Marry to Alpha or Vampire?

After her conversation with Cyril, Hazel returned home under the protection of Carlotta and Viola. She felt utterly exhausted and needed some relaxation. Hazel undressed and headed into the bathroom, opting for a soothing bath.

The bathroom was filled with steam as the glass fogged up. Hazel submerged herself in the bathtub, letting the water flow over her head.

Gradually, Hazel began to relax, feeling everything around her blur. She stood up from the tub, wrapped herself in a towel, and her body swayed. Her ears were filled with a buzzing sound.

Hazel steadied herself by leaning against the wall. She watched as the bathroom’s colors slowly faded away, the white walls turning black, the bathtub vanishing, and the chandelier disappearing. In their place, she found herself in a spacious room. A brown sofa rested against the wall, bookshelves filled with numerous volumes, and a desk with only a few sheets of paper, an ink bottle, and a quill. Hazel reached out to touch them but found that she couldn’t make contact with anything in the room.

A masked man entered the room, his unique aura and the mask on his face making Hazel recognize him as the mysterious man she had spoken to at the bonfire party. Hazel’s gaze traveled across his tall figure, observing every inch of his muscles.

The masked man stood on the opposite side of Hazel, halted, and slowly removed his mask. Hazel tried to touch his face, but it felt like there was a thin layer of mist separating them.

Hazel furrowed her brows. She felt her heart beating strongly as she looked at the unmasked man. Without the mask, he appeared even more mysterious. For the first time, she noticed his heterochromia: one eye was green, and the other was golden. He smiled, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on where Hazel stood.

“Beautiful, did you find me?” The man with the crystal-clear eyes looked at Hazel, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Hazel was taken aback, hearing the man’s voice. She tried to speak, “What’s your name?”

“Hawthorne,” the man replied, parting his thin lips, maintaining a faint smile.

Hazel repeated the name “Hawthorne” to herself, trying to etch it firmly into her mind.

“How did you end up here? Where is this?” Hazel was curious about her surroundings. It looked like a study, but why was there a massive stone cauldron inside, with some green and red unknown liquids simmering in it?

Hawthorne smiled, his face pale, lacking any hint of color, as if he had lived in a place without sunlight for a long time. “This is my study, my dear. You’ve trespassed.”

“I’ve trespassed?” Hazel’s eyes were filled with confusion. She didn’t understand what Hawthorne meant. However, she could sense herself moving forward. She was getting closer to Hawthorne, and she couldn’t understand how or why.

Hawthorne sat on the sofa, and Hazel’s bewildered expression seemed to amuse him.

“Hazel, you belong here,” Hawthorne’s voice was as clear as a mountain spring, and every word seeped into Hazel’s heart. She felt like her mind was under Hawthorne’s spell.

Apart from the room and Hawthorne’s face, Hazel couldn’t remember anything else. It felt like a dream, yet everything around her seemed real.

“No, I don’t belong here,” Hazel replied. Another man’s face appeared in her mind, and his voice lingered in her thoughts. Hazel seemed to recall something.

She walked toward the sofa where Hawthorne was seated. He sat on the sofa, his eyes strikingly bright, dressed in an unbuttoned white shirt that exposed his strong chest. Hazel wanted to touch Hawthorne’s face, but it instantly blurred again.

Seeing Hazel in a towel, her hair wet, and her eyes a bit dazed, Hawthorne seized her hand, pressing her firmly onto the sofa.

“Hazel, you must remember; you belong here. You found me,” Hawthorne’s head rested against Hazel’s neck. He gently inhaled her scent, as alluring as her face. This fragrance was intoxicating.

“It’s not me who found you,” Hazel’s voice trembled, and everything around her seemed unreal.

“But you’ve wondered about it, haven’t you?” Hawthorne’s voice seemed to possess an enchanting power, and Hazel felt like she couldn’t remember anything. She wanted to stay, but another voice kept echoing in her mind. The two voices clashed within her thoughts.

Hazel tried to ignore what Hawthorne was saying, but she couldn’t deny that she had once speculated about Hawthorne’s identity. But who was he, and how had she ended up here? Hazel had no answers.

“Hawthorne, let me go,” Hazel’s mind began to clear slightly. She could feel Hawthorne’s kisses on her cheeks and the corners of her mouth, his grip tight around her waist. She realized how strong he was as she couldn’t break free from his embrace.

Hazel attempted to call for her wolf, Rita, but Rita didn’t respond, a situation she’d never encountered before.

“Hazel, this is where you belong,” Hawthorne whispered, his lips grazing Hazel’s neck. He inhaled deeply and was overwhelmed by Hazel’s scent. Hawthorne’s hard body pressed tightly against Hazel’s soft skin. His hand gently caressed Hazel’s exposed flesh, and his eyes gleamed with ambition and desire.

Hazel’s throat tightened, her eyes growing hazy. She wanted to push Hawthorne away, but her heart seemed unable to resist his closeness. She was puzzled by the situation.

“Hazel… Hazel…” Her mind felt heavy, and a familiar voice entered her thoughts, but she couldn’t remember who it belonged to.

“Wake up, Hazel.” Hazel’s gaze gradually cleared, and she seemed to recall something.

Who could it be? Who was calling her name?

“Cyril.” Hazel widened her eyes; she remembered. This was Cyril’s voice.

Hawthorne’s expression shifted slightly, and he concealed his smile. It appeared he wasn’t fond of hearing Cyril’s name from Hazel.

“Hazel, look at me. We’re meant to be together,” Hawthorne held Hazel’s chin and kissed her lips.

The moment Hawthorne’s lips met Hazel’s, something seemed to explode in her mind. Everything around her shattered, and the room lost its reality. Hawthorne’s face enlarged before her eyes. He was extremely handsome, exuding both nobility and elegance. His voice was bewitching, irresistible, and his heterochromatic eyes added to his aura of mystery.

The liquid in the stone pot continued to boil. Hazel gazed at the mixture of green and red fluids, feeling her eyes might turn red too.

Hawthorne got up from the sofa, and Hazel struggled free from his grasp. He walked to the desk, picked up a feather pen, and looked at Hazel, a faint smile still playing on his lips.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Hawthorne, who are you really?” Hazel’s gaze cleared gradually as she distanced herself from Hawthorne. Her thoughts became clearer, and she realized that Hawthorne wasn’t a werewolf; she couldn’t sense any werewolf presence about him.

“Listen, Hazel. I am a vampire. Remember me, remember everything about me.” Hazel only caught the word ‘vampire.’ She could only see Hawthorne’s enchanting smile, and everything around her blurred once more.

Hazel felt uneasy within, Hawthorne disappeared, and his study vanished. Her eyes darkened, and the surroundings threatened to swallow her. She stood still, feeling the space spinning, unsure which direction to move in. She was trapped.

“Hazel… Hazel…” Cyril’s voice echoed once more, as if guiding her way.

Hazel moved in the direction of Cyril’s voice. She saw a beam of light at the end, and her temples began to throb. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the intense, blinding light.

As Hazel reestablished her connection with Rita, her brain seemed to clear. She emerged from the bathtub, wiping the water from her face with her hands.

“Damn it.” The next second, Hazel saw Cyril standing in front of her, having barged into her bathroom.