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“He’s not alone,” Alexander interjects, his voice carrying a rare edge of determination. “I’ll go with him and help him face the pack.”
Marcus, his tone unwavering, intervenes. “Indeed, Alexander, such desires resonate within me as well, yet the present juncture forbids their fulfillment. While you unleash your devastating might, Xavier, rending them apart and adorning yourself with the crimson cascade of their spilled blood, Lyra shall remain in the clutches of death. However, there exists an uncharted avenue, an alternative path to embark upon—a means to salvage Lyra’s fleeting existence. You must undertake the transformation and imbue her with the essence of your very life, for it may stand as our sole recourse.”
I absorb his words, the gravity of the situation pressing on me. I want to desperately grab onto hope, but we’ve been through this. Turning Lyra into a vampire will either be the salvation she needs or the final blow that seals her fate. The risk is tremendous, and I find myself torn between saving her or the possibility of condemning her to an even quicker death. “We don’t know if that will work. Have you found anything to suggest that I can turn her into a vampire?”
Marcus shakes his head. “Following an exhaustive perusal of my arcane volumes and age-old manuscripts, I must, with deep regret, admit my failure to unearth any remedy to facilitate the transformation of Lyra into a vampire.”
It’s yet another blow in a series of blows.
“I might kill her.” The very notion of turning a werewolf into a vampire goes against everything we have known and understood about our respective species.
“I empathize with your trepidations. I cannot proffer a guarantee as to the outcome. The journey ahead shall be fraught with peril, both for Lyra and yourself. The metamorphosis may well magnify her hybrid essence, intensifying the inner conflict within her and imperiling her delicate equilibrium. Nevertheless, we stand upon the precipice. If even the faintest glimmer of hope remains, whereby her transformation might serve as a lifeline, preserving her very existence, we are bound to seize it.”
He is right.
Images of her radiant smile and vibrant spirit flood my mind. I can’t afford to abandon hope, not while she is still breathing and when there might be a chance to save her.
With a firm nod, I make the decision; it’s the only choice I have left. “I’ll do it. For Lyra, I will defy the odds. For Lyra, I will tread the challenging path of darkness.” And as I prepare to give her the gift of immortality, I pray that it will be enough to save her and bring her back from the brink of death. She faced immense danger to protect me; it is my turn to do everything in my power to hold her in this world.
We take the stairs to my bedroom. Lyra remains unchanged; her eyes are closed, and her chest is barely moving. Alexander makes a strangled sound when he sees her. He’s never met her, and I wish he could have seen her at her best. She was a force to be reckoned with, a breathtaking beauty with a fierce spirit. But now she looks fragile and vulnerable, like a porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment.
With a heavy sigh, I sink onto the bed beside her, my fingertips brushing against her cool skin. “Are you certain about this, Marcus?”
“Nay, but should there exist the most slender of chances, no matter how remote, that her transfiguration could deliver her from the clutches of darkness, it is a path we must tread. Let her not fade into the shadows without a resolute fight.”
Alexander’s eyes meet mine; his expression is a reflection of his unwavering loyalty. “You’ve got this, X,” he declares firmly.
I lean closer to Lyra, my lips mere inches away from her ear. “Little wolf,” I whisper. “If you can hear me, know that I will do everything I can to save you. This journey we’re about to embark on is filled with uncertainty, but I promise you that I will never leave your side, even in death.”
I have never turned anyone, but I know the necessary steps that lie ahead. To complete the transformation, I must first drain Lyra of her remaining life essence before offering her the gift of my own blood. It is a risky undertaking, one that could tip the delicate balance between life and death. But her blood already stains my hands, so I have no choice but to proceed. Gently cradling Lyra’s fragile form in my arms, I position her so that her neck is exposed. The scent of her sweet blood fills the air, both tempting and heartbreaking.
Closing my eyes, I lean forward, my fangs elongating as I press them against her neck. I can feel the rhythm of her life, each weak heartbeat a reminder of the precious moments slipping away. Carefully, I pierce her flesh, the taste of her lifeblood flooding my senses. The act is both agonizing and necessary—a sacrifice of love to ensure her rebirth. I drink, drawing deeply from the source of her vitality, every drop mingling with the swirling torrent of emotions within me. As I drink, a surge of power courses through my veins—the amalgamation of our intertwined destinies. The room shimmers with an ethereal light, as if the very fabric of reality is shifting and merging. But as I feel her life force ebbing away, an overwhelming sense of urgency takes hold. I know that time is of the essence and that I must act quickly to save her from the brink of death.
With a final, desperate sip, I withdraw from her neck, my lips stained crimson with her essence. I bring my wrist to my mouth, sinking my fangs into my own flesh before pressing my wrist to her lips.
Will this be enough? Will it bring her back to me, transformed and reborn?
Nothing happens at first, but as my blood drips between her parted lips, her instinctual response takes over; she begins to drink, her shallow breaths growing stronger and more rhythmic. The mottled bruises on her skin fade and disappear, and cuts and bites begin to heal. Her mangled bones realign and knit together, and the color returns to her once-pale complexion. I watch in awe as she transforms before my eyes, grateful for the gift of my blood that has saved her life. Time seems to blur as I continue to offer her my life-giving blood. My own strength wanes, and the edges of my vision grow hazy. But I remain unwavering, knowing that this is the only way to save her. Finally, I gently pull my wrist away from her lips, the wound slowly closing.
I sense a subtle shift in the air. It’s as if the room itself holds its breath while waiting for the transformation to take hold. Her chest expands on a deep inhale, and her eyes flutter open. A sign that the vitality of vampiric existence is taking root within her. A symbol of her wolf and my vampire essences merging, a dance between light and dark. Relief floods through me, but it is short-lived.
Lyra’s body convulses with violent spasms, her muscles contracting and relaxing in erratic rhythms.
“What’s happening to her?” Alex asks.
“I think she is transforming into her wolf form.” I place her on the bed to give her space as her limbs stretch and contort. Her body writhes in torment, bone and sinew bowing with agonizing snaps and cracks as her skeletal structure undergoes a profound metamorphosis. She screams as her skin splits and her dark, lustrous fur grows and thickens, wrapping around her like a cloak of primal power. Her facial bones shift, elongating into a fearsome muzzle with a protruding snout, and her once-human teeth sharpen into formidable fangs. The transformation continues its relentless march, reshaping her skull and altering the landscape of her face. Fingers and toes fuse, stretching into powerful paws, while curved claws burst forth. The claws, sharp and deadly, glint with a dark luster, ready to rend flesh and tear through prey. From the base of her spine, a tail emerges, and her ears elongate and sharpen, growing more sensitive and attuned to the subtlest of sounds. Tufts of fur sprout from the tips, blending seamlessly with the dark mane that adorns her neck. With each convulsion, her form expands, growing larger and more imposing, until the room seems to shrink in comparison to her presence. I rise and back away from the bed, keeping my movements subtle and slow because I don’t want to provoke her. She is not a wolf; she is something entirely else.
“Oh fuck, what is that?” Alex yells, his voice tinged with terror.
Her eyes, once human, now glow a fierce, piercing red, cutting through the room, and a deep, resonant growl emanates from her transformed throat as saliva drips from her jaws.
Towering above us, she stands on the bed, pawing at the sheets and ripping them to shreds with her claws, showcasing the sheer magnitude of her new form. Lyra’s snarls and growls echo through the air, resonating with a bone-chilling ferocity.
“Lyra!” I call out. “Can you hear me?”
“That is not a vampire or a wolf,” Alexander points out uselessly.
“I perceived it,” Marcus interjects. “I sensed within her the presence of a formidable creature.”
