Chapter 400 Waiting For Blood

Liam, Ann, and Kelly woke up late that afternoon, sunlight cutting through the curtains in soft streaks that hit their skin. The air was warm and smelled faintly of sex and sweat. Nobody said a word for a while; they just lay there, tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling, still half-asleep.

It was Ann who finally moved first. "We should probably shower," she murmured, voice lazy. Kelly hummed in agreement, her tone quiet but teasing. "Yeah... together."

Liam chuckled under his breath, rubbing his eyes before pulling himself up. They slipped into the bathroom together, the sound of water running soon filling the air. Steam clouded the small room, and their laughter echoed softly between the tiled walls. They didn’t rush. It was slow, quiet, calm — the kind of peace none of them had felt in a long time.

When they were done, the mirror was fogged, and the floor was wet. The three of them looked at the mess they’d made and sighed in sync. "We’re never doing this without cleaning after again," Ann said, half-laughing, grabbing a towel. Liam and Kelly just shook their heads, grinning tiredly.

It took nearly an hour to get everything back in order. Sheets were changed, floors mopped, clothes picked up and folded. They even opened the windows to let some fresh air in. By the time they finished, it was already evening. The sky outside was a fading mix of orange and gray, and their stomachs growled almost at the same time.

He headed downstairs, shirt half-buttoned, hair still a bit damp. The house was quiet, except for the faint sound of the TV playing from the living room. When he turned the corner, he saw Dickson lying across the couch, legs on the coffee table, a half-empty cereal bowl in one hand and the remote in the other.

Without a word, Liam walked over, sat beside him, and reached for the bowl.

"Hey," Dickson said, not even looking up.

"Hey," Liam replied, grabbing a spoonful of cereal and shoving it into his mouth. It was soggy, sweet, and cold. He didn’t care.

Dickson didn’t say anything for a moment. He just pointed at the TV with his spoon. "Do you know what’s happening right now?"

Liam glanced at him, smirking. "Didn’t take you for someone who watched the news."

Dickson didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

"Do you know what’s happening?" he asked again, this time quieter.

Liam’s smirk faded. He turned his attention to the TV. The anchor was talking about "mass evacuation orders," "rising fear," and "uncertainty after the citywide incident." The screen showed broken streets, cracked buildings, and emergency crews digging through rubble.

"What are you talking about?" Liam asked.

Dickson took the bowl back from him and kept eating slowly. "Six people died this morning."

Liam blinked. "What?"

"Six innocent people," Dickson said, voice steady but heavy. "They were trapped inside their houses when the fighting broke out. Buried under debris. Died before rescue could reach them."

Liam didn’t reply. He just sat there, watching the screen silently.

Dickson set the bowl down and leaned back, his eyes still cold. "We fight these monsters, right? We save people. But today, we killed six of them. Maybe not with our hands, but because of us."

Liam didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the news report.

The scene on TV changed — now showing the main highway. The camera panned over long lines of cars, buses, and people walking on foot, dragging bags behind them. Families. Children. People leaving town in waves.

Dickson pointed again, not saying anything. He didn’t have to.

Liam sighed quietly, his chest tightening. The sight was enough. He didn’t even notice how his fingers gripped his knees tighter.

"Eight months ago," Dickson started, still watching the screen, "we were just students. Lilith was a gang leader. Vanessa was a cop. Kelly was singing in front of crowds. You were just... you." He paused, his voice calm but tired. "And me? I didn’t even believe in half the shit we deal with now."

Liam looked at him, but Dickson kept his eyes on the screen.

"Now look at us," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Look at what we’re doing. We fight things that aren’t even human. We blow up streets. Destroy buildings. And for what? If someone had told me all this eight months ago, I’d have laughed. Thought it was some sick joke."

Liam leaned back on the couch, his face unreadable. He didn’t respond — didn’t argue or defend himself. He just stared at the footage, at the burning skyline and the people fleeing their homes.

The house was quiet except for the low hum of the TV and the faint crunch as Dickson took another bite of cereal.

After a while, Liam finally spoke, his voice low. "It’s not a joke anymore."

Dickson didn’t answer. He just looked at the screen again, eyes distant, spoon hanging loose in his hand.

