Lunation of Fate

Juste was keeping himself from panicking.

He had a furious and a shocked look upon his face.

Both of his hands were occupied in holding down the thirsty bloodhunt.

So he quickly ordered Chastine to pull her hand away from Maxill’s mouth.

“Chastine, pull away your hand!” Juste’s eyes were fully opened. He was looking at Chastine in an alarming way.

The beautiful witborn weakly tugged her bitten hand away from Maxill’s lips.

She had dramatically weakened and was on the verge of collapsing, so she had no ample strength left to release her hand from the vampire’s fangs.

Maxill could not control his craving and apparently had no plan on letting go of Chastine’s hand anytime soon.

With the alarming situation they were having, Juste took it upon himself to force Maxill to let go of her hand.

He aggressively squeezed Maxill’s neck so that he would choke and gasp for air, releasing Chastine’s hand in the process.

Maxill felt Juste’s powerful grip that was suffocatingly digging around his neck.

He first moved his hands but they were tied and subdued by Juste.

He then used his long lower limb to kick or knee Juste from behind.

Maxill was able to knee Juste from behind a few times, but the young fellhound was physically strong enough to endure the pain of Maxill’s blows.

It then started to be a battle to see who was stubborn enough to win.

Maxill continued to hit Juste from behind with his knee, while Juste squeezed Maxill’s neck tighter.

Maxill had now regained his strength and had been rejuvenated by Chastine’s blood.

It was evident that the burns on his exposed skin was gone as it was healed because of the life-giving liquid.

His blows against Juste increased in power. The sound it made upon contact to Juste’s torso became louder and more painful.

Juste began to bead up sweat from the pores of his skin. A few trickled down on his face and dropped towards Maxill’s upper torso.

He started to feel angry at the bloodhunt. Even if they were chummy with each other, his utmost priority was to protect Chastine at all cost.

Maxill then began to show signs that he was losing their little battle.

The handsome bloodhunt started to ran out of breath because of Juste’s tight grip. He had also choked on Chastine’s blood.

He did try to resist it, but the involuntary movement of his body to let out a cough had won over.

Maxill finally opened his mouth; Chastine then pulled away her bitten and wounded hand as quickly as her might could offer.

She inhaled deeply as it had now ended. She felt relieved but at the same time weak and exhausted.

Chastine then laid down on the ground to at least conserve her remaining energy.

Juste had not yet let go of Maxill, though he had already loosened his grip.

He instead lifted the vampire on the neck to sit him up straight so as not to choke on blood anymore.

Maxill stopped coughing out blood. He then gasped for air as his eyes met with Juste.

They stared at each other for a long while.

“Do this again and I swear I’ll be the one to kill you.” Juste seriously warned the tall bloodhunt.

Maxill’s eyes then fell on Chastine. He saw her lying down on the ground, catching her breath while at it.

The vampire began to feel remorseful at what he did.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Sorry? Sorry won’t cut it, bloodhunt.” Juste’s tone sounded cold and furious.

Maxill then remembered that she needed to replenish her energy.

“She needs to eat, Juste. Chastine needs meat right now,” he informed the fellhound about this fact.

It was only then that Juste had let go of his grip on Maxill.

Because of remorse, Maxill offered to hunt for food for the weakening witborn. “I’ll go look for game. Stay here and look after her.”

A few minutes have passed and Maxill was back with the spoils of his hunt. He had brought down a wild boar.

He was also the one who prepared the meal, slicing bits of hog meat using his sharp nails so it would cook faster.

While the meat was roasting on open flames, he went his way to collect water from a clear stream nearby.

Maxill handed out the bamboo-like container filled with water to Juste, which he had gotten and made during his search for the stream.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

Juste supported Chastine’s neck and back for her to recline so that she can drink water. Her right side was leaning onto Juste’s chest.

“Here, Chastine, drink this.” Juste held the container and drew the rim near her lips.

She managed to take a sip of the cold, refreshing water.

When the meat had been cooked, Maxill handed some bits to Juste, and Juste slowly fed her the meat.

After Chastine had eaten enough food and drank enough water, Maxill went his way to gather more wood and twine for her makeshift tent and bed.

But in actuality, Maxill wanted to distance himself from them, even for just a little while.

He needed some time for himself, away from anyone that had eyes to see and ears to hear.

He found a deep cave and settled himself in there. He didn’t illuminate the pitch black darkness of that cold and dreary hole.

Because what he was about to do would be embarrassing should anyone would see him.

Thoughts and memories filled his depressed mind.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

He was like a little boy that was still too fragile to cry over painful things, but was big enough to be aware that boys shouldn’t cry over the small stuff.

Oh, but was it small? Maxill was negatively conversing with himself inside his head.

He was self-loathing. He was self-pitying.

The only friend he had was Chastine, and he felt that.

All the other people he had come across with either just needed something from him or was hellbent in killing him.

No matter how good he does, he will still hurt the ones dear to him because of his instinct and nature.

He remembered how he felt his life was totally cursed from birth.

Having a witborn mother and a bloodhunt father, although not entirely uncommon, had put him through all sorts of pain and suffering.

He might have enjoyed the best of both worlds, but that was far from the truth.

In reality, he realized he couldn’t fit in both societies because both cultures can only see his imperfection and flaws, and not his strengths.

“You despicable half-blood! How dare you hit my sister?!” From memory, Maxill recalled this very words from his cousin. He was slapped on the face for swatting a fly that landed on his female cousin’s hand.

“Sell him to the witborns! I’m sure even if he’s bloodhunt scum, they’d pay a hefty price for his low grade magic. They won’t know the difference, haha!”

His uncle spewed these words and also came up with the sinister plan.

Maxill cried in silence as he recalled the bullying he received from his blood relatives and his cursed life, hurting the ones whom he cherishes the most: his mom, his dad, and Chastine.