Chapter 17
Damn it.
The moment I sensed something was wrong, I quickly reached for my waistband—but a firm, soft grip stopped me. A chill that started from my tailbone surged through my brain.
Right now, I was no different from prey offered up to a starving predator.
“…What are you doing?”
“You’re bleeding. Do you want to die from blood loss right now, Lemoni?”
He responded in a surprisingly composed—or rather, feignedly composed—tone as he sat upright. Despite the quickness of his movements, his gaze remained fixated on my waist. The way the corners of his mouth twisted awkwardly gave off the impression he was barely holding something back.
I was going to die.
This man was truly insane.
Before I knew it, he had climbed on top of me.
“Let go!”
“What if I don’t want to, Lemoni?”
“Deon!”
I screamed and summoned all my strength to draw my knee up and shove him in the face. The thick, rough heel of my boot slammed into his cheek. But Ian’s expression didn’t change.
In fact, he even laughed brightly, as if something about this delighted him.
“Lemoni, do you know what the golden hour is?”
I couldn’t afford to die like this. I screamed again.
“Deon! This guy’s trying to kill me! I’ll even cry and wail—just do something…!”
“At this rate of blood loss, you’ll die in five minutes.”
What?
As I shot upright in a panic, a subtle force pressed down on my shoulder.
“If you move like that, you’ll really die. Stay calm and lie down.”
Did he not expect me to resist this much?
Frowning as if in mild annoyance, he offered a faint smile. “Come on, just lie down. Please.” His tone had shifted to something far more serious. My body went limp at his voice, and his hands—once coaxing—now pinned me in place. Somehow, I found myself lying down again, and I could feel his palm cradling the back of my head.
“Well done.”
It was Ian’s hand. As if worried it might hurt, he cushioned my head before carefully removing it, then leaned over like a doctor assessing a patient.
“I’ll need to stop the bleeding. Excuse me for a bit.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter if you’re a noble or a prisoner—men just can’t control themselves in front of a woman, huh.”
That’s when it happened.
Just as Ian’s hands were about to fully remove my uniform, an angry golden-brown hand thrust between us. A bandage—probably dropped in his hurry—was unspooling at Deon’s feet like a roll of toilet paper.
Deon, with a look of utter disbelief as if he’d walked in on something revolting, raised one eyebrow.
“Stop. Quit sucking blood like some parasite and don’t kill the girl over it.”
“Sounds like you’re the one killing her out of jealousy.”
Ah. With a frustrated sigh, Ian—his lips twitching like a man starved of satisfaction—turned to face Deon.
“You know, right? That I’m a dhampir?”
Dhampirs, a cross between vampires and humans, were semi-divine beasts. They craved blood like vampires, but also had the ability to heal wounds caused by bloodshed.
Deon seemed to know that too.
But he clearly didn’t like it. Without a word, he slowly pushed Ian aside.
“…Then I’ll undress her.”
I screamed again.
“Wait a second! Do I not have a say in this whole undressing situation?”
“Nope. You’re the injured party.”
Before I could stop him, he stripped off my uniform jacket, and with his rough, knuckled fingers, began undoing the buttons near my navel.
My face heated up, ready to burst like a balloon. Desperate to cover myself, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to shield my body—but then someone above me sighed.
“Don’t you know? The more you try to hide, the more we imagine.”
“What?”
Then don’t strip me in the first place!
“Just stay still.”
Muttering irritably, he unfastened another button. When my waist—where the wound was—was finally revealed, I could feel both their eyes pierce through my exposed skin.
“…There’s a lot of blood.”
A low voice broke the silence, strained like someone holding something back.
Ian had his hand covering his mouth. Maybe he realized he was making a strange expression. He slowly moved his left palm beside my ear and then removed his hand from his face.
He wasn’t smiling.
Or rather—he was, but it was unnatural. His lips were twitching like he was forcing the smile to stay.
“Lemoni, think carefully.”
“About what?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to be taken care of by me… than to try taming that mutt?”
And then something soft brushed along my sensitive waist.
A startled moan escaped me at the unexpected touch. It tickled, but in an unpleasant way. As I tried to arch my back and escape, the man, clearly displeased, gripped my waist tighter.
At the same time, an irritated sigh came from across the room—Deon’s—and was followed by a weird, obscene sound.
“Right?”
By the time I came back to my senses, I was panting like a fish out of water. Above me, someone asked for my consent. I opened my eyes and saw Ian wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, grinning.
