DAGON MANSION

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: AN UNEXPECTED HELP

The room stank of decay and corruption.

Mia stood over the corpse, its flesh already sinking, its veins blackening like rotting vines beneath parchment skin. A sour, fetid scent — sweet and putrid like spoiled blood — thickened the air. She cracked the window, hoping the night might swallow the stench, but the foulness clung stubbornly.

Her shoulder throbbed with the vampire's parting kiss — a wound burning like poisoned fire.

A knock shattered the stillness.

Mia stiffened. She opened the door to find Theolinda, pale beneath the hall light.

"Hello, Mia."

Mia glanced down the corridor, paranoia clawing at her spine.

"Quickly. Come in. I have... a situation."

Theolinda entered, and immediately flinched.

"What on earth is that smell?"

Mia led her to the examination room. Theolinda gasped — hand to throat — at the sight of the corpse.

"What—what happened?"

"I killed him," Mia whispered, voice trembling like stained glass in a storm.

"But he looks... as if he's been dead for days."

"He's a vampire," Mia murmured. "Time treats them strangely."

Silence fell like dust over an abandoned chapel. Then Theolinda's gaze caught the torn flesh at Mia's shoulder.

"He attacked you. You need a doctor."

"That is the least of my problems." Mia inhaled sharply. "What do we do about him?"

"First, we leave that room." Theolinda pulled her away; the air outside felt like salvation. "Second, we pray no one asks questions."

Mia's breath shivered. "And Ryan—?"

"We cannot reach him." Theolinda glanced at her. "And God knows I wish we could."

A sudden knock jolted both women. Then a man's voice — gentle but strained:

"Mia? I heard a crash — and a woman's voice. Are you all right? Please let me help."

Theolinda leaned close. "Who is that?"

"Randolf," Mia whispered. "A physical therapist next door."

"Mia," Randolf called again, earnest and unsettlingly calm, "open the door."

Mia swallowed. "I'm opening it."

Randolf stepped inside — tall, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp with instinct honed in darker places than clinics. His nostrils flared.

"There's rot here."

Mia and Theolinda exchanged bewildered looks. They smelled nothing outside the room.

Before they could stop him, Randolf pushed open the exam room door. His face tightened.

"He was a vampire."

Theolinda stiffened; Mia's heart lurched.

Randolf's gaze then snapped to Mia's wound.

"That must be treated immediately," he said, voice low, urgent. "It may carry his corruption."

"I will heal it." Mia held his eyes. "First tell me how you knew."

Randolf exhaled — not human exhaustion, but something more ancient.

"Because I am a werewolf," he said simply. "And his stench is unmistakable."