Chapter 5
1131 Words
At that very moment, a high-tech monitor tracking the vital signs of Zeyan’s daughter began flashing red continuously. The child, who had just briefly regained consciousness, now lay motionless on the bed. Her frail body was entangled in a web of IV lines and sensors. On the large screen beside her, the vital stats blinked ominously, weak pulse, low blood pressure, unstable respiration.
She had awakened once, only to slip into a hazy state again. Her pale lips moved faintly, but no words formed. Her eyelids fluttered, yet couldn’t fully open. The cheeks that should’ve been plump and rosy like any child’s were now deathly pale, drained of all vitality. The sharp scent of antiseptics lingered thickly in the air, merging with the constant hum of machinery, and made every cell in Zeyan’s body burn with helpless rage.
He said nothing. Silently, he walked to the bedside and gently brushed away a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her forehead. One second, two seconds... then he turned and signaled.
“Prepare for another transfusion.”
“S-Sir…! We’ve already transfused over two liters. If you continue—” Damian, who stood nearby, spoke up immediately, but his voice was cut off by the cold sharpness in Zeyan’s gaze.
That look alone was enough to choke off his words, as if a dozen blades had been pressed against his throat.
Lira, steadier in her composure, cautiously suggested: “Perhaps I could find someone with a compatible blood type… at least to share part of the load—”
“No one else.” Zeyan interrupted, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s face: “Her blood can’t accept ordinary human donors.”
Lira fell silent, though her heart was shaken. What kind of bloodline did this child possess, that even human blood couldn’t be infused?
Zeyan rolled up his sleeve, exposing a forearm where blue veins pulsed beneath the skin. He looked toward the medical device with the same steel gaze he might cast upon a battlefield.
“Begin the transfusion.”
Lira hesitated only a moment, then nodded. The system was reconnected, and the dark crimson blood from Zeyan’s veins once again began to flow into the girl’s tiny body.
No one said another word. All present knew: once Zeyan had made up his mind, nothing could change it.
Under the dim overhead lights, the room was thick with silence. Beads of sweat formed on Zeyan’s brow. Even with his extraordinary regenerative ability, his body couldn’t escape the toll. Yet he didn’t blink, not once. The rhythm of the transfusion remained steady. The lights on the monitor gradually shifted from red to orange, and though her face was still pallid, there was a faint hint of improvement.
“Daddy…”
The whisper was barely audible, like the gentlest breath. But to Zeyan, it crashed into his soul like thunder rolling across the land of the dead.
A tiny hand stirred, reaching out unconsciously to touch his chest, right where his heart was pounding, as if trying to repay all the pain her little body had endured.
At that moment, Elena’s eyelids fluttered faintly. Amid the beeping of the heart monitor and the sharp scent of disinfectant, a whisper slipped from her pale lips.
“Zeyan…”
His heart clenched.
Elena slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was not the sterile white ceiling, but that familiar chiseled face. In those blurred eyes was a sky full of disbelief, strange, painful, as if asking: Is she dreaming?
Zeyan said nothing. He held her hand gently, then leaned down close, his voice hoarse, nearly breaking in his throat: “It’s me… Elena, I’m sorry. I came too late.”
She looked at him, her gaze cutting through years filled with scars. Tears spilled silently from the corners of her eyes.
He had left without a single word. That last message… just a few cold lines. She remembered every character. It wasn’t a farewell. It was an execution.
Elena smiled. A smile of anguish and resignation, as though she never wanted to see this man again, that asking for help had already crossed the final line.
Her gaze drifted to the bed beside her, where their daughter still lay sleeping. Her breaths were steady, the soft white light casting over her pale skin.
At that moment, Zeyan clasped Elena’s frail hand, as if making a belated vow.
“I’ll make it up to you both. I swear.”
But Elena didn’t respond to his apology. She only uttered coldly: “Just protect and care for the child.”
Zeyan knew she couldn’t forgive him yet, but with time, perhaps she would. He was just about to explain when the door to the ward opened again.
The still air was disturbed by cold footsteps echoing down the corridor. A middle-aged man in a white coat entered. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, thick glasses framed a long, sallow face, like a serpent grinning. He was Marven Dulse, chief overseer of the Alpha-G Laboratory, once hailed as the “father of the Pureblood Wolf Evolution Project.”
Behind him were two all too familiar figures, Diana Ashbourne, Elena’s cousin, and Reginald Ashbourne, her own father. Both wore the same expressions: haughty nobility veiling cruelty, and detached eyes treating kin as mere goods awaiting appraisal.
Marven spoke, his tone flat but carrying the chill of steel: “I’ve been informed that test subject number 17, that girl, has been removed from supervision. This is a breach of high-level contract. I am here to return it.”
His gaze stopped on the bed where the child lay asleep, before sliding down to Elena, her body still bandaged, but her gentle, unyielding beauty making his eyes glint.
“Didn’t expect a test subject to be born from defective stock like you.” He smirked: “Though… looking closer, this stock isn’t so bad.”
The air thickened instantly. Before Zeyan could react, Diana let out a sharp laugh, metallic and cruel: “If Mr. Dulse truly likes it… ah, I mean, her, then the Ashbourne family has no objection to negotiating. Something that’s lost its value should be compensated for, shouldn’t it?”
Reginald Ashbourne folded his arms, his gaze never lingering on his daughter, only coldly remarking: “Mr. Dulse, we’ve already been paid in full for subject 17. But if you also want the mother, though a bit used, you’ll have to pay extra. The Ashbourne family does not do charity.”
Zeyan sat still, but the arm resting on the chair tightened until veins bulged. He wasn’t surprised. The Ashbournes, from the very beginning, had always seen Elena as nothing more than decoration, a sacrifice to be offered when convenient.
Truly, they were bloodsuckers without shame.
- Writer
