Chapter 155: Cattles At A Slaughter House

Chapter 155: Cattles At A Slaughter House CLARK POV At the party, as people drank and danced, I sat there like a ghost in the corner—rigid, silent, clutching a plastic cup of something I hadn’t dared to sip. The music throbbed through the walls, through my bones, but I wasn’t feeling the beat. I was too busy watching shadows stretch and shrink across the floor, flickering with the disco lights. Every time someone laughed too loud or stumbled near me, my heart jumped, convinced it was something else—someone else. A redhead with sharp teeth. A pale guy who didn’t blink. A wolf in a hoodie. I stared so long at the crowd that the bodies started to blur together. Like an ocean of smiles with empty eyes. Were they all human? Were they even real? I pulled my hoodie tighter over my head and tried to shrink into the corner. No one noticed me. They were too busy having the time of their lives. And that made it worse. Was I going crazy? I kept thinking maybe I had imagined it all. The girl in the classroom. The man-wolves. The ghost-like guy whispering about "wolves having fun." Maybe I’d fallen asleep and dreamt everything in some twisted post-midnight breakdown. That was the only thing that made sense. Right? Right? And yet... Sara was still nowhere to be found. She wasn’t on the dance floor anymore. I scanned every inch of it for the tenth time, eyes darting over girls in glitter, boys with devil horns, a couple grinding far too close for comfort—but none of them were her. Not even close. I checked my phone again. Still no messages. No missed calls. No sign of her. My stomach twisted. What if something had happened? What if the dream wasn’t a dream? What if I’d brought her here—to this school, this party, this damn nightmare—and I was the one who doomed us both? I gripped the edge of my seat as another group of students walked by, laughing and bumping into each other, one of them sloshing beer on the floor. It fizzled like blood in my ears. My throat tightened. I thought of the first time I met Sara. Her bright eyes, her laugh. She had wanted so badly to make memories in college. She trusted me—followed me into this place because I said it would be good. Safe. Now she was gone. And I had no idea where to look. A wave of nausea rose up in my chest. I couldn’t sit here anymore. I had to get out. Or find her. Or... do something other than sit around and wait for a monster to show up and peel off its skin. But then came the other problem. The way back. I couldn’t even think of walking alone through the halls again. Not after what I saw—or thought I saw—in that old lecture wing. What if I turned a corner and came face to face with those giant shadow dogs again? Or worse, what if I ran into that redhead who called me "delicious"? No thank you. I’d take the dance floor over being hunted in some cold, echoing hallway any day. So I stayed in my seat. Frozen. Stuck between guilt and terror. The worst part? I knew this wasn’t just fear. It was regret. Pure, burning regret. I convinced Sara to apply here despite the warnings she got. I hyped up the school’s "unique atmosphere" and "prestigious programs." I thought we’d have fun. Make memories. Maybe even grow closer. But now? Now I couldn’t stop seeing her face in that dream I had—the one where she was being drained by three bloodthirsty guys with red-stained mouths. And the worst part was how she looked like she was enjoying it. Like it was the most blissful moment of her life. It haunted me. I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. She was fine. She had to be. Probably just found a quieter spot, maybe the bathroom or stepped outside for air. That’s all. No cult, no bloodletting, no monsters. But I didn’t believe it. Not really. And when the lights dimmed just a little more, and the shadows got longer across the walls, and the DJ switched to some strange remix that sounded like chanting buried under bass—I knew. This wasn’t a party. Not for us. We were cattle at the edge of the slaughterhouse. And only I seemed to realize it. I felt eyes on me. Not from across the room—but above. Behind. Watching. Lurking. I glanced up, slowly. There, leaning against the upper balcony, a familiar silhouette. Tall. Pale. Eyes like silver coins glinting under the club lights. The guy from the hallway. The one who called me "little lamb." He wasn’t smiling. He was staring. At me. Like he’d already claimed me. I froze. My chest tightened so hard it hurt. When I blinked, he was gone. Vanished. I stood up, heart racing. I couldn’t stay. I needed to move—somewhere, anywhere. But my legs refused. I looked to the side. A girl tripped, giggling as she spilled her drink over her chest. No one noticed. Or cared. Another girl