CHAPTER 35: EPILOGUE: SEE YOU SOON, LYON (2)

«So... when does the training start?» I ask her.

«It should’ve started a few hours ago, but Clotilde gave me some time to spend with my familiar. Speaking of that... I have this feeling the training she’ll put me through will be far heavier and harsher than I can even imagine. And to endure it, I’ll need a generous dose of blood,» Ayra says.

She parts her lips slightly, letting the shine of her sharp fangs show.

She doesn’t need to say it twice—I know what she means.

Slowly, I pull off the upper half of my tunic, overwhelmed by a storm of conflicting emotions.

The fear of the pain from her bite—still sharp, still stinging like the first time.

The curiosity to see if, with Vis energy, I can dull that unbearable burning.

But above all—the sadness that this might be the last time I ever offer her my blood.

I know it’s strange.

Like a gazelle feeling sad that the lion hunting it has been shot dead.

Some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, but I’d rather believe the affection I feel for Ayra is real—not some twisted trick of my mind for self-defense.

I lie down on the soft grass by the lakeside—the delicate blades tickle my back.

Ayra, now completely naked, does the same.

She stretches out over me—her fangs ready to sink into my flesh.

With slightly quicker reflexes than usual, I take a deep breath and repeat the controlled rhythm of inhaling and exhaling that Clotilde taught me.

And when Ayra’s sharp fangs pierce my skin, I manage to coat the bite with my energy.

I hoped for perfection—a thin controlled veil like the ones used by experienced familiars—but I’m still far from that level.

Even so, it works.

The bite still burns like hell, but it’s far more bearable than before—enough that I can focus on something else besides pain.

And in that moment, the searing pain fades to the background, replaced by the intense, thrilling sensation of her bare body pressed against mine.

Every inch of her skin presses into me, our forms so close it feels like we’re melting together—brushed by the whisper of a cool breeze.

Blood trickles from my neck like a crimson stream, pooling where our chests are tightly pressed.

Normally, I’d be counting the seconds until her macabre feast ends, but this time it’s different.

I don’t want it to end. I don’t want her to pull away from me—even if it means draining every last drop of blood I have.

But inevitably, the moment comes...

She lifts her torso slightly.

With a flick of her tongue, she cleans her lips of the last traces of my blood.

She’s about to move completely off me, but... my hands act on their own.

I grab her, pulling her tight into my arms with all the strength I have.

I draw her back down, restoring our closeness.

Her head rests against my shoulder now, our cheeks—wet with tears, my tears—pressed together.

«L-Lyon... what are you doing...?» she murmurs, her voice sweet but tinged with slight confusion.

I... I don’t know.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I’m not like this—I’ve never been. If anything, I’ve always been the opposite.

Even my last girlfriend used to complain every time we finished watching one of those tearjerker movies together.

«How can you not get emotional at all? You’re really heartless,» she always said.

Maybe that’s why she left me...

But in the end, they were just movies. Why would I ever cry over something that isn’t real?

That’s what I always told her.

I don’t think I’ve ever shed a tear in my life—not even the day I almost died... so why? Why can’t I stop crying now?

«I don’t want...» I sob out. «I don’t want you to leave! You’re the princess of this kingdom—there has to be a way to stop all this!»

A deep shiver runs through me when her hand gently rests on my head, her fingers threading through my blond hair, ruffling it with unexpected tenderness.

«You’re my precious familiar... why don’t you trust me?» she asks. Not with the clumsy, forced anger from before, but with genuine sadness. «And besides... I can’t allow some opportunist to lay hands on you and steal the fruits of all the hard work I’ve put into making you stronger! In a week we’ll meet again, Lyon, I promise—and a Volkom always keeps her word!»

Her words bring a faint smile to my lips.

Truth is, my small progress has been thanks to everyone but her...

She’s still far from being a good teacher, just as I’m far from being a powerful familiar.

But that’s exactly what makes this special—growing together, improving together, each in our own way.

Me as a familiar, and her as a master. I don’t want to lose that...

So once again she lifts herself slightly—this time our faces just a few centimeters apart.

«Lyon, close your eyes,» she whispers, her cheeks tinted with a faint blush that stands out against her pale skin.

No time for questions.

I obey, and...

—SMACK!

Her lips press softly against mine.

A fleeting touch, yet that sound keeps echoing in my ears like a melody stuck on repeat.

When her lips finally part from mine, it takes me longer than a moment to realize what just happened.

I feel like my heart’s about to explode... and not just my heart!

A kiss... from Ayra?

I should be over the moon, right?

I should be the happiest human alive, and yet...

A sweet kiss, but at the same time bitter.

The taste of a farewell kiss—that’s the only feeling my mind can process.

And it only worsens my fragile emotions.

«In your world, a kiss is a common sign of affection. But in ours, it carries a very different meaning. It’s a vow, a promise that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep,» Ayra explains, her hypnotic strawberry-colored eyes fixed on mine, a nearly serene smile brushing her lips.

But I don’t even get the chance to answer.

The calm of the moment is suddenly shattered by a deafening noise, like the rumble of an approaching red storm.

And now, at some distance from us, Clotilde stands with her arms crossed, her stern gaze fixed on Ayra, still lying on top of me.

«The time you were granted with your familiar is over, sister,» Clotilde declares, her voice cold and unyielding.

Ayra doesn’t need to hear it twice.

She rises to her feet, and with a snap of her fingers, black garments woven from shadows stitch themselves onto her body.

At last, a final exchange of glances—a look full of hope.

And she smiles at me.

«See you soon, Lyon.»

End of volume 2