Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride

Chapter 363: Lost in the Dark

Nikolaiʼs body ached, his eyes closed, heavy from the exhaustion of fighting off the bone saints. He didnʼt think they would be so difficult, but their strength brought him to the brink of death, even if he was wounded. The thought didnʼt give him any sense of peace,

Seraphina soon arrived with a small medical bag.

”Hmm...”

He struggled to adjust himself, blood pouring onto the leather sofa, his body draped over the side while he wheezed and panted.

”Patriarch!?”

The head of the Seraphina family exclaimed before rushing to his side, Leona standing at her back. She lifted his arm, checking his pulse as it dangled without power.

”Can you hear me? Please respond!”

His eyes shifted, slowly, lazily reaching her figure. ”Iʼm alright...” A slurred, low voice, raspy like he swallowed a handful of blades.

”Tsk... heʼs in shock.”

”Leona come here, and hold him down, this is going to make him react.”

”A-Ah... Of course Lady Seraphina!”

Seraphina removed a long five-inch needle—the tip spurted as she pushed the plunger, before jamming it into his body, and poured the fluids into his body.

A werewolf wasnʼt like a human—their increased abilities and bodies required doses over ten times the amount to even have a minor effect. Thatʼs why supernatural beings and monsters searched for different treatment.

Magic.

Spiritmancy.

Bloodmancy.

Because flooding the body with chemicals that would kill a normal human would never be something smart, usually.

The moment the morphine flooded his body, Nikolaiʼs thoughts collapsed.

His body stopped convulsing, unable to feel the throbbing and burning pain as it subsided... leaving him in a daze. The room and his actions became a blur, and his breathing slowed.

”Heʼs becoming lethargic... Lady Seraphina, is this really going to help?”

Leonaʼs eyes opened wide, her hands holding down pressure on the huge claw marks across Nikolaiʼs chest, her face covered in his blood.

”Heʼll live,” Seraphina muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. ”But that thing nearly ripped his heart out. I need more bandages—Leona, strip his coat and keep pressure just below the ribs. No lower.”

Leona hesitated only a second before obeying. Her trembling fingers worked through the torn layers of his ceremonial coat, black with dried blood and heavy with soot. The stench of scorched flesh hit her nose, and her breath caught.

His chest looked like it had been clawed open by a monster.

”Nikolai…” she whispered, voice cracking.

He didnʼt answer. Just lay there, jaw slack, pupils unfocused as blood oozed from his side and down the couch arm.

”Donʼt speak to him now. Heʼs not lucid,” Seraphina snapped. Her hands were already glowing faintly, the runes along her gloves pulsing. ”Focus. If he loses any more, he wonʼt regenerate.”

Leona nodded, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she pressed both palms against his side, feeling the torn muscle twitch under her touch. It wasnʼt just the blood. It was how still he was. How quiet.

Nikolai never went quiet.

Not unless he was close to dying.

Seraphinaʼs hands moved fast, precise, ruthless.

”His coreʼs stable,” she muttered, tracing a line of glowing red over his sternum. ”But the damage to his musculature wonʼt close unless I redirect his blood flow.”

She clicked her tongue. ”That means clearing blockage. We need full exposure.”

Leona looked up, unsure. ”Y-You mean—”

”Yes. Strip him.”

Her cheeks flushed. ”H-His lower half, too?”

Seraphina didnʼt look up. ”I said full. You think his femoral artery isnʼt under stress? Now move.”

Leona swallowed hard and nodded, fingers trembling as she reached for the buckles at his waist. The sound of them unclasping felt louder than it shouldʼve in the silence.

Seraphina didnʼt stop her work, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Nikolaiʼs face.

”Heʼs barely conscious. If youʼre embarrassed, thatʼs your problem.”

Leona pulled his pants down.

And froze.

Even half-dead and drugged, his length hung heavy, impressive, swollen from trauma and blood pooling. A beast of flesh that made her thighs press together involuntarily.

She dared a glance at Seraphina, who didnʼt even blink.

”Control yourself. Heʼs your Patriarch, not your fantasy.”

”I—wasnʼt—!”

But her voice wavered.

Her hands lingered just a second too long as she peeled away the last of the fabric.

And Nikolai groaned.

Seraphinaʼs aura flared.

Golden light flowed from her fingers and seeped into the open gashes across his chest and abdomen, slow and deliberate. The wounds hissed as they stitched inward, layer by brutal layer—muscle, sinew, skin. It wasnʼt pretty. It wasnʼt painless. But it worked.

Nikolaiʼs body jerked. His breath caught in his throat.

Leona flinched, her hands still pressing down on his side, bare skin now against bare skin. His heat overwhelmed her. His abdomen twitched with each pulse of Seraphinaʼs aura, the veins along his stomach rising in sharp relief.

”Keep your hands firm,” Seraphina ordered.

”I—I am.”

”No, youʼre shaking.” Her tone darkened. ”Control your breathing. Or leave the room.”

Leona gritted her teeth and steadied herself. ”I can do it.”

Seraphina moved lower.

