Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride

The pain had dulled, but it never left.

Each step reminded him—ribs tight, lip still split, vision blurred slightly on one side. The swelling would fade in a day or two. The memory of fists slamming into his jaw would linger far longer.

Let them see it.

He didn't wear his coat. Didn't bother to hide the bruises with magic or salve. The robe over his shoulders hung loose, white linen stained faintly pink where gauze pressed against reopened cuts.

The full chamber echoed with a stifling silence. Elders muttering, eyes flicking his way the moment the doors opened. Some stood. Others didn't bother.

Three empty chairs.

Cowards.

He took his seat—slowly, deliberately—ignoring the scraping of wood as others adjusted themselves. No one greeted him. No one offered a word.

Until one did.

"So this is what a leader looks like now?"

Vasili Petrov. Grey hair. Fat fingers thick with rings. One of the oldest and least useful. The kind of man who never bled for a cause, never fought, and still expected others to kneel.

"You come here bruised and bloodied, like some drunk pulled out of a brothel fight, and expect us to follow?"

Nikolai looked at him, didn't bother to speak, or even blink at his words.

Vasili's voice lifted, emboldened by silence. "What happened last night was a disgrace. You didn't just lose. You were humiliated. You let a retired traitor beat you to the ground in front of witnesses. You've made a mockery of the Volkov name."

Another elder shifted beside him. There it was—that flicker of agreement. The beginnings of doubt.

Good.

Let them bare their teeth.

Let them think him weak.

"So," Nikolai said, voice low, steady, "step down."

Vasili blinked. "What?"

"If you can do better, Vasili, take the seat. Lead the Moonlight Alliance. Face the Nosferatu. Bleed in front of your people."

He leaned back, the sound of his chair creaking louder than any voice in the room. "But you won't. Because you'd piss yourself at the first howl."

The room fell still.

A few gazes shifted.

The other elders said nothing.

"You wanted a puppet," Nikolai said quietly. "You got a wolf. You can vote, you can bark, you can plot. But this seat isn't going anywhere."

He didn't yell because there was no reason to.

A low, cold voice, like a blade cutting through the nonsense.

The fear of Nosferatu caused many of these people to quiver in fear. None of them would challenge him now—not while the bruises were fresh, and the scent of his blood still hung in the air like iron and defiance.

And that terrified them more than anything.

The silence that followed was heavier than any blow Alaric had landed.

Then—

"Enough."

Dimitri Fenrir's voice cut across the tension like a drawn blade. Deep. Gravel-thick. The kind of voice that commanded battalions.

He stood, the air around him seeming to still. His heavy frame radiated presence, his yellow eyes locked on Vasili.

"You question strength?" he asked. "Then stand, Vasili. Let's see if you survive five seconds with him. Or even with me."

Vasili flinched.

Dimitri scoffed. "No? Then shut your mouth before you embarrass the seat you claim to hold."

Some of the elders nodded. Others looked away.

But a voice rose from the back, soft and sly.

"Easy to defend your own blood, isn't it, Fenrir?"

It came from Lev Markov—9th Seat. Shadowy, quiet, always watching. "How convenient that the one who married your daughter now sits at the top. Is this about strength? Or inheritance?"

The shift was instant.

Dimitri's nostrils flared. His eyes darkened—but he said nothing.

Not because he was wrong.

But now, his truth didn't matter.

Nikolai watched it happen: the respect drained out of the room, replaced with suspicion. One wrong word from Dimitri now, and it would only confirm what they feared.

Nepotism.

That was when she spoke.

Seraphina Volkova stood slowly, graceful, unfazed.

"If we've devolved to cheap accusations, then this council is already rotting."Her voice was soft. Clear. But there was no mistaking the steel beneath it.

"He bled. He stood. He didn't run."

She looked at Vasili. Then at Lev. Then at the others.

"I don't care if he married your daughter, or your sister, or your mistress," she said, gaze flicking toward Dimitri without emotion. "He endured what many here wouldn't. That should be the measure."

No one interrupted her.

"Whether he's worthy to lead long-term—that remains to be seen. But this moment?"She gestured toward Nikolai.

"He's earned it."

There was no applause. No agreement voiced.

But no one challenged her either.

And in council, silence was consent.

The silence held for a moment longer, then shifted, cracked, and scattered like frost underfoot.

A voice to his right spoke next, dry and clipped.

"If we're finished with sentiment," said Irina Zharkov, her pale gaze unfazed, "perhaps we can return to the matter at hand."

Her fingers drummed lightly on the frozen metal trim of her seat, leaving behind a faint sheen of frost.

"The Nosferatu."

Nikolai tilted his head. He didn't thank Seraphina. Didn't acknowledge Irina. Just listened. Observed. Watched the wolves settle into a rhythm again.

"We spotted watchers near the eastern ridge four days ago," Irina continued. "Yesterday, another group was seen in the southern river valleys."

