Utterly ironic as the emerald-eyed birthday girl hates anything literature-ish.

Your graceful way of talking to people makes anyone who comes in contact with you think twice if the sweet Anaztasia Arryn was really just an ordinary girl or the ever-blooming Goddess of Voices and Happiness.

It’s a miracle that you’re able to recite in a poetic way, considering that you’re not immensely fond of any literary style when communicating, Anaztasia remarked then giggled like a newlywed bride.

You really are the unbelievable Queen of Flattering and Praise, Queen Rozelyn, she added.?

Long live the Queen of Flattering… A familiar voice from behind declared, making Rozelyn abruptly switch her attention to him. The man raised his champagne glass and continued with a husky voice, …and Praise.

Eoghan Evans. What a glorious, magnificent, pleasant surprise!

The two ladies didn’t notice that Cyrill was already beside Anaztasia.

Cyrill Clarke! Your expected godly presence flabbergasted me, mate. Eoghan asserted to the man before him, who was wearing a midnight blue polo shirt. The man was precisely the reason why Rozelyn always celebrates heartbreak anniversary during October.

Yet, she was confused whether the two are just conversing normally like any other lad or are they having their sarcasm championship in the midst of her eighteenth birthday party.

Perhaps these two would make great debate contestants in a live television broadcast. She and Anaztasia would surely be amongst the avid televiewers. They’ll surely be watching their three-hour long word wars while hundreds of spectators remarking Cyrill and Eoghan.

***

As quick as a bullet, Anaztasia wounded her forefinger, courtesy of the crab’s pincers. Even the people around them didn’t notice her ephemeral incident caused by a crustacean’s natural appearance.

But, Rozelyn seemed to be in trance. She cannot open her mouth nor blink her eyes. The only primal senses that worked was her sense of smell.?

The smell of blood flooded her nose like a tadpole drowning in an ocean. Her best friend's blood seems to drive her innate essence into madness—a predatory madness. Like a mountain lion who was about to maim a doe, Anaztasia’s blood was pretty much redolent in her entire being. It took her entire strength and patience to remain unaffected by her body’s bizarre cravings.

Uhm, excuse me, Rozelyn immediately went to the comfort room’s lavatory and puked effortlessly.

She’s really going crazy—like real crazy. She probably has just one meter left before she falls into the pit of insanity. Just this morning, she smelled Lucia’s presence like toasted bread with peanut butter and jelly. Anaztasia’s finger cut was as aromatic as a Starbucks’ macchiato. Her mind was indeed crafting its new definition of being lunatic.

What was happening to her? She doesn’t smoke or indulge in weed delight or any sort of debauchery at all. Why is she suddenly having these weird cravings in the midst of her adulthood’s celebration?

As soon as the party concluded, Rozelyn climbed to her bed, even without changing into house apparel. It’s their house anyway, why the hell will she change when her migraine was about to devour her entire cerebrum in a matter of minutes.

So Rozelyn laid her head in her purple pillow, and didn’t notice that she already plunged into a deep slumber.

***

The clock chimed to forty-five minutes past midnight. Rozelyn felt hunger creeping in her guts. Without a doubt, she climbed out of bed and went downstairs.

The kitchen was alight. Perhaps her stepmom forgot to turn off the light, Rozelyn thought.

She reached for a turkey sandwich in the fridge when she noticed that the door beside their walked-in pantry creaked.

That room was off limits to her and even to Cyrill. Her stepmom said that it’s her personal stockroom and was formerly the study of Rozelyn’s father.

But curiosity flashed before Rozelyn could decide to turn back. She wanted to know what lies beyond that god-forsaken room—why it was always locked and kept away from her sight since she was seven.

She’s already eighteen anyway. Enough of the days that she always relies on other people’s opinions when making decisions.

?She’s already an adult now. She must now learn to resolve her own decisions and face the consequences—if ever there is. Yes, she’s always the obedient sheep to Romaine and the protection-seeking dove to Cyrill, but those were the days prior to her reaching adulthood. Ephemeral is the only perpetual on this planet.

As she stepped into the room, the air was gelid and freezing; signifying that the air-conditioner was turned on and the room was in constant use.

Upon turning on the light, she expected that she’ll witness something far more horrific than a room of piled, dusty books. This was not the first time that her intuition failed her.

She was about to turn around when she spotted a walk-in fridge to her right. As she opened it, the scene she beheld made her entire body filled with shudder.?

Her heart was about to leap away from her chest and into the trash can as she realized the fridge’s contents—hundreds of blood-filled transparent wine bottles greeted before her very eyes.?

?