danced like her eyes were rolled back, swaying alone to a beat that didn’t match the music. Was this even real? Was I still in my room dreaming? Then, across the dance floor, through the pulsing lights—I saw her. Sara. Or at least... it looked like her. But her back was turned. She was walking through a set of double doors I hadn’t noticed before. The music didn’t quite reach there. The lights didn’t either. It was darker. Quieter. My stomach turned. I called her name—twice—but she didn’t look back. Then the doors shut behind her. And the music picked up again. I was sweating now, cold drops sliding down my back. What should I do? She was alive. She was here. But I’d have to go back into the dark to reach her. Back into the unknown. Back where monsters might wait. But leaving her now? That wasn’t an option either. I took one last look at the party—the fake smiles, the distorted music, the ever-present smell of blood and sweetness. And then I followed her. Into the dark. ******** Just before I could take a step after Sara, my wrist was snatched—tight, cold fingers locking around it like a steel trap. I didn’t even have to look to know. The redhead was back. "Your scent is overwhelming," she murmured, her voice breathy and thick like honey, but it was laced with hunger—predatory hunger. Before I could jerk away or call for help, she was on me. All over me. Her body pressed into mine, her cold hands cradling the back of my head as she forced her mouth to my neck. I could feel her lips brushing my skin, her breath icy. It wasn’t a kiss. It was something else. Something primal. I twisted, shoved, bucked my shoulder hard to break free. But she didn’t move. She didn’t budge. How could someone who looked so delicate—porcelain skin, long lashes, thin arms—have so much strength? She held me like a rag doll, like I weighed nothing. I could feel my heartbeat thundering under her lips, and it only seemed to excite her more. "Let go!" I gasped, my voice cracking with fear. No one around us was helping—hell, no one was even looking. They were dancing, laughing, drinking, completely blind to what was happening two feet from them. It was like I didn’t exist. Like I was already gone. She started kissing my neck, but it wasn’t romantic. It was desperate. Like a starved animal just seconds before it bites. Her nails dug into my shoulders. I could smell her—a mix of roses and rot. It made me gag. I finally managed to shove her face back, both hands pressing against her chin. I thought I could finally scream— But then I saw them. Her fangs. Long. Elongated. Sharp. They jutted down from her top jaw, glistening with saliva. Not costume fangs. Not plastic. Real. Realer than real. I froze. She smiled, her lips blood-red and pulled back just enough to show the full length of her canines. "You smell like fear," she said, licking her lips. "It’s intoxicating." Panic exploded in my chest. No. No no no no. This wasn’t happening. Vampires weren’t real. None of this was real. I was just stressed—hallucinating from trauma, maybe even drugged. "I don’t—I’m not—I’m not into this, okay?" I stammered, trying to back away, but she had my shirt twisted in her fist now. Her eyes gleamed under the strobe lights, gold bleeding into black. "You’ll like it," she whispered. "They always do after the first taste." She yanked me closer, her mouth open, the tips of her fangs brushing my skin. "Please don’t," I begged. Begged. The word tasted like shame in my mouth. But I didn’t care. Because I felt it—the moment her teeth grazed the skin just under my jaw. And it was like the room fell away. The music became nothing more than a heartbeat. The floor felt like it was giving way beneath me. Then— "Enough." A voice like thunder cracked the air. Her head snapped up. Eyes wide. Terrified. She hissed—actually hissed—and let go of me like I was on fire. I stumbled back, colliding with a table, sending plastic cups tumbling and splashing beer all over the floor. She didn’t even look at me again. She turned and vanished into the crowd, melting into the moving bodies as if she’d never been there. I dropped to my knees, clutching my neck. My skin felt raw where her fangs had touched it—but she hadn’t bitten. Not yet. Who had stopped her? I looked up, gasping, trying to focus through the panic. It was him. The pale senior. The ghost guy. The one who called me "little lamb." He stood a few feet away, arms folded, eyes sharp and furious. "Go back to your dorm," he said coldly. "Now." I opened my mouth to ask a hundred questions—Why me? What is she? What the hell is going on?—but I couldn’t form a single word. All I could do was nod, my body trembling so hard I could barely stand. "I said now," he snapped, and the music seemed to dip for just a second.