Kazan Orlov nodded beside her, arms folded loosely across his chest. "And this morning, a report came in from my scouts—movement near the Capital."

"The Spine is supposed to be neutral territory," Lev Markov muttered. "No faction dares to touch it openly."

"Then perhaps the Nosferatu have grown tired of subtlety," Seraphina replied. "Or they believe we've grown too fractured to respond."

A beat passed.

Then all eyes turned to Nikolai.

He met them without blinking. Even with one eye half-swollen shut, he looked straight through each of them.

"Let them watch," he said. "Let them think we're divided. Let them underestimate us."

His voice carried just enough edge, calm but cold.

"They saw me fall. Good. They'll believe I'm weak. Let that thought nest inside them like rot."

He stood.

Slowly. Not defiantly. Just enough to shift the air again.

"When they strike, I'll be ready. And when I rise, I want their leaders to wonder who lied to them."

Kazan tilted his head. "That's not a war plan."

"No," Nikolai said, stepping down from the platform. "It's bait."

Some scoffed. Others stayed quiet. But none challenged it.

He moved to leave, steps deliberate.

Then paused.

"Double the patrols in the south," he said without turning. "Have Tatiana's beasts run the river routes again. Quietly. No signals. No shows of force."

He glanced at Irina. "Send your frostbirds north. I want anything that moves tracked."

"And what will you do?" Vasili's voice came again, low and bitter.

Nikolai didn't even look at him.

"I'm going to rest.

"So feel free to complain and whine, like a child."

The doors opened.

He left them in silence.

——

Shortly After the Council Meeting

Amphitrite POV

——

Amphitrite closed the door behind her without a word.

Leona stood near the stacked linen shelves, posture stiff, pretending to organise bandages that didn't need sorting. She didn't turn. Smart. She knew why Amphitrite was here.

Her uniform was fresh, pressed, spotless—too spotless. The kind of clean that came after a full-body scrub done in a panic.

Amphitrite took her time. She strolled across the room like she owned it, because for this moment, she did. Her heels clicked once, then stopped. The silence dragged.

"Mmm…" she hummed gently. "Lavender soap. Linen starch. And…"

She sniffed once, delicately.

"…his seed. Faint. But still there."

Leona's cheeks darkened as her face lowered.

"Oh~ don't look so stiff."

Amphitrite stepped closer, snorting with a smirk while folding her arms and pushing up her breasts. "I'm not here to scold you, but... simply curious."

"Was it the hands? Or the eyes?"

Amphitrite tilted her head and spoke with a light voice. "His swollen cock, or that handsome face?"

Leona's mouth twitched.

She looked ready to speak—but bit it down.

"Mm. Not bad," Amphitrite said with a soft smile. "You know, you'd make a terrible liar if you ever tried. You wear your arousal like perfume."

Leona's fingers clenched behind her back. Her voice came out tight.

"I didn't plan it."

"Oh, no. That part I believe." Amphitrite stepped closer, close enough to catch the flicker of shame hiding behind the woman's eyes. "Spur-of-the-moment lust. Hard to blame you. A powerful man. Unconscious. Weak. You took a little for yourself. A taste."

Leona looked away. "I didn't mean—"

"You wanted it." Amphitrite cut in gently, but firmly. "And you still do. That's nothing to be ashamed of. But you should understand what it means."

Another step closer.

Now they were only a pace apart.

"There are women in this house," she whispered, "who have fought beside him, bled for him, cried for him… and made him moan in ways you've only dreamed of."

Leona's shoulders tensed. But she didn't move.

"So," Amphitrite continued, "if you just want to bend over and have him take you, that's easy. Wear shorter skirts. Stand closer. He'll notice eventually. If you're pretty enough, he'll fuck you."

A beat.

"But if you want to matter… if you want a place at his side—not his bed—you'll need more than soft hands and a tight pussy."

Leona's voice came quietly. "What more can I offer?"

Finally.

Amphitrite's smile sharpened—not cruel, just sharper.

"Good question."

She circled her slowly, her voice like a tide.

"He doesn't need another servant. Or another worshipper. He's surrounded by both. What he lacks… are voices that challenge him. Paths he hasn't seen. Someone to pull him aside and say, 'That was the wrong move. Do better.'"

She paused behind her.

"You think he needs comfort. But what he needs is direction. Alternatives. New methods."

Leona turned her head, enough to glance over her shoulder.

"And if I don't have any of that?"

Amphitrite leaned in close, breath brushing her ear.

"Then you should stop pretending you want to serve him—and start admitting you just want to be used."

Leona sucked in a breath—soft, shamed, angry. It didn't matter which.

Amphitrite stepped away, walking toward the door.

"I don't mind competition," she said casually. "But don't insult us both by offering half of yourself."

Her hand touched the doorknob.

"Oh—and next time?" She looked over her shoulder, eyes gleaming. "Don't waste it on your hands. He likes to finish inside our mouth the most."

Then she left.