136: As an Aspiring Veela

The silver-haired girl bypassed Ligeitoli entirely, greeting Nolan as if the golden-haired elf had never existed in the first place.

Ligeitoli, clearly displeased, stepped in front of Nolan with an aggressive stance. "Hello, cowgirl," she said, her tone full of hostility. "I don't think my boyfriend wants to talk to you. He was just telling me that you're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

The silver-haired girl raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?" She let out a delicate laugh, causing another round of groans and sighs from the surrounding men. Then she fluttered her lashes at Nolan and said, "Your girlfriend sure likes to spout nonsense. I know for a fact that no boy can resist my charm—not even you. Isn't that right?"

Nolan frowned. "Then you're very much mistaken. I don't dislike girls with charm, but I do dislike one particular kind—" He stopped speaking and merely mouthed the word: "A Veela."

The girl's face turned pale for a second before she quickly masked it with another radiant smile. "Let's get acquainted, shall we?" she said with effortless elegance. "I'm from France—yes, that France, the center of the world, the most beautiful and luxurious country on Earth. My name is Fleur Delacour, and as you might have guessed, I am a—" She, too, mouthed the word: "Veela."

Ligeitoli blinked, then turned to Nolan and asked, "France is the center of the world?"

The little vampire responded indifferently, "That's not entirely wrong. If the world had a center, it would be Paris. I went there once with Felicia. The Muggle craftsmanship is remarkable, and they have plenty of sweets you'd love."

"I really want to visit now!" The elf was immediately excited.

Nolan shook his head. "No surprise, given you're only half elf. You're straying further and further from the traditional elven way of life."

Ligeitoli pouted but continued, "But I heard England is supposed to be the best."

Nolan sighed. "Queen Victoria has been dead for a hundred years."

Honestly, how outdated was this elf's knowledge?

Then again, a century might not mean much to her kind.

Fleur, meanwhile, was growing impatient. "You still haven't introduced yourself, handsome."

"Oh, drop the act. Stop trying to use your enchantment on me—it won't work." Nolan scoffed, tilting his head dismissively. "I'm from Hogwarts. And her—" He pulled back Ligeitoli's golden hair to reveal her pointed elf ears. "See? Your 'incredible charm' doesn't work on us."

Fleur pursed her lips. "A wizard and an elf... how unfortunate." She shrugged and lost interest, continuing forward. But as she passed Nolan, she whispered, "Not many wizards can resist my allure. Either you're very powerful... or you're something special. I'll remember you."

With that, she found herself a quiet corner, sat down, and—surprisingly—stopped exuding her Veela magic entirely.

"What an annoying woman," Ligeitoli muttered under her breath. "I think I finally understand why you hate Veela so much."

"I've always said there's a difference between having a convenient ability and abusing it." Nolan replied coolly.

Half an hour later, their ship arrived. Ligeitoli was practically bouncing with excitement as she skipped onto the vessel like a mischievous child—despite being over a hundred and thirty years old.

Nolan had booked two rooms on the cruise, but once they boarded, he began regretting it. The elf girl seemed entirely uninterested in leaving the dining hall, effectively wasting one of the rooms.

He spent the afternoon holed up in his cabin, avoiding the harsh sunlight. It was only after nightfall, when the moon emerged, that he stepped onto the deck.

The sea breeze was crisp, and the deck swayed gently beneath his feet.

Unlike London's sweltering summer, the ocean air was refreshingly cool.

Just then, an owl swooped down and landed on his outstretched arm. He handed it two Sickles as payment for its journey before untying the parchment attached to its leg.

It was a letter from Professor McGonagall. She had finalized the date for his meeting with the Transfiguration masters and expressed her hope that he would arrive on time.

Nolan penned a quick reply, confirming his attendance, then tossed the owl back into the night sky.

That was when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

It was the Veela girl—Fleur Delacour.

"Am I interrupting you?" she asked smoothly. She was dressed in a coffee-colored evening gown, gracefully gathering her silver hair into a loose updo. The refined aura she carried was undeniably regal.

Fleur's voice was just as melodious as before. "I saw you sending a letter just now."

"Oh, just the Daily Prophet," Nolan replied casually, watching the owl disappear into the distance.

Fleur scoffed, clearly unconvinced. She walked up to him and leaned forward against the railing, resting her upper body on it with an air of effortless grace. "Are you waiting here to watch the sunrise? Why not come to my cabin instead? I have excellent coffee. If you prefer, there's also wine. We could chat about Hogwarts..."

"Sunrise? No. I only like the night." Nolan chuckled softly. "And I hate coffee."

As he turned toward her, his aura—dark and intoxicating—washed over her like an overwhelming tide.

Fleur's breath hitched.

—Vampires, as magical creatures, ranked far above Veela. While their enchanting abilities were perhaps comparable, their magical resistance was leagues apart.—

A sudden dizziness overtook Fleur. It was as if she had stepped into a dreamlike illusion where nothing existed but him.

She was drawn in, completely ensnared, her face flushing red as she took a slow, hesitant step closer.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, reaching up to gently caress Nolan's face. "I want to kiss you so badly..."

She leaned in, her lips parting—

—only to be halted by a single, cool fingertip pressed against her mouth.

A shiver ran through her, snapping her back to reality.

Nolan smirked wickedly and leaned in, his breath brushing her ear as he whispered, "Doesn't feel great to be controlled by someone else's charm, does it?"

Fleur took a step back, her momentary warmth replaced by an icy glare. "You have Veela blood?" Her voice was now sharp, stripped of its earlier playfulness. "Maybe you think toying with me like this is amusing, but frankly, it's childish."

Nolan tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. "Let me take a guess, Delacour. As a Veela, you enjoy watching men grovel at your feet—" his gaze flicked downward briefly, "—even though you're not wearing a skirt right now. But now you've encountered the one man you can't conquer, and it frustrates you."

Fleur's lips pressed together. "I won't deny that," she admitted coldly. "Because I am attractive."

Nolan's voice was devoid of warmth. "What's attractive is your bloodline, Delacour—not you as an individual."

He turned away, striding toward the cabin without looking back. "That doesn't give you the right to use your abilities on me. Don't bother me again. And stop using your charm so recklessly—stay out of trouble. I won't warn you a third time."

"Oh, bloody hell! He's nothing like a proper English gentleman!" Fleur stomped her foot in frustration before calling after him, "Go check on your little elf girlfriend, wizard boy! I saw a pest buzzing around her on this ship!"

Nolan lifted a hand lazily in acknowledgment. "Appreciate the warning, Veela."

And with that, he disappeared below deck.