Chapter 8

Cooking seems to despise Rozelyn.

She remembered the time she went for a sleepover at Anaztasia’s house.

She was quite embarrassed to herself because she doesn’t even know how to cook a pancake whereas Anaztasia can proficiently cook even a roasted turkey and chicken cordon bleu.

I’ve already woken up as early as I can to just cook a spanish omelette but my cooking skills seem to not cooperate at all.

She thought annoyingly to herself. 

“Perhaps you can just wait for Romaine to wake up and let her be the one to administer the kitchen, Rosie girl.”

Rozelyn then looks around but sees no one at all.

At the corner of her eye, she spotted a huge white Persian cat sitting solemnly on the cupboard.

In a blink of an eye, the cat shifted from paws and tail into a handsome tall man. This made Rozelyn suddenly gape and utterly flabbergasted.

“You’re...You’re a shapeshifter too, Cyrill? How long have you been there?” Rozelyn queried the man in front of her, who’s shirtless and was only wearing tattered sage jeans. 

Being shirtless and wearing tattered jeans seems to be the remarkable brand of werewolves, Rozelyn thought.

“Well, I’ve been here since you suddenly came down from your heavy sleep. I was about to shift if not for your unwelcome interruption, young lady. As for your first question, I’m a Pasiphae Werewolf, remember? I can duplicate anyone’s powers temporarily. I duplicated these powers from my cousin and alpha Avril Arke—who’s a Shapeshifter Werewolf that can shift into anything and anyone.”

Cyrill then grabbed a plain white t-shirt in their downstairs walk-in closet and tread towards her. 

He grabbed the frying pan and discarded the completely burned spanish omelette by the trash bin.

“If you don’t mind...let me be the one to cook, will you?”

“O-Of course, yo-you’ll be the one to cook,” Rozelyn seems to stutter even when conversing casually with him. It seems that her utter veneration to him still prevails deep in her broken heart.

She was watching him by their kitchen table while he made some scotch eggs and asian fried rice when she suddenly caught that bizarre smell.

That smell seems like a cherry-ish aroma. The smell seems to come from...from a woman who just recently released.

“Have you recently danced with a woman?” Rozelyn demanded like a wife who caught her husband cheating.

Cyril flicked his glare at her and seemed to just continue to gaze at her for the rest of his three minutes.

He then raised his brow and mumbled, “Well, why do you care if I recently drilled a woman, huh?”

She averted from his iconic blazing gaze and replied, “I-I thought you-you’re gay…”

Rozelyn is still in apparent stammering mode. Her body is postured in the opposite direction as if she’s going to dash away any second.

Cyrill’s handsome face was illuminated with an insulting smirk and muttered, “That’s precisely the reason why no one should believe in rumors and fabricated stories.”

She felt as if a shower of cherry blossoms began to fall from the sky. Finally, she has a better chance of making him her honey pie baby boy.

She had always hoped, ever since she found out that Cyrill’s gay, that somehow his masculine heart still exists in his beautiful chest.

And her constant wishing has somehow been answered.

“So you're not gay or...you’re b-bisexual?”

Cyrill looked at her from head to toe before responding, “None of those are true. It seems Henriz has been disseminating a bluff about my sexuality—or perhaps some sort of ruse or red herring so that no woman may be able to flock me whenever I pass by. And...he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just my boy-friend.”

Yes! Finally, I have a chance to have a bare-skinned dance with him at least.

Her joyous monologue somehow resonates with her entire being.

Cyrill frowned upon seeing Rozelyn smiling at nothing. 

What the hell is she imagining again?

Rozelyn cleared her throat and went for the living room couch and shot him a confidential query.

“Why did you bed a woman by the way?” She tried to look like a curious cat so that her apparent jealousy won’t vividly surface.

“Well, our kind does not only drink blood and eat innards, Rozelyn. We also derive our energy from the pleasure of the flesh. Carnal needs as they call it. Perhaps Romaine hasn't yet lectured you on that.”

Wow. So blood is not our only form of energizer. Lust is also our secondary benefactor to strengthen and empower our abilities. That's absolutely cool!

Rozelyn realized as she looked deeper at the werewolf's thoughts. It seems that even him cannot escape the radar of a Thaumaturge.

“How was your undressed tango, by the way?” Rozelyn interrogated Cyrill teasingly. The lad grimaced and in absolute redness due to the lass’ teasing question.

Before he could answer, Romaine’s sudden appearance made both of them stand up unwittingly from the golden couch. They absolutely didn’t notice Romaine coming down from her room.

“What are you two conversing about?” Romaine’s morning look was indeed messy and...exhausted. She, too, was engulfed in that cherry-ish fragrance. 

