My Stepmom Is A Vampire & Her Entire Bloodline Wants To Breed Me Chapter 61: The Inauguration Of Seamus

Today marked the return of Diane and Leah from a mission Seamus knew nothing about. Diane was Viviane’s younger sister, while Leah was Isolde’s elder sister.

Once, they had all been part of one sprawling family; now they were vampires. The reasons behind that transformation were stories Seamus no longer cared to hear.

In truth, he wanted nothing more to do with Velstrath at all. Except, perhaps, for the dagger his mother owned, etched with the family’s symbol.

That was a mystery he would have to ask Madeline about, or research himself.

It had been over two weeks since he had begun sleeping with Isolde. The act disgusted him, but he needed her to keep leveling up. Now he stood at Level 33, just two more levels before he could reach his third evolution.

That was all that mattered.

He kept hunting Savages, searching for the mysterious "vampire" Isolde had ntioned, yet still found nothing.

’Does that vampire even exist?’ he wondered grimly.

Nonetheless, he continued killing other vampires, taking their Vitalis Cores, but none of them responded to Viviane and sotis he would read in the library about the vampire resurrection.

He tried hard not to lean on Isolde or Madeline anymore. After all, they were vampires that he refused to believe.

But for now, Seamus is doing sothing important.

He now stood in the center of a subterranean hall, its floor black marble, its walls dark wood. Hidden beneath the Velstrath mansion, it was a place ant for secrecy, a chamber for his inauguration.

He had barely listened to Isolde’s explanations—he hated her voice—but he understood at least this much: he would have to drink blood, and others would drink his. Sothing like that.

In his hand was a black candle. When the bell of the great clock tolled, the fla flared blood-red. All around him, identical candles ignited, bathing the room in a crimson glow.

Suddenly three figures materialized, circling him. Black robes shrouded their bodies and faces.

’This looks like a cult,’ he thought with a scowl.

It reminded him of an old horror film he had once watched with Viviane, about a cult summoning a demon gone wrong.

The robed figures’ candles dripped black wax that slithered to the floor and coalesced into serpents.

The snakes glided toward him, winding around his feet to form a huge circle. So converged into a single shape: the Velstrath crest, a viper coiled around a sword.

The sigil pulsed crimson. The viper uncoiled from the sword and erged from the glowing symbol, rising before Seamus before it shifted shape into Madeline.

She wore a white, elegant robe bearing the Velstrath mark. In her hands rested a silver chalice and a dagger.

"Seamus," she said, her tone solemn—nothing like her usual nonchalance—"tonight you will officially join Velstrath. As a subject of protection, my blood must flow into you, marking you as one of us."

She sliced her wrist. The blood that welled forth was not red or black like a vampire’s but silver. She let it stream into the chalice until it glowed a brilliant red.

Seamus longed to ask the obvious question—Will I beco a vampire after drinking this?—but there was no point.

He already was one, just not like them.

And they still didn’t seem to know the extent of his powers, least of all Isolde.

When the chalice was half-full, Madeline handed it to him.

"Drink everything," she said with a faint smirk. "And don’t spit it out."

He rolled his eyes. "I’m not a child."

Still, the sll of blood sickened him, the tallic tang of iron, the sticky texture against his throat. He drank anyway, even as his stomach protested and threatened to heave.

’Aren’t I a vampire? Why can’t I drink soone’s blood?’

For a mont he felt like an impostor, standing in the middle of their ritual, candlelight glinting off silver blood.

When Seamus finally lowered the chalice, a grimace twisted his face. The blood burned like tal down his throat.

Around him, the robed won chuckled softly at his reaction, as if it was funny for them to see human troubled expression drinking blood.

Madeline stepped forward, caught his hand, and turned his wrist upward. "And as paynt for my rit," she said smoothly, "I will take your blood."

Without hesitation, she bared her fangs and sank them into his wrist. He hissed as pain lanced up his arm.

Red droplets spilled to the marble floor, and at once the won surrounding him grew restless, as if the scent of his blood alone was enough to drive them mad.

When Madeline finally released him, she smirked. "Welco to Velstrath, Seamus." Her smile turned almost gentle. "My part is done. I leave you to the rest."

She turned, winked, and vanished into the shadows. Seamus barely had ti to wonder what she ant before two of the robed won were suddenly at his side, moving so fast he hadn’t heard their steps.

"Huh?" He tried to turn his head.

A hand clamped over it, tilting it to expose his neck.

"Mmm. As expected of the Crimson Nectar," a soft voice murmured near his ear. "His blood slls too good. I’ve never scented anything like it in my life."

A second voice—older, steadier—chid in. "You’re still young, Diane. That’s why."

Then a sharp clap rang out, and the mouth hovering at Seamus’s skin stopped short.

It was Isolde. She lowered her hood and t Diane’s eyes. "Patience, girl. You don’t want to hurt him."

The young woman holding Seamus snorted. "Let be, Mother. I’ve been in the field too long. The last blood I drank was from a deer, not even one of those nasty blood bags you keep from the hospitals."

Isolde rolled her eyes. "You’re too spoiled. Now let go of him, Diane."

"Tch." Diane finally released her grip, and the other woman—Leah—stepped back as well.

Both lowered their hoods. Seamus’s eyes widened at the sight before him. Diane was almost a mirror of Viviane.

Her hair was short but the sa fiery red, her eyes a brilliant ruby. The delicate bone structure, the small mouth and nose, were nearly identical.

"Viviane?" he whispered before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Of course, it wasn’t her. Diane was Viviane’s sister. Still, the resemblance was uncanny, more than even Isolde’s features could explain, despite her being their mother.

Diane, too, seed stunned. Her eyes flickered with emotions she couldn’t quite hide. "Oh," she said softly. "So you really do love my sister, don’t you?"

"What a fool. Both of your relationships were dood from the start."