The two of them sat there in silence, the flickering light from the TV reflecting off their faces — two men who had seen too much, done too much, and realized that the line between saving and destroying was getting thinner by the day.

Liam sat back on the couch, the sound of the TV fading into the background. His eyes stayed on the screen, but his mind was somewhere else. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy and slow.

Then Liam asked quietly, "Do you blame yourself for any of it?"

Dickson raised his head, confused at first, then let out a short dry laugh. "Are you kidding?" He sat up, shaking his head. "Because I feel like they died because of us doesn’t mean I take the blame. If we didn’t do what we did, how many more would’ve died?"

Liam turned his head toward him, expression unreadable. "Then what’s your point?"

Dickson didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he was trying to find the right words. "My point is..." he started, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Everywhere we go, someone ends up dead. Always. Doesn’t matter if we’re trying to help or trying to fight back, someone always gets caught in it."

Liam frowned slightly. "And?"

Dickson looked up at him, eyes tired but serious. "And one day, that person is gonna be one of us."

Liam didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

He sat there, jaw tight, thinking about the faces he’d seen over the last few months — the ones they’d lost, the ones he couldn’t save. He’d always told himself it was part of it, part of what they had to do. But hearing Dickson say it out loud hit harder than he expected.

It wasn’t just strangers dying anymore. It was a countdown, and deep down, Liam knew Dickson was right. One day it would be one of them. Maybe Kelly. Maybe Ann. Maybe him.

The room went quiet again. The sound from the TV became nothing but soft noise in the background.

After a while, Dickson broke the silence. "In two days, the vampires will be free, right?"

Liam nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Dickson leaned back against the couch, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "And from what I’ve learned, they’re bloodsucking merciless bastards."

Liam gave a faint laugh under his breath. "Yeah. That’s putting it lightly."

Dickson turned his head toward him. "They’ll come for you, you know that, right?"

Liam looked at him, confused for a second. "What do you mean?"

Dickson just stared at him, waiting for it to click. When it didn’t, he sighed. "Don’t you remember Boris?"

The name hit like a small spark in Liam’s chest. He hadn’t heard it in a while, but the moment Dickson said it, the memory returned — the fight, the look in Boris’s eyes, the way it ended.

Dickson kept talking, voice low but steady. "What do you think he’ll do when he gets free? You think he’ll just disappear? No. He’ll come here. Straight to this city. And he won’t come alone. There’ll be others with him. Strong ones. And when they do, they’ll turn this whole place into a bloodbath."

Liam’s lips twitched, almost into a grin, but his eyes stayed cold.

Dickson noticed and frowned. "Why the hell are you smiling?"

Liam leaned back slowly, his gaze drifting to the window. Outside, the last bits of daylight were fading, the sky darkening into deep purple. His face was calm, but something about his eyes had changed — sharper, colder, like something inside him had shifted.

"In two days," Liam said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself, "I hope Boris comes here."

Dickson blinked. "What?"

Liam’s faint smile grew, but it wasn’t warm anymore. It was the kind of smile that made Dickson’s stomach tighten a little.

"I hope he comes to this town," Liam said again, voice lower now, his tone turning darker. "I’ll be waiting."

Dickson just stared at him. The room felt different now, heavier, like the air itself had gone still.

Liam’s eyes were distant, but there was something alive in them — not fear, not doubt, but something close to hunger. The kind that came from someone who had been through too much and stopped running from the fight.

Dickson didn’t say another word. He leaned back on the couch, shaking his head slightly, unsure if Liam was being brave or just tired of everything.

The TV kept playing, showing more chaos, more fleeing families. But Liam didn’t look at it anymore. He wasn’t thinking about the destruction. He was thinking about what would happen when Boris came.

Because deep down, part of him wanted it. Not for revenge, not even for justice — just for something to release all the weight building inside him.

As the night deepened, the light from the TV flickered across their faces, two men sitting in silence again, but for completely different reasons now.

Dickson looked calm on the outside, but his thoughts were racing. Liam, on the other hand, looked like he had already accepted what was coming.

When Boris returned, there wouldn’t be room for running or hiding. It would be a blood-soaked fight, and Liam had already made up his mind.

He’d be waiting