CHAPTER 13: THE BURDEN OF BEING SPECIAL

Ayra told me that from the second bite would hurt less... Bullshit!

My body burns exactly like the first time!

Not even the feel of her soft boobs pressed against my chest, her delicate skin rubbing against mine, or the sight of her fully naked body from head to toe while she feeds on my blood can dull the pain.

But maybe... it’s just because of my pathetic physical endurance.

Clotilde is right, I really need to improve my control over Vis energy, or I’ll never be able to compete at higher levels.

I’ll stay stuck forever in this dump—the Lunae Novae dormitory.

I’ve never left my bedroom—or rather, my cell—until now.

But if I want to learn the secrets of Vis energy, I have to.

Talking to more experienced familiars can only help me.

Still, from the few glances and quick greetings I’ve exchanged with them... they don’t seem very sociable.

Or rather, they are, but not with me.

Why? Maybe because I’m the newcomer?

Back in the human world I changed two schools and three soccer teams, and I never had trouble fitting in or making new friends.

Why should it be different here?

«How’s it going, Hulk?» A guy greets Gerard as we walk down the stairs from the twelfth floor—where our room is—on the way to the refectory.

I guess that nickname comes from his massive muscles.

Honestly, if he painted his skin green, he would look just like the Incredible Hulk.

«Are we training together tomorrow, Hulk? If you want, I can ask my master for permission!» another boy offers Gerard.

He seems really popular; from what I’ve seen, despite his intimidating looks, he’s actually down-to-earth—friendly and easygoing.

No wonder he’s so well liked here.

Dozens of other familiars also stop to chat with him or at least greet him, and yet... no one speaks to me, as if I don’t exist.

I don’t get it... I mean, if I were always with the number one ranked, I could understand it.

But we’re last and second to last, the newest arrivals—so what did I do to deserve this treatment?

My doubt finds its answer as soon as we reach the first floor, right before entering the refectory.

«Hulk, aren’t you ashamed to walk around with one of them?» a guy sneers at Gerard.

He’s a little older than me, with short black hair spiked upward and a tribal tattoo on the right side of his face.

One of them? What does that mean?

I’m about to ask, but Gerard beats me to it. «He’s not one of them, Aron! He’s a familiar, just like us!»

«A familiar...» Aron repeats.

With a sharp move, he grabs my tunic.

He pulls and...

—SHRRRIP!

With one rough motion, he rips the upper part of my tunic, tossing it to the ground with disdain, exposing my bare chest to the eyes of the hundreds of familiars inside the refectory.

A heavy silence falls, broken only by whispers in the background.

«Does this look like the body of a familiar?!» Aron snaps at Gerard and everyone else.

Then he tears a piece of his own tunic, with the same contempt he used on mine.

My eyes widen in horror.

His body, slightly more muscular than mine, is covered in countless scars, but different from Gerard’s.

The familiar of Priscilla bears mostly whip marks, while Aron’s... entire sections of flesh are torn across his abdomen, his veins swollen and blackened, and a scar shaped like a "D", carved as if by a large blade, near his heart.

«This... this is the body of a familiar!» Aron continues, his tone sharper and more resentful.

He points at the "D"-shaped scar.

«This brand... the brand of the Dulcar family, Count Lucius Dulcar carved it into my flesh right after I became his familiar...»

Then he fixes his gaze on Gerard.

«Hulk, I remember your body the first night you came here. You were covered in blood from the lashes of that devil with fuchsia hair, you couldn’t even lie down on the bunk because your wounds burned so badly, and now... look at Lyon’s body! Everyone, look at him!»

The stares of all those present weigh heavy on me, on my intact skin, apart from a few bruises from fighting with Gerard and Angelica.

«The only marks he has are the ones we gave him, we familiars! Because, in the eyes of vampires, he is special, not trash like us! Last night my master punished me only because I’m not a Predestined Familiar like the little pet of Princess Ayra Volkom. How many of you suffered the same?! How many of you were tormented, tortured, just because you’re not like Lyon?! Just because you’re not... predestined?»

One by one, many raise their hands, some timidly, others more fiercely, adding curses and insults aimed at their vampire masters—and at me.

As if it were really my fault, as if I carried the blame for the tortures they suffered.

Their eyes are filled with hate, almost threatening, making me feel like they could jump me at any moment.

«Do you realize the crap you’re saying?!» I snap, irritated by his absurd accusations. «I’m human, like you, like all of them! I didn’t choose to be a predestined familiar, and it’s ridiculous that you want to blame me for all your misfortunes! But if insulting me and riling up the whole dorm makes you feel better... go ahead! I don’t have the time or the will to waste on your tantrums!»

«My tantrums?!» Aron snaps again, his face twisted in rage. «You call these ’tantrums’?!»

He points at one wound in particular, a long, relatively fresh cut running from his side to his armpit.

«This is your fault, Lyon Volkom!»

«The fault is your master’s, idiot, not mine!» I retort, furious as he is. «If you want to blame someone, blame him!»

«Lyon, enough!» Gerard puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down.

«Aron, the same goes for you!» another familiar intervenes, forcing her way through the crowd.

A girl with long straight brown hair and eyes as blue as the sea.

«The vampires already make our lives hell, we don’t need to make things worse between us!» she exclaims.

«Tsk...»

With a grimace of disdain, Aron vanishes into the crowd.