“Uhm...Cyrill here was just discussing with me about some Vampire and Werewolf basics, Romaine,” Rozelyn quickly responded.

“I see. I smell breakfast already. Did you two make that?” 

“N-.”

“YES!” Cyrill muttered even before Rozelyn could reply. The two glanced at each other like a vermin that was about to spring on an adder.

“Well, look at you two,” Romaine praised in a motherly tone, “I’m glad you two are no longer acting like a cat and dog hmp? Or perhaps you recently discuss a truce?” 

Romaine then looked at the two teasingly. Her golden nightgown was slightly untied; causing her inner curves to be subtly seen.

The head of the house gestured for a nice meal in the kitchen and the lad and the lass undoubtedly followed.

Then they have their merry breakfast of the day.

***

Three weeks have passed since Rozelyn found out that Cyrill can shapeshift and that carnal is necessary for a vampire or werewolf to thrive.

It was Sunday and the twilight's vibrant tawny color spread wide across the sky. She was in their backyard watering their small colorful garden when Romaine appeared by the threshold.

She was wearing a long-fitting black dress, with red stripes on its long sleeves and on its hem. Her belt was in a shimmering metallic red. On her right chest, a red rose circular brooch can be seen. Its golden edges seem to form like the sun's wide beaming rays.

“Red, gold, and black are the color emblems of the vampires. The red rose is our sigil,” Romaine lectured while she walked towards her stepdaughter. 

Rozelyn, who seemed to not be expecting her stepmom’s formal attire, halted the watering hose with a single wave of her hand. 

“I’m glad you’re making use of your gifts.”

“I guess we all should have so that they may not malfunction when the time comes that we need them the most,” Rozelyn said as she dried her hands on her fuschia mini skirt.

“Well, it’s been quite a long time since we’ve discussed the matter of our kind. It’s time to fully learn the world of the Blood Rose’s spawns,” her stepmom remarked to the raven-haired Rozelyn.

“Go upstairs. I already prepared your uniform,” Romaine commanded as the latter sat on their gazebo.

“Very well.”

Rozelyn then effortlessly went to her chamber with a jolly and curious disposition.

***

“Well, that's what I call a uniform!” 

Rozelyn exclaimed as she saw her reflection. She, too, was wearing a long black fitting dress the same as Romaine’s. But, the difference is that she wore her glistening obsidian lavaliere as well.

She tilted her body from side to side before swirling around like a little girl who just wore a glittering gown for the first time. 

Rozelyn then put on her black fedora hat, designed with handmade red roses flowers around it. She looked at her statuesque reflection for the last time, winked at the mirror, then jovially sauntered downstairs.

“Well, I never knew that a Thaumaturge could be so...sophisticated and magical,” Romaine praised, who was now wearing a headband-like diadem. A ruby was ornamented on its center—a symbol of a coven supreme’s power.

“Thank you, Romaine. By the way, I like your little crown on your head,” Rozelyn applauded with a feminine wink and wide grin.

“Don’t worry, Roz. You too will be wearing this since you are my Grand Vampire.”

“Grand Vampire?”

“Second to the Supreme. A coven is ranked from highest to lowest, beginning with the Supreme, then the Grand Vampire, then the High Vampire. The rest were addressed in ordinal numbers, beginning from the Fourth down to the last member. A coven usually has twenty-two members, but sometimes it can exceed depending on the Supreme’s decision.”

Romaine’s explanation already left her wholly astonished and fascinated. She never knew that a vampire has its own “battalion” ranking.

I thought that those kinds of titles only exist in the military.

Rozelyn then shifted her gaze to Cyrill. He was absolutely and heavenly handsome with his long-sleeved black polo with blue stripes on its long sleeves and on its hem as well as his leather jeans—probably the werewolves’ formal uniforms.

Just like the two of them, Cyrill was also wearing a belt, but a different one. He was wearing a gleaming metallic blue belt and a blue moonflower brooch. The edges of the crescent-shaped brooch were adorned in silver and seemed to shimmer brighter than the rose brooches.

“I guess it’s obvious that black, blue, and silver are our emblem colors. The moonflower is our sigil,” Cyrill declared while fixing his loosened belt.

Rozelyn can’t believe what she's witnessing. She feels like she’s attending a Hogwarts-like school in contemporary times.

“I guess your savoring moment will be far extended as soon as we arrive at our covenstead,” Romaine reminded Rozelyn, who was still processing the fact that they’re god-damn legit creatures of the night.

So the three drive towards the Fortress of the Rose—the official name of the vampires’ covenstead, in accordance with Romaine’s words.