Her gloved hands hovered just above his pelvis, then pressed into the skin, guiding the aura into his hips, tracing toward his groin. She didnʼt hesitate when her hand brushed against his shaft, heavy, veined, resting half-swollen against his thigh. Her eyes didnʼt linger.

But Leonaʼs eyes did.

She swallowed.

”Youʼre not helping,” Seraphina said coolly.

”I wasnʼt—!”

”You think he doesnʼt notice? Even like this?”

As if to answer, Nikolai groaned again. His head tilted, neck muscles flexing. One eye opened—barely.

It landed on Leona.

And stayed.

No words.

Just the slow drag of a gaze that made her chest tighten.

He wasnʼt conscious.

But he knew.

On the brink of death, his body wasnʼt acting like normal, his erection because to the bodyʼs desire to pass on offspring, something present in many animals and beasts, but the werewolf, more than all others... a deep-rooted biological desire to pass on their genes.

”His coreʼs reacting,” Seraphina murmured, eyes narrowing as the veins along Nikolaiʼs torso pulsed darker with each wave of aura.

”Thatʼs… normal?” Leona asked, still crouched beside him, blood drying on her fingers.

”For a beast on the edge of death?” Seraphina gave a thin smile. ”Yes. Itʼs an old instinct. Survival means reproduction. Werewolf biology doesnʼt lie.”

Her hand moved lower, steady, glowing faintly as she reinforced his internal organs.

Nikolai twitched.

Leona gasped as his hips shifted under her palms. She tried to stay still, but her hand brushed against something thick and warm. Her breath caught as her fingers closed instinctively.

Soft at first. Then firmer. He throbbed in her hand.

”Ah—!” She yanked back like sheʼd touched fire, cheeks going crimson.

Seraphina arched a brow. ”Youʼre distracting him.”

”I didnʼt mean to!”

”No, but you did it anyway.” She didnʼt stop working, but there was a hint of dry amusement in her voice. ”Your pulse just jumped. You think I canʼt feel it through the aura field?”

Leona turned away, humiliated. But Nikolai groaned again—deep, chesty, almost pleased. His head tilted toward her voice, lips parted, eyes hazy.

”...Selene…”

The name left his throat like a ghost—cracked, longing, unfamiliar.

Leona froze.

Selene?

Before she could process it, his hips shifted again, slow, guided by instinct. The weight of him pressed against her wrist. Thick. Hot. Moving.

Then again.

He was rubbing himself against her hand.

Her breath caught.

”W-Wait—” She tried to pull back, but his hand twitched, caught her wrist. Weak, barely there, but enough to hold her in place. His cock dragged along her palm again, heavy with blood and need.

”Selene…” he whispered again, voice laced with old want, like a man dreaming of a woman long dead.

Leona stared down at him, stunned, flushed, sick with something she couldnʼt name. She wasnʼt Selene. But her hand was still there. And he was still moving.

Seraphinaʼs voice didnʼt break rhythm.

”So thatʼs who it was,” she said, eyes still on the healing wound near his ribcage. ”Iʼd wondered.”

Leona tried to speak, but her throat closed.

”I told you. His instincts are awake. Right now, youʼre not Leona, but Selene... and heʼs lusting for you. Youʼre just warmth and scent.”

Her voice was calm. Cold.

”Finish holding his pulse steady. Or take your hand off and walk out.”

Leona didnʼt move.

Nikolai did.

And for a moment, the beast in him ground against the wrong woman, lost in a body far too hurt to understand.

Nikolaiʼs grip slackened, but his hips didnʼt stop.

Leona bit her lip, face flushed, heart pounding in her ears. Her hand was slick now, wet from the pre-come that smeared across her fingers as he rutted against her palm like an animal chasing memory.

She wasnʼt Selene.

But that didnʼt seem to matter to his body.

”L-Lord Nikolai… please…” she whispered, barely audible, but he didnʼt hear her. Didnʼt stop.

And then his whole frame shuddered — from his gut up to his shoulders. A strangled groan escaped his throat, guttural, strained, half-moan, half-snarl.

It hit her hand first — thick, hot, violent.

Then more.

A sudden, obscene pulse of heat splashed her wrist, then her collar, then her cheek — her eye squeezed shut just as another rope lashed across her chest.

Leona gasped, too stunned to move. The air filled with the sharp, bitter scent of it.

It kept coming — heavy spurts bubbling between her fingers, clinging to her skin, warm and humiliating. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breath, slick strands trailing between her breasts as she just… sat there.

Soaked.

Silent.

Seraphina finally looked up.

”Well,” she said dryly. ”Guess his reproductive instincts are intact.”

She wiped her hands clean, aura dimming. ”Iʼve seen lesser werewolves pass out from blood loss before climax. But our lordʼs quite huge... Well, heʼs still breathing and my treatmentʼs done.”

Leona didnʼt respond.

She just stared down at her hand, coated, dripping, sticky to the knuckle. Nikolaiʼs chest finally slowed. His grip fell away. Sleep reclaimed him. And Leona sat there, covered in his seed, knees weak, face burning.