Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride - Chapter 363

Chapter 363: Lost in the Dark
Nikolai’s body ached, his eyes closed, heavy from the exhaustion of fighting off the bone saints. He didn’t think they would be so difficult, but their strength brought him to the brink of death, even if he was wounded. The thought didn’t give him any sense of peace,

Seraphina soon arrived with a small medical bag.

“Hmm…”

He struggled to adjust himself, blood pouring onto the leather sofa, his body draped over the side while he wheezed and panted.

“Patriarch!?”

The head of the Seraphina family exclaimed before rushing to his side, Leona standing at her back. She lifted his arm, checking his pulse as it dangled without power.

“Can you hear me? Please respond!”

His eyes shifted, slowly, lazily reaching her figure. “I’m alright…” A slurred, low voice, raspy like he swallowed a handful of blades.

“Tsk… he’s in shock.”

“Leona come here, and hold him down, this is going to make him react.”

“A-Ah… Of course Lady Seraphina!”

Seraphina removed a long five-inch needle—the tip spurted as she pushed the plunger, before jamming it into his body, and poured the fluids into his body.

A werewolf wasn’t like a human—their increased abilities and bodies required doses over ten times the amount to even have a minor effect. That’s why supernatural beings and monsters searched for different treatment.

Magic.

Spiritmancy.

Bloodmancy.

Because flooding the body with chemicals that would kill a normal human would never be something smart, usually.

The moment the morphine flooded his body, Nikolai’s thoughts collapsed.

His body stopped convulsing, unable to feel the throbbing and burning pain as it subsided… leaving him in a daze. The room and his actions became a blur, and his breathing slowed.

“He’s becoming lethargic… Lady Seraphina, is this really going to help?”

Leona’s eyes opened wide, her hands holding down pressure on the huge claw marks across Nikolai’s chest, her face covered in his blood.

“He’ll live,” Seraphina muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “But that thing nearly ripped his heart out. I need more bandages—Leona, strip his coat and keep pressure just below the ribs. No lower.”

Leona hesitated only a second before obeying. Her trembling fingers worked through the torn layers of his ceremonial coat, black with dried blood and heavy with soot. The stench of scorched flesh hit her nose, and her breath caught.

His chest looked like it had been clawed open by a monster.

“Nikolai…” she whispered, voice cracking.

He didn’t answer. Just lay there, jaw slack, pupils unfocused as blood oozed from his side and down the couch arm.

“Don’t speak to him now. He’s not lucid,” Seraphina snapped. Her hands were already glowing faintly, the runes along her gloves pulsing. “Focus. If he loses any more, he won’t regenerate.”

Leona nodded, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she pressed both palms against his side, feeling the torn muscle twitch under her touch. It wasn’t just the blood. It was how still he was. How quiet.

Nikolai never went quiet.

Not unless he was close to dying.

Seraphina’s hands moved fast, precise, ruthless.

“His core’s stable,” she muttered, tracing a line of glowing red over his sternum. “But the damage to his musculature won’t close unless I redirect his blood flow.”

She clicked her tongue. “That means clearing blockage. We need full exposure.”

Leona looked up, unsure. “Y-You mean—”

“Yes. Strip him.”

Her cheeks flushed. “H-His lower half, too?”

Seraphina didn’t look up. “I said full. You think his femoral artery isn’t under stress? Now move.”

Leona swallowed hard and nodded, fingers trembling as she reached for the buckles at his waist. The sound of them unclasping felt louder than it should’ve in the silence.

Seraphina didn’t stop her work, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Nikolai’s face.

“He’s barely conscious. If you’re embarrassed, that’s your problem.”

Leona pulled his pants down.

And froze.

Even half-dead and drugged, his length hung heavy, impressive, swollen from trauma and blood pooling. A beast of flesh that made her thighs press together involuntarily.

She dared a glance at Seraphina, who didn’t even blink.

“Control yourself. He’s your Patriarch, not your fantasy.”

“I—wasn’t—!”

But her voice wavered.

Her hands lingered just a second too long as she peeled away the last of the fabric.

And Nikolai groaned.

Seraphina’s aura flared.

Golden light flowed from her fingers and seeped into the open gashes across his chest and abdomen, slow and deliberate. The wounds hissed as they stitched inward, layer by brutal layer—muscle, sinew, skin. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t painless. But it worked.

Nikolai’s body jerked. His breath caught in his throat.

Leona flinched, her hands still pressing down on his side, bare skin now against bare skin. His heat overwhelmed her. His abdomen twitched with each pulse of Seraphina’s aura, the veins along his stomach rising in sharp relief.

“Keep your hands firm,” Seraphina ordered.

“I—I am.”

“No, you’re shaking.” Her tone darkened. “Control your breathing. Or leave the room.”

Leona gritted her teeth and steadied herself. “I can do it.”

Seraphina moved lower.

