Chapter 45: Armchair and Blood Wine

The lead wolfskin snarled in response, his lips curled back in a terrifying display of teeth and claws. "Save your pleasantries, delver," he growled, his voice rough with hostility. "We are not here for idle chatter."

Delver? What's going on? Ezra's mind was in disarray but his body stood strong as he crossed his arms, seemingly unafraid.

The progenitor's smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Of course not," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But surely you didn't come all this way just to exchange pleasantries. What is it that you seek?"

The lead wolfskin's gaze narrowed, his expression hardening as he spoke. "We seek vengeance," he spat, his words laced with venom. "For the crimes committed against our pack. For the blood spilled in the name of your family For the crimes you've committed. A thousand years may pass but your atrocities would never be forgotten."

The progenitor's smile faltered for a moment, his demeanor shifting subtly as he considered the wolfskin's words. But then, to Ezra's surprise, he chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down his spine.

"Vengeance, you say?" the man mused, his voice filled with amusement. "How quaint. But tell me, my dear wolf, what makes you think you stand a chance against us?"

The lead wolfskin bristled at the progenitor's taunting tone, his claws flexing with barely contained rage. "We will not be intimidated by your empty threats, delver," he growled, his voice rising to a snarl. "We will have our revenge, one way or another."

But before the wolfskin could make good on his words, the progenitor's expression hardened, his golden eyes flashing with sudden intensity. "Very well, then," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let the games begin."

With a start, Ezra jolted awake, his vitality rushing through him as he struggled to shake off the lingering remnants of the dream. The feeling of his body not being his and his actions been set in stone.

The memory of the progenitor and a vampire that must have been his beloved descendant lingered in his mind like a horror movie. He couldn't forget even if he wanted to. The details had been burned into his mind like it had always been there.

As he lay there, trying to make sense of the images that still danced behind his eyelids, one fact was painfully clear. The dream had been more than just a figment of his imagination. It had to be a memory. A glimpse into a time long forgotten.

But the question was, how? How am I dreaming about this? His mind went to the progenitor's golden eyes before he remembered seeing similar eyes. Valaren.

Could it be Valaren? How? These dreams are from Shadrach's perspective. Assuming Shadrach was the beloved descendant, Valaren was made after Shadrach's death.

He stared at Gen who slept peacefully by his side, watching the rise and fall of her breasts. His cock ached for a something to fuck and forget everything he'd dreamt but he wasn't about to wake her for an early morning round. That reminds me. Still haven't consummated the marriage with Olivia. His mind drifted to her beautiful breasts. Can't wait.

With a stretch that seemed to stretch on for miles, he rose from his bed, shaking off the remnants of his dreams clinging to his mind like cobwebs. The feral images of the wolfskins lingered, leaving Ezra with a sense of unease that he couldn't quite shake.

Padding across the plush carpet, Ezra made his way to the living room, the cool marble floor soothing beneath his bare feet. He moved with a quiet grace, his movements fluid and unhurried as he navigated the space with practiced ease.

Pulling aside the heavy drapes, he revealed the breathtaking view of the city below, its skyline shimmering in the early morning light.

With a sigh of contentment, Ezra settled into the oversized armchair by the window, a sense of calm washing over him as he gazed out at the waking world. He reached for the crystal decanter on the nearby table, pouring himself a generous glass of blood wine and savoring its rich, earthy aroma.

As he took a sip, the warm, coppery liquid flooding his senses, Ezra's thoughts drifted. Why me? He hummed to himself. Is there a hidden message in the dream or was it just a normal event?

Is there a connection between the progenitor and I? Valaren snored in his gut. Scratch that. Definitely is.

More importantly, the progenitor isn't originally from this world? He fingered his chin. The Abyss. X had spoken of it. One of the pages from the book of nightmares had been hidden where the wind meets the Abyss.

He sighed as he massaged his forehead. Why can't things just be simple?

He leaned back as far as he could go on his armchair, his glass of wine dangling from his hands. At least with the ladies asleep, he could enjoy a bit of solitude. He'd been with at least one of them most of the time since he became a vampire.

Vampires didn't need as much sleep as humans but it was much better to be asleep than to be miserable.

Lost in thought, Ezra barely noticed as the sun rose higher in the sky, its golden rays spilling into the room like liquid gold.

The sun unleashed an ethereal wave that entered his body trying to invade every part of him. Heat began growing in his heart and supported by his vitality, pushed out the sun's energy.

Unlike most vampires, who recoiled from the sunlight with fear and revulsion, Ezra welcomed its touch, loving the feeling of it as it fell on his face. I had this ability before I got Valaren. Why? He hadn't thought about these things but with the recent dream, he had to. What's so special about me? S~eaʀᴄh the nôvel_Fire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He stood up and walked closer to the window, watching the city below moving like a waking beast. Maybe it's time for me to leave my nest. How else would I spread my wings and fly?

It had after all, been a long time since he brushed shoulders with humans.

One week.

A long time indeed.

**********

High above the streets, perched on the edge of a rooftop miles away, the sniper adjusted the scope of his rifle, the cold metal pressed firmly against his cheek. He breathed slowly, methodically, his heartbeat steady as he scanned the windows of the distant penthouse.

The target was there, seated in an armchair, a glass of wine in hand. Through the high-powered lens, he could see every detail. The way the light from the rising sun cast a warm glow on his face, the slight furrow in his brow as he stared out at the city, lost in thought.

The sniper's finger hovered just above the trigger, every muscle in his body poised and ready.

He had been watching the target for days, learning his routines, waiting for the perfect moment. This morning, everything had aligned perfectly.

The target stood and moved closer to the window. The target was alone, inattentive, and clearly fated to die. The sniper steadied his breathing, focusing intently on the spot just above the target's heart. A single shot was all it would take.

And he had the shot.