“You don’t need to worry about being in pain. If you get hurt, I’ll just keep treating you like this…”
But Ian’s seductive murmur was cut off—by Deon smashing the back of his head into the floor.
“Guard. The bleeding?”
Ah, right. The blood.
I met Deon’s rational, crimson gaze and hurriedly touched my waist. It was strange. There was no pain, and the wound—once clotted with sticky blood—was now smooth.
“…I think it’s fine now.”
“So he wasn’t lying.”
Still frowning, Deon grabbed Ian by the hair and lifted his head. Ian’s face turned with the motion, revealing golden eyes that gleamed like gold coins. He looked high, dazed, but when our eyes met, he flashed a bright smile.
Then, cheekily, he shoved his face closer to Deon.
“You suspicious mutt.”
“A semi-divine beast with a half-broken brain dares insult a full divine—”
“Jealous? Divine beasts can’t suck women’s blood like me…”
Thwack. Ian’s head slammed into the floor again. At this point, his skull should’ve cracked—but oddly, no blood came out.
Even when he got smacked with a frying pan earlier, he was fine. Maybe he had a rock for a head.
My theory wasn’t entirely baseless. Dhampirs absorbed nutrients instantly through blood, and supposedly didn’t even have a working heart or blood circulation.
“By the way, Deon. I used up all ten command spells.”
Still staring at the collapsed Ian, I turned to Deon. He had come here because of the command spell I used.
Now, it was between me and him.
“Right.”
“…Thanks for saving me. But if you blow up a wall like that again, I’m going to stop you next time.”
If he got angry, I was ready to blow the whistle immediately. But to my surprise, he didn’t get mad or even argue.
He just looked at me—deep in thought.
“You’re chatting nonsense, so you must be fine now.”
Finally, he averted his gaze and stood up.
“What did you say?”
“I wasn’t the one who blew up the wall.”
Then who the hell was it?
“I’ll give you ten seconds. Get up. You too, mosquito.”
Deon grabbed Ian by the hair again and slapped his cheek. Ian blinked slowly, registering Deon’s face in front of him with a scowl.
But that wasn’t the real problem.
Ever since Deon stood up, I heard the faint sound of footsteps—running.
“…What’s that sound…”
I shot up mid-sentence. Something was wrong. Someone—or multiple people—were coming this way. The footsteps were getting louder, chaotic, like a stampede.
I hurriedly buttoned my shirt and threw on my uniform. Deon, staring past the shattered wall, muttered,
“Guard. From what I remember, you’re good at running away.”
“What?”
He looked completely calm, even now.
“Run.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said run.”
As a deafening roar echoed, he shoved me away.
And then—an enormous shadow loomed behind Deon. As he turned his head, he drove his iron-like elbow into the prisoner’s face.
Falling back, I could only gape.
Through the still-hazy gray smoke, a swarm of people was charging toward us. I ran for my life, feeling Deon’s gaze on my back.
Once he saw I was safely fleeing, he kicked one man in the stomach with his long leg.
But it was obvious.
There were at least 20 of them.
“They’re not normal…”
At that moment, Ian was just as panicked.
“Lemoni? Lemoni, where are you?”
His usual smile vanished when someone bit his arm. Pulling out a hidden dagger from who-knows-where, he stabbed it into the prisoner’s neck, then chased after me.
But there were far too many of them.
Their pupils—like horizontal slits—were multiplying. Like they were under mass hypnosis.
Then—my sword, still sheathed at my waist, slipped out with a sharp sound. Gripping it, Deon drove the blade cleanly into a prisoner’s throat with precise movements.
He seemed more like a brawler than a swordsman, but watching him now—he moved like a knight.
My thoughts were cut short by his voice.
“Was this your doing?”
The way he shielded me behind his back was full of fierce hostility. I was being protected, but it still felt threatening.
“No. If it were me, would I be running?”
“Lemoni, then what about me? Should I keep running too?”
Why is this guy always asking me?
His sword gleamed like it had finally found its true owner. Blood splattered across his face, but his red eyes—redder than the blood—shone with purpose.
Yes. The problem wasn’t Deon.
It was me.
I turned my head to check on Deon and Ian—just in time to see one particularly fast enemy reach out for me. A rough, filthy hand coated in sticky blood brushed my nose.
“Shit, they’re chasing me—run faster, damn it!”
It was the worst moment of my life.
As I screamed profanity and swung my pen in a panic, a purple tongue shot out of the prisoner’s gaping mouth.
