Chapter 24: The Visit

"Huh?" Glen blinked, momentarily distracted. The old Wolf King? Sounds like the head of some pack. Is she implying he'd forbid me from selling pork? That's absurdly domineering. Lost in thought, he stayed silent for a beat.

Miss Abnormal, noticing his distraction, chuckled lightly, pulling his focus back. "Well, Mr. Werewolf? Feeling scared yet? Don't tell me you think that little bit of power makes you invincible? That old Wolf King is terrifying. He could crush ten of you without breaking a sweat."

Glen ignored her baiting expression and her question entirely, his tone turning impatient. "Are you buying anything or not?"

"What?" Miss Abnormal was stunned again, then fury flashed across her face. "Are you mocking me?!"

Glen rolled his eyes. "Mocking you how? Get on with it. Buy something or get lost. Don't block my customers."

Her laugh was sharp, incredulous. What status does this stray mongrel have? And what status do I possess? She'd only approached out of idle curiosity, finding the sight of a werewolf peddling meat among humans bizarrely amusing. A mere diversion; beneath her notice, really. But his repeated, baffling defiance made her feel genuinely played.

"Filthy mongrel!" Her pupils shifted from black to a vivid, unnatural crimson. A wave of palpable, chilling killing intent washed over Glen. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

Glen remained utterly unmoved by the oppressive aura. Mirroring her earlier pose, he leaned forward over the counter, arms braced, meeting her crimson gaze head-on. His voice was low, deliberate, and carried an undeniable force. "Get. Out."

The final word resonated with a deep, guttural timbre, like a demon's growl, hitting her with immense pressure.

"You!" Her chest heaved with rage. One gloved hand gripped a wooden beam of the stall, her nails piercing through the fabric and digging deep into the wood, making it groan and splinter.

She was incensed. A werewolf of his supposed level should have been crushed by her aura, trembling on his knees. Yet this man not only resisted, he dared to defy her?

Just as Glen braced for an attack, Miss Abnormal took a deep, shuddering breath. The fury vanished, replaced once more by a brittle smile. "Mr. Werewolf, what is your name?"

"Thought you were gonna start swinging," Glen scoffed, rolling his eyes again. "Glen. Glen Nibancrew. Come find me if you've got a problem."

Miss Abnormal nearly choked on her anger. "Fighting? I am not some crude, lowborn beast like your kind." She muttered his name under her breath. "Fine. I'll remember it, Mr. Glen. We will meet again." She turned to leave.

Glen frowned, calling out hastily, "Aren't you going to tell me your name? That's rather ill-mannered!"

"Who are you calling ill-mannered?!" Her composure shattered instantly.

"Then what's your name?"

"Morphe! Morphe Elton!"

Glen repeated it slowly. "Hmm. Catchy."

"Anything else, Mr. Werewolf?" Morphe's tone was icy.

Glen openly raked his gaze over her, head to toe, the scrutiny lasting just long enough to make her visibly bristle before he spoke, his voice lowered so passing crowds wouldn't hear. "You're a vampire?"

Morphe turned back to him stiffly. "You hadn't figured that out until now?"

Glen nodded.

Morphe pressed a gloved hand to her face – a gesture she normally abhorred, but she couldn't help it this time. "For a race supposedly opposed to us Kindred, you are remarkably… unobservant."

"So you are a vampire…" Glen mused thoughtfully. "What are you doing here then? Hunting food?" His posture subtly shifted, ready to strike if she confirmed it.

"Who says we Kindred must feed on human blood?" Morphe retorted, her expression twisting with disgust as she glanced at the passing commoners. "These humans… they rarely bathe, covered in filth. Good heavens, even some so-called nobles! They don't wash, then drench themselves in pungent concoctions to mask the stench of sweat. Revolting! I'd rather die than sink my fangs into such creatures!" She straightened, radiating hauteur. "A Kindred of my refined taste and elegance partakes only from magical beings of purity. That is fitting for one of my stature."

Glen relaxed slightly. Ignoring the evasion of her true purpose, he readily agreed. "Absolutely, absolutely. Us filthy, lowborn creatures are utterly unworthy of your noble palate. Best go find something more… suitable."

A smug smile touched Morphe's lips. "You possess discernment. And self-awareness." She adjusted her elegant hat, lifted her chin, and melted into the crowd.

Glen watched her vanish, only the faint, peculiar scent lingering. He murmured under his breath, "This town's peace is thinner than it looks…"

The flow of people ebbed and flowed as evening approached. Glen's black boar hadn't sold out. Seeing the streets thin to scattered pedestrians, he decided to pack up.

The day's earnings barely topped a thousand copper coins – less than half his previous haul. The leftover meat would be his to deal with. Bagging the butchering waste, Glen closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he sifted through the air for a specific scent.

A few seconds later, his eyes snapped open. "Found it."

Orienting himself, Glen hitched up his cart and set off towards his target.

"Bonnie, please come down and eat something. Really, you can't go on like this. I'm so worried."

Inside a modest two-story house, a middle-aged woman stood at the foot of the stairs, her face etched with deep concern as she looked up towards the second floor.

"I'm not hungry, Mama. I just want to be alone." The voice drifting down was listless, unmistakably young.

"But if you don't eat, you'll make yourself ill."

"I'll come down if I get hungry. Please don't worry so much, Mama. You eat first."

"But… alright…" The woman finally lowered her head, the lines around her eyes seeming deeper. She stared blankly at the simple meal on the table – coarse rye bread and a pot of bean stew – her own appetite gone, lost in troubled thoughts.

Thump. Thump.

Two firm knocks shattered the heavy silence. The woman started, then hurried to the door, wondering who it could be. Probably one of Bonnie's friends. They're the only ones who visit now.

The door creaked open. Standing on the threshold wasn't a familiar teenager, but an unfamiliar young man. Instinctive wariness tightened her features.

"Good evening, Ma'am. I'm a friend of Bonnie's. I heard she hasn't been feeling well lately and wanted to check on her. Apologies for disturbing you."

Glen spoke first, his greeting clear and polite.