Chapter 17: Vomiting

After leaving Luoyao’s apartment, Suyue made a phone call.

“I visited Luoyao. From her reactions, it seems she hasn’t been in touch with Noah for a while.”

A low, magnetic female voice replied, “So, we can’t use this Luoyao to lure out Noah, can we?”

“Yeah, we’ll need another plan.”

Suyue rubbed her temples, looking weary.

Half a month ago, she and her Blood Cross squad had critically wounded the S-rank vampire.

Bone-titanium silver bullets pierced Noah’s chest, and she fled through a window.

Logically, a vampire hit in a vital spot with those bullets couldn’t survive beyond twenty-four hours without help.

Yet Suyue’s team scoured a ten-kilometer radius and found no trace of Noah’s body.

That meant she was alive.

Someone had helped her.

Suyue’s first suspect was the blood s*ave Noah let go that night at the supermarket.

After some investigation, she learned Luoyao’s basic info and address.

So she paid a visit to gauge her.

The results were disappointing.

Luoyao’s “I don’t know” answers suggested she’d been apart from Noah for some time.

In Suyue’s mind, vampires were cold and callous.

Ditching a blood s*ave was like tossing out stale bread—no emotional weight.

So… using Luoyao to draw out Noah was likely impossible.

‘Damn… why is catching Noah so hard?’

“Head back to the Church,” the woman on the phone said.

“Got it. Oh, per protocol, don’t we need to follow up with Luoyao at least three more times?”

“Yes, but that’s optional. No need to waste time on an abandoned blood s*ave.”

Suyue paused, her lips curving as she glanced at Luoyao’s balcony. “She’s pretty, though. I was thinking—”

“Enough with the gay stuff, or you’ll get reported for harassing civilians.”

“No, no, trust a seasoned lesbian’s instincts. Our civilian miss might be one of us.”

The woman sighed helplessly. “Do what you want, but hurry back. New mission.”

“Roger.”

***

Midnight, the vampire castle, underground blood vault.

The vault keeper, Anna, sat bored, playing a human computer game called Spider Solitaire.

She was close to clearing the first deck when light footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Anna quickly closed the game, leaned back in her chair, and whistled, pretending nothing happened.

When the footsteps’ owner approached, Anna exhaled in relief. “Phew, it’s just you, Noah.”

“Who else would it be?”

“‘Mom,’ of course. If she caught me gaming, she’d have my head.”

Noah gave a faint chuckle and approached the desk, extending her hand. “Give me the vault key.”

“Huh? This is your fifth time here in half a month.”

Anna handed over the key, saying, “What, no prey to your taste lately?”

“Mind your business.”

“Fine, fine, you’re the senior.”

Anna passed her a rustic bronze key.

Noah took it without another word, heading toward the vault behind Anna.

The castle’s underground blood vault was like a human granary, storing blood for vampires.

During human disasters like earthquakes or plagues, vampires halted their hunts.

Not out of kindness.

If they kept hunting at the same rate during population drops, the hunting grounds would be depleted.

They’d have to find new ones.

Often, that meant fighting the local vampire clans—not worth it.

Plagues were especially bad.

Drinking tainted human blood caused all sorts of issues for vampires.

So, to avoid blood shortages during human crises, they created vaults.

But in recent decades, Noah’s hunting ground—Luoyao’s city—had been calm, free of disasters.

Yet, as Anna noted, this was Noah’s fifth vault visit in half a month.

Vault blood was for emergencies.

Its taste and nutrition couldn’t compare to fresh blood from a living s*ave.

No vampire, unless too injured to hunt, would settle for vault blood.

So… what was Noah’s deal?

She opened the vault, walked in, and headed straight for the B-type blood section.

Luoyao was B-type.

For a blood-feeding race, blood type was a key factor in taste.

The Blood Hunt Church once studied:

Which blood type was most targeted by vampires?

The result: A-type, making up sixty percent of attacks.

After the findings, the Church prioritized protecting A-type humans.

It worked well.

Not that Noah cared.

She preferred B-type.

Or rather… she preferred someone with B-type.

Noah grabbed a bottle from the shelf, uncorked it, and sniffed.

Fresh blood, labeled as stored last week.

Staring at the crimson liquid, she swallowed instinctively.

“I hope… this time it’s fine.”

She closed her eyes, tilted the bottle, and drank it all.

The blood flowed down her throat, settling in her stomach.

The taste and texture weren’t as good as fresh blood but enough to sate her.

Noah’s right hand rested lightly on her stomach, her expression serious.

She focused, feeling the blood move through her.

After a few seconds, no strange reactions.

She sighed in relief. “Good, good, no issues this time.”

She placed the empty bottle back and turned to leave.

But as she stepped forward, her stomach spasmed violently.

Her legs buckled, and she collapsed, clutching her abdomen.

A heavy wave of blood stench hit her throat—

“Urgh—”

All the blood she drank came back up.

Noah lay on the floor, panting heavily, her body trembling weakly.

Staring at the puddle of vomited blood, she clenched her fist in frustration.

This half-month, she’d tried feeding seven times.

Twice from humans, five times from the vault.

But whether fresh or stored, every time she drank, she vomited violently.

“What… is going on?”