My Vampire Harem Will Dominate Everything

Chapter 68: Sacred Blood

Ezra staggered out of the reception hall, each step feeling heavier than the last. The air of the hotel was cool against his skin, but it did little to soothe the storm raging inside of him.

Valaren's roar echoed in his mind, the dragon's fury a constant pressure that threatened to overwhelm him.

He walked briskly, trying to maintain his composure. The bright lights of the hotel blurred around him, his vision swimming as he fought to keep control. He jabbed at the elevator, trying to remember where he parked his car. It felt like an eternity before the elevator arrived and he stumbled inside. Each step was a battle, his vitality being tugged and pulled by the furious dragon.

When Ezra reached his car, his fingers fumbled with the car keys, his usually steady hands shaking. He finally managed to unlock the door and collapsed into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind him. The silence inside the car was deafening, only the sound of his ragged breaths filling the space.

"Valaren, stop!" Ezra whispered through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. The dragon's rage was an almost physical force, clawing at his insides and draining his energy. He felt his strength waning, the edges of his vision darkening as Valaren continued its attack.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the chains that bound the dragon to him. He called up the image of the chains, thick and unbreakable, tightening around Valaren's form. He poured his will into those chains, demanding submission from the beast. "You will not control me," he growled, his voice barely more than a breath.

For a moment, the pressure eased, and Ezra felt a tiny glimmer of hope. But Valaren roared again, a surge of anger that sent a wave of pain crashing through him. He gasped, his head falling back against the seat as he struggled to breathe. The dragon's fury was like a fire, burning through his veins and searing his consciousness.

"No," he whispered, summoning every ounce of his strength. He pictured the chains tightening further, imagined them glowing with a dangerous light that seared the dragon's flesh. "I control you, Valaren. Not the other way around."

The struggle was intense, each moment stretching into an eternity. Valaren kept thrashing like a mad beast. Ezra felt himself slipping, the darkness closing in as his vitality raged. But he held on, gritting his teeth as his will slowly, inexorably, began to reassert control.

Valaren's roars grew fainter, the beast's struggles weakening as the chains tightened further. Ezra could feel the dragon's defiance waver, its fury giving way to a reluctant submission.

Finally! With a final surge of effort, he forced Valaren back into its cage, the chains binding it tightly once more.

Ezra exhaled slowly, his body trembling with exhaustion. The battle had drained him, his vitality completely spent. He slumped forward, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the steering wheel.

The world around him grew hazy, the city lights blurring into indistinct blobs of color. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, the darkness pressing in from all sides. He tried to fight it, but the pull was too strong. His hands strayed towards his phone before the darkness overwhelmed him.

He had one last conscious thought before slipping away. I sure hope Olivia and Gen's mission is going better than mine.

**********

Ezra would have groaned if he could but he couldn't because he was Shadrach once again. At this point, I think I'd just like the dreams all at once instead of bit by bit.

Ezra and the progenitor, walked side by side down a bustling twenty first century city street at night. The air was crisp, filled with the sounds of distant traffic and murmuring pedestrians.

"For a sport that involves kicking a ball around, I didn't know that I would enjoy it so well." The progenitor chuckled. "If my mother ever sees me arguing with the 'plebians' about a sport for the common man, I'll be disowned. Well, if I'm not already."

Ezra chuckled. As always, the action was premeditated.

"So, Shadrach, who do you think will win the UEFA Champions League this year?" the progenitor asked with a hint of amusement.

"Trying to bait me, are you?" Ezra chuckled. "It's hard to say. Barcelona looks strong, but I wouldn't count out Bayern Munich. They've been on fire lately."

The progenitor nodded thoughtfully. "True. But the real king is Madrid. It's fascinating. It's like they're born to win it everytime."

They reached an old apartment building, its walls showing signs of neglect. Paint peeled from the walls, and the stairs creaked as they climbed to the second floor. The hallway was dimly lit with a bulb flickering above them.

"Here we are," the progenitor said, stopping in front of a door. He knocked firmly, and moments later, it swung open.

A man in his late thirties stood in the doorway, his eyes widening with recognition. "Ah, you're here," he said, his voice tinged with relief. "Please, come in."

Ezra stepped in and looked around. The apartment was a picture of hardship. The walls were bare, and the few pieces of furniture were old and mismatched. An air of neglect hung over everything, from the unwashed dishes in the sink to the worn-out sofa with a blanket thrown over it. A small television flickered in the corner.

"Donald," the progenitor greeted warmly, extending a hand. "Thank you for inviting us in."

Donald nodded, closing the door behind them. "I appreciate you coming," he said, his voice shaky. "I've been...struggling."

The progenitor gestured for Donald to sit. "I've considered your request, and I've decided to grant it. But know that in return, you will have to follow me into the abyss. Are you prepared for that?"

Donald looked at him, eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, I'm ready. I can't keep living like this." His voice cracked.

The progenitor nodded solemnly. "Very well."

He took Donald's arm and bit into it, the act both deliberate and gentle. Donald winced but didn't pull away. The progenitor drank for a few moments, then withdrew, offering his own wrist to Donald. He manifested a claw and dragged a line through it, black blood flowing out.

"Drink, and let the transformation begin," he instructed.

Donald hesitated only briefly before taking the progenitor's wrist and drinking. After a few gulps, the progenitor gently tapped Donald's forehead, and he slumped back onto the sofa, unconscious. "This will spare him the pain of the transformation," the progenitor explained.

Ezra watched fascinated. He hadn't been awake during his own transformation.

The progenitor turned to him, his gaze intense. "Blood is powerful, Shadrach. It carries our essence, our very life force. The blood of a vampire is both a gift and a curse."

He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Do you know the most powerful blood of all? It is the blood that is freely given. It carries a strength that cannot be replicated. This is why a vampire cannot be forced to turn someone. The act must be voluntary, born out of willingness and acceptance."

Ezra nodded in understanding even though he didn't understand. He wanted to ask questions but he couldn't. Damn you! Whoever sends me dreams, damn you to hell!

The progenitor's gaze softened. "Good. Remember this, Shadrach. The bonds we create through our blood are sacred. They are the foundation of our existence, the ties that bind us to one another. Let me tell you a story."

As the progenitor began speaking, the dream began to fade. For the first time, Ezra wanted to stay longer in the dream.

No. No. No. Nooooo!

But it all faded away.