Her gloved hands hovered just above his pelvis, then pressed into the skin, guiding the aura into his hips, tracing toward his groin. She didn’t hesitate when her hand brushed against his shaft, heavy, veined, resting half-swollen against his thigh. Her eyes didn’t linger.

But Leona’s eyes did.

She swallowed.

“You’re not helping,” Seraphina said coolly.

“I wasn’t—!”

“You think he doesn’t notice? Even like this?”

As if to answer, Nikolai groaned again. His head tilted, neck muscles flexing. One eye opened—barely.

It landed on Leona.

And stayed.

No words.

Just the slow drag of a gaze that made her chest tighten.

He wasn’t conscious.

But he knew.

On the brink of death, his body wasn’t acting like normal, his erection because to the body’s desire to pass on offspring, something present in many animals and beasts, but the werewolf, more than all others… a deep-rooted biological desire to pass on their genes.

“His core’s reacting,” Seraphina murmured, eyes narrowing as the veins along Nikolai’s torso pulsed darker with each wave of aura.

“That’s… normal?” Leona asked, still crouched beside him, blood drying on her fingers.

“For a beast on the edge of death?” Seraphina gave a thin smile. “Yes. It’s an old instinct. Survival means reproduction. Werewolf biology doesn’t lie.”

Her hand moved lower, steady, glowing faintly as she reinforced his internal organs.

Nikolai twitched.

Leona gasped as his hips shifted under her palms. She tried to stay still, but her hand brushed against something thick and warm. Her breath caught as her fingers closed instinctively.

Soft at first. Then firmer. He throbbed in her hand.

“Ah—!” She yanked back like she’d touched fire, cheeks going crimson.

Seraphina arched a brow. “You’re distracting him.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“No, but you did it anyway.” She didn’t stop working, but there was a hint of dry amusement in her voice. “Your pulse just jumped. You think I can’t feel it through the aura field?”

Leona turned away, humiliated. But Nikolai groaned again—deep, chesty, almost pleased. His head tilted toward her voice, lips parted, eyes hazy.

“…Selene…”

The name left his throat like a ghost—cracked, longing, unfamiliar.

Leona froze.

Selene?

Before she could process it, his hips shifted again, slow, guided by instinct. The weight of him pressed against her wrist. Thick. Hot. Moving.

Then again.

He was rubbing himself against her hand.

Her breath caught.

“W-Wait—” She tried to pull back, but his hand twitched, caught her wrist. Weak, barely there, but enough to hold her in place. His cock dragged along her palm again, heavy with blood and need.

“Selene…” he whispered again, voice laced with old want, like a man dreaming of a woman long dead.

Leona stared down at him, stunned, flushed, sick with something she couldn’t name. She wasn’t Selene. But her hand was still there. And he was still moving.

Seraphina’s voice didn’t break rhythm.

“So that’s who it was,” she said, eyes still on the healing wound near his ribcage. “I’d wondered.”

Leona tried to speak, but her throat closed.

“I told you. His instincts are awake. Right now, you’re not Leona, but Selene… and he’s lusting for you. You’re just warmth and scent.”

Her voice was calm. Cold.

“Finish holding his pulse steady. Or take your hand off and walk out.”

Leona didn’t move.

Nikolai did.

And for a moment, the beast in him ground against the wrong woman, lost in a body far too hurt to understand.

Nikolai’s grip slackened, but his hips didn’t stop.

Leona bit her lip, face flushed, heart pounding in her ears. Her hand was slick now, wet from the pre-come that smeared across her fingers as he rutted against her palm like an animal chasing memory.

She wasn’t Selene.

But that didn’t seem to matter to his body.

“L-Lord Nikolai… please…” she whispered, barely audible, but he didn’t hear her. Didn’t stop.

And then his whole frame shuddered — from his gut up to his shoulders. A strangled groan escaped his throat, guttural, strained, half-moan, half-snarl.

It hit her hand first — thick, hot, violent.

Then more.

A sudden, obscene pulse of heat splashed her wrist, then her collar, then her cheek — her eye squeezed shut just as another rope lashed across her chest.

Leona gasped, too stunned to move. The air filled with the sharp, bitter scent of it.

It kept coming — heavy spurts bubbling between her fingers, clinging to her skin, warm and humiliating. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breath, slick strands trailing between her breasts as she just… sat there.

Soaked.

Silent.

Seraphina finally looked up.

“Well,” she said dryly. “Guess his reproductive instincts are intact.”

She wiped her hands clean, aura dimming. “I’ve seen lesser werewolves pass out from blood loss before climax. But our lord’s quite huge… Well, he’s still breathing and my treatment’s done.”

Leona didn’t respond.

She just stared down at her hand, coated, dripping, sticky to the knuckle. Nikolai’s chest finally slowed. His grip fell away. Sleep reclaimed him. And Leona sat there, covered in his seed, knees weak, face burning.