CHAPTER 13: AN AWAKWARD LUNCH

"I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. The roach was too slippery, hard to get rid of," Isolde said, her hand still wrapped around his as she led him toward the long dining table that looked big enough to host thirty guests.

She pulled out a chair at the head of the table, gesturing for Seamus to sit. He obeyed stiffly, uneasy in the oversized chair. Isolde sat beside him, her crimson eyes fixed on him like he was a rare delicacy.

The table was already filled to the brim: eggs, bacon, an entire roasted chicken, pastries, and desserts. Oddly, all of it was arranged only on his side. Isolde’s side was completely bare.

"Ugh, I don’t think I can eat if you keep staring at me like that," Seamus finally muttered, breaking the silence.

Strangely, none of the food actually stirred his appetite. It all felt like stage props, meant to be seen, not eaten.

"What do you mean? Can’t I watch my lovely son eat with delight? You’re far too thin for your age," she rested her head on one hand, smiling sweetly.

If she weren’t a vampire, her words might’ve sounded sweet maybe even motherly. But coming from her, they felt more like the sort of thing you’d say before fattening a pig for slaughter.

Isolde leaned over and placed eggs and bacon on his plate. Then she added a hashbrown. "You like this, don’t you?"

Seamus nodded numbly and forced himself to eat. The clink of cutlery on porcelain echoed between them was the sound in the room and eyes on him were louder than even a child’s scream.

"You’re not eating?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, lips curved in amusement. "Well, I am looking at my food right now, aren’t I?" She chuckled. Even when it was a joke, it was enough to make him sweat.

"Oh, I’m joking, of course. Vampires can’t eat. But is the food good? Is it to your liking?"

’Ah... that explains it,’ he thought, as realization crept in.

Viviane had never eaten in front of him either not once. Even during full-day outings, she’d pass up every meal.

She also always wears a hat and a parasol, saying things like, "I hate the sun, I’m sensitive to it," or "Bork is always rainy and damp anyway."

How did he miss it? Love really does make people blind.

"It’s not bad. Just... okay, I guess," he replied, scooping more egg onto his fork.

"Good. Then I won’t have to replace the chef," she said with a smile. "Anyway, how do you like the mansion? Comfortable, isn’t it?"

Seamus set his knife and fork down, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing to this mansion? Or to me? Why can’t I leave? And where’s my father? He said he was going on a honeymoon with you."

Isolde didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she gently placed her hands on the table, her expression unreadable.

"You don’t have to worry about such things. This is for the best. Do you know how many vampires are after you?"

"I’m only trying to protect you from those wicked creatures," she said, her hand gently grabbed his.

"And your father? He’s just fine. Didn’t that message he sent sound exciting to you?"

Seamus stiffened. ’How did she know about the message?’

She always has this weird vibe around her. As if she said the truth but didn’t at the same time. She didn’t even answer his questions at all.

"That’s not what I asked," he said flatly.

Her expression shifted. The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by something empty and cold. Her grip turned vice-like.

Her voice lost all softness. "Seamus, I believe you’re done eating. Why don’t we continue this conversation in the living room? I’m sure a warm cup of tea will help you calm down."

"Only if you promise to answer me."

He was scared. One wrong move, and she could snap his neck. But he couldn’t stay passive forever. He had to know what was happening.

He needed answers.

"If you said so," she said coolly as she stood, her heels clicking softly across the polished floor.

As Seamus walked, he noticed the view outside the window was bright, which felt strange, considering the hallway he’d just been in was cloaked in darkness.

Then, as they passed another room, it turned dark again. He furrowed his brows.

’How...? Is this mansion in another dimension?’

Though, that might just be the result of reading too many comic books.

"Why not lie down here, Seamus? You must be tired."

Isolde’s voice startled him, snapping him back to reality. She was sitting on a velvet sofa, patting her thick thigh invitingly. He froze.

"Huh?" he blinked, fully aware of what she meant, but still in disbelief.

’No. I need to focus—’

But before his thought could finish, Isolde had already taken his hand, pulling him down beside her and guiding his head onto her chest.

"I heard from your father that you lost your mother early," she said, fingers stroking through his hair.

He could feel the softness of her breasts, yet no heartbeat thumped beneath them.

"Poor child." She kissed the top of his head gently while he tried to process what was happening.

"Why don’t we talk heart to heart now? Like mother and son."

She shifted him, letting his head rest on her thigh instead, using herself as his pillow.

Seamus didn’t know why, but he felt strangely relaxed. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see her face—only the massive curve of her chest blocking his view—making his thoughts drift somewhere warm and soothing.

Her fingers brushed through his hair with tenderness, lulling him into a light daze. He felt like floating, his mind playing a distant memory.

A blur face of a woman holding him in her embrace.

Isolde was right. His real mother had died two years after giving birth to him, and everything had gone downhill for his father since.

Somewhere along the way, Seamus had forgotten what a mother’s touch felt like.

"Do you want to try breastfeeding?"

Seamus’s eyes went bloodshot. He almost choked on nothing. His gaze snapped up and there it was. That teasing smile. That gleam in her eyes.

She was playing with him.