CHAPTER 120: CHAPTER 120- CRUXIUS IS OF ROYAL VAMPIRE BLOODLINE? HOW?

The sheet clung to her like breath to glass.

A gentle rise. A slow fall.

Silken fabric, whisper-thin and blood-red, curled around the slope of her hips, the swell of her thighs peeking from beneath the hem.

Her legs, bare and pale as moonlight on snow, lay crossed carelessly—graceful yet cruel in the way only the beautiful could afford to be.

One arm sprawled above her head, the other draped loosely across her midriff, fingers twitching against the smooth plane of her stomach.

The nightdress she wore barely reached her knees. Satin. Nearly translucent. It shifted with her breath, riding the shallow heave of her chest.

Nipples—rosy and taut—pressed subtly through the fabric, touched by the chill of the room.

Her skin, all flawless porcelain and quiet danger, glowed in the half-light like the blade of a ceremonial dagger.

The room was still. Save for her.

Her breathing was soft, slow, almost theatrical in its rhythm—as if she were letting the world believe she was asleep.

Until her fingers curled.

And her eyes opened.

Twin rubies in a sea of ivory, they shimmered with an unnatural gleam, slow to adjust but sharp with intelligence. She didn’t blink. She just stared—first at the ceiling, then at her hand, where blood trailed lazily from a clenched palm.

She lifted it. Watched it. Studied it.

The wound closed before the first drop could fall from her knuckle. Skin stitched itself back together in silence, leaving behind only a slick sheen, as if nothing had happened at all.

Except it had.

Her locket—a piece within which her weak side was trapped—vibrated wildly at her collarbone, its veins of crimson light pulsing against her skin like something alive. Her brow furrowed, lashes twitching.

The frustration settled in her stomach for someone who got disturbed by a mosquito buzz.

She sat up.

Hair—a river of silver, wild and untamed—spilled across her shoulders and down her back, catching the moonlight like a net.

One hand rose, fingers sliding back through the mess of it with a sigh. Not of weariness. But of irritation.

She ruffled her hair, her nails grazing her scalp. A small breath escaped her lips. A soundless hiss.

She wasn’t angry. Not quite. It was something colder.

She was annoyed.

She had just tried to take a nap after having food, and she got to hear all this...

Her eyes narrowed, glowing dimmer now, focused inward.

The newborn she had sent to kill that man from her vision had been killed.

She stood without effort. Her nightdress slipped around her frame like a second skin, swaying gently around her thighs.

Her nipples stiffened further as the air kissed her body, though she paid it no mind. Her focus had already begun to shift.

The mist started at her feet—red, thick, seductive. Her body shimmered at the edges, slowly bleeding into the smoke.

"It appears..." she whispered, voice a chilled sigh through velvet lips, "...I would have to kill him myself."

The mist roiled faster, rising past her calves, her thighs.

Then—suddenly—she paused.

Her head tilted. Eyes blinked once, then twice.

Something tugged at her thoughts.

Name.

She clicked her tongue, the smallest sound in the silence.

"Wait," she breathed.

From the darkened rafters above, a shape dropped—a flutter of wings slicing through the still air.

The creature landed with elegance upon the obsidian frame of her mirror, crimson eyes glowing, wings twitching in tight folds.

The bat bowed its head.

"You called, my Queen?"

She tilted her head slightly, one silver strand falling across her cheek.

"What was his name?" she asked, her voice a quiet dagger. "The one who killed the newborn."

The bat looked up, sharp-toothed and reverent. "Cruxius Blac. The new flagbearer chosen by the Order."

Silence.

The mist halted around her waist.

A flicker passed over her face. A blink. A breathless moment where time seemed to hesitate around her, unsure whether to continue.

"Flagbearer...?" she echoed, her tone now almost curious.

"Yes, my Queen," the bat confirmed. "Chosen just days ago."

Her lips parted slowly. Her frown loosened—curled upward, ever so slightly.

Simply because if he was really a vampire, then this issue was solved considering she sent a newborn who would not be as valuable as someone older, making her inquire just to confirm if she should make a move or not.

"A vampire?" she asked.

"No," the bat replied. "He belongs to no known lineage. He is not of our blood."

She arched an eyebrow, the first hint of real interest cracking through her stoic shell.

"Then what is he?"

The bat hesitated. Its wings fluttered nervously.

"A Crimson Bearer."

Another silence.

The room stilled, the very air retreating into the walls.

Her body, once mid-transformation, now fully returned, the mist dispersing with a hiss.

Her red eyes gleamed brighter, lips twitching into the shape of a smile that didn’t quite reach her cheeks.

Slowly, she stepped away from the light.

"So... not a vampire," she murmured, "but a consort."

There was clear amusement in her given. This was the same man whom she had seen in a vision while engaging in lustful deeds with another woman, saying how he, just like any other man, was simply entangled in bodily affairs.

Most of the time, those crimson bearers do not live long enough to see the day as once their identities are revealed, vampires from all over start to approach them, simply because the crimson bearers possess a blood that is addictive to the vampires, more like the quality of the highest wines anyone would want to drink.

So he, just by this revelation, as a flag bearer, especially a consort, makes him an easy target.....

"Wait, a Consort and a flagbearer? What?" Evangeline narrowed her gaze, looking towards the bat as she found it so confusing why someone who should be treated as fine food was being brought into the battle of the royal lineage, where the winners were being chosen as the present Members of the Order.

"My Queen, he is of Royal Bloodline."

’!’

"What?"