Chapter Three

Her violet-colored bed remained empty even when the morning star began to climb in the vast heavenly blanket.

Rozelyn continued reading her father’s journal that she found in that revolting room.

She didn’t know how to process her father’s words and messages. She doesn’t even want to continue reading, if not for the awestrucking revelation her parent have divulged.

So, she talked with her journal in order to calm herself. She always does that when she’s anxious or perturbed.

Her father even told her the origins of her name in his diary—causing her to reminisce about her childhood experience with him and her uncle Imani Onai.

As she was in the last part of speaking with her journal, the door that was shut a minute ago was now suddenly ajar.

Her russet-eyed stepmom was now grinning at her, dressed in sage-colored blouse and black jeans. Her luscious auburn hair was tied in a simple ponytail.

Perhaps she knew I was in there last night, Rozelyn privately murmured to herself.

Get dressed, sweetie. We’re going to pick some apples. It was all the words that Romaine Eastwood-Zadzisai commanded.

***

The orchard was crowded and echoing with revelry. Some are having picnics and some are taking their lovers for a toast. The center building’s fa?ade was carved like a blooming rose. Its lofty pillars are designed in Corinthian style.

The place was filled with various fruits and a myriad of flora. There are roses, tulips, orchids, apples, pears, mangoes and all kinds of berries.

Rozelyn’s euphoria cannot be described by just mere words that can be found in the dictionary. She was absolutely speechless.

My belated birthday gift.

Her stepmom then handed her a jewelry box, wrapped in a rosy gift wrapper.

The obsidian lavaliere was carved into a rose figure and is attached to a silvery necklace that glints under the morning sun. The jewel encompasses such sheer splendor. It’s like wearing the very essence of being glamorous.

Thank you, Romaine.

Rozelyn stated with tears falling down from her eyes. She’s probably the most fortunate stepdaughter to exist for having Romaine as her loving stepmom.

There’s… Romaine looked at her with a serious face. There’s a deeper reason why I brought you here.

What is it, Romaine?

Follow me. Her stepmom commanded.

***

Rozelyn’s eyes cannot believe that this kind of place existed. A garden filled with red roses, arranged in a circular manner and crafted to look like a Minotaur’s labyrinth.

You already know why I brought you to this silent garden, Rozelyn.

Rozelyn’s throbbing heart can be heard even at the depths of Tartarus. Was she referring to last night??

The words her father left her made Rozelyn contemplate on why the hell Eku didn’t confess to her that they’re blood-sucking creatures when she was seven.

Rozelyn is always the kind of person that has difficulty in processing things. In fact, she was still processing why Eoghan broke up with her sixteen months ago. And up until now, she still can't contend that they are supernaturally blessed and eternally cursed by a million-year-old flower.

She shook her head like an innocent lamb as her attention drew back to the present situation.

In a blink of an eye, Romaine’s haunting smirk made Rozelyn quiver—both on the inside and on the outside. She’d never seen the woman who raised her smile like this in her eighteen years of existence.

We’re vampires, Rozelyn.

We? I thought that the fridge was meant for me and to me only? Rozelyn was again having her internal monologue.

Legend has it that the Blood Tanzanian Rose, Ambrosia as the Greeks called it, was said to originate from the biblical Garden of Eden. When they were banished from the garden, Adam and Eve brought the flower of immortality here in these massive lands because they thought that the flower’s abilities remain intact in our world. Obviously, the two were wrong. There are also rumours that the flower was the only survivor when the dinosaurs perished. Some also say that it exists even before time was recognized. Nevertheless, despite the varied stories of the rose’s origin, one thing is certain: anyone who consumes it will live perpetually and eternally as long as one feeds on blood. They are eventually known as vampires. And the rest was history.

Romaine moved her head towards the eastern horizon, avoiding her stepdaughter’s questioning gaze.

Okay, I’ll tell the truth. Those were the only information I gathered as soon as I gobbled the rose when I was on the brink of passing. Even your father doesn’t know the whole story of that mysterious rose.

So, technically, we’re monsters. Rozelyn finally spoke.

The wind seems to eavesdrop on their private conversation. It seems that even nature feared their presence due to the fact that the Ambrosia’s powers prevail to flow within them.

Rozelyn tried to remain serene. Her raven-black hair began to sway freely in the tranquil winds. She exhaled gently and bravely looked at Romaine with indomitable will.

So we have to kill others so that we may prevail to live?

Romaine glanced at her with unyielding eyes.

Some price must be paid continuously.

"With all due respect, in the first place, I didn’t ask to be immortal! And I will never wish to be. I'd rather live an exact one hundred year only, than