Reincarnated as Dracula’s Son

With a feral hunger in his eyes, he lowered himself onto her, the tip of his engorged member pressing against her sopping wet entrance. He began to push, the head of his cock parting her folds with a slow, deliberate motion.

Today was not a good day for Damian. His mother had been calling his name for over ten minutes, her voice rising with every unanswered shout. At first, she thought he might not have heard her, but as the seconds dragged on, her irritation turned to worry. What could he possibly be doing?

Unable to wait any longer, she marched up the stairs, her slippered feet tapping against the wooden steps, half-filled with anger and half with a creeping sense of dread. When she reached his room, she didn't bother to knock. She pushed the door open, ready to scold him for ignoring her.

But her words froze in her throat.

The room was empty. The bed was unmade, his desk cluttered with books and papers. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, but there was no sign of Damian. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, her mind raced to the worst conclusions.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Her gaze snapped to the window, and there he was.

His silhouette was perched precariously on the windowsill of the neighboring house, his figure framed against the sky like a restless bird caught mid-flight as he stroked his crotch.

Her heart leaped into her throat.

"Damian!" she cried out, her voice a mix of panic and fury as she rushed to the window.

The sharp sound of her voice startled him. His body jerked, and before he could steady himself, his foot slipped.

In an instant, he was falling.

Damian felt the wind lash against his skin, sharp and unforgiving. His body plunged through the air, a falling star against a backdrop of darkness. Time stretched thin, each second feeling like an eternity. The sound of his own heartbeat echoed in his ears, louder than the roar of the wind. The world blurred into nothingness, and then—

Bam!

The impact was violent, a sudden and unrelenting collision with the ground. It knocked the breath out of him, and then there was only silence.

****

Darkness wrapped around Damian like a thick shroud, smothering him in its depths. He felt weightless, as if floating in a sea of shadows. Faintly, the world tried to reach him. White flashes sparked across his vision, sharp and blinding, like distant fireworks. Somewhere, voices mumbled, their words slipping through his mind like grains of sand.

Then the darkness surged again, pulling him under.

When Damian's eyes finally fluttered open, the world came back in fragments. Pain hit him like a tidal wave, sharp and unyielding. It radiated from the center of his chest, burning hot and fierce. His first thought was confusion—shouldn't his entire body ache after a fall like that?

He blinked, trying to gather his bearings. The pain in his chest was intense, like someone had pressed a white-hot iron against his skin. It wasn't the kind of pain he expected. Not the dull throb of bruises or the sharp sting of broken bones. No, this was something different. Something unnatural.

Damian gritted his teeth and sat up slowly, his muscles groaning in protest. He glanced down at his chest, trying to make sense of the fire blooming there. But before he could investigate, a sound froze him in place—a sudden, sharp gasp.

His head snapped up, and for the first time, Damian realized he wasn't alone.

The room was dimly lit, the shadows clinging to the walls like cobwebs. Three figures stood before him.

The first was a tall, slim man dressed in a black leather jacket. His sharp features were accentuated by the dim light, his dark eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. He had been staring into the space above Damian's bed for hours now.

Next to him stood a shorter man with a stocky build, his appearance a stark contrast to the first man. He wore a neatly pressed waistcoat and sported a bushy mustache that twitched as he stared at Damian, wide-eyed and pale.

The third figure, a woman, stood slightly apart from the men. She was strikingly beautiful, her features refined and delicate. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face. Though she appeared middle-aged, her skin was unblemished, smooth as porcelain. Her dark eyes sparkled with an intensity that made Damian uncomfortable.

The gasp had come from the stocky man. His hand trembled as he pointed at Damian, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"What is it?" the tall man asked sharply, his voice smooth and commanding. But as he followed the stocky man's gaze and turned to look at Damian, the words died in his throat.

Damian stared back at them, his confusion deepening. Their reactions felt… wrong. Like they were seeing a ghost.

The woman was the first to move. She let out a cry—a sound filled with joy and relief—and rushed toward Damian. Before he could react, she flung her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her scent filled his nose, floral and warm, and her grip was strong, almost desperate.

"Damian, my son! You're awake!"

Damian stiffened, his body going rigid in her arms. He didn't know this woman. Her touch felt foreign, her voice unfamiliar. And yet, she had callled him her son.

Yes, his name was Damon but he knew his mother and she sure as hell wasn't his mother.

Son? He repeated, frowning in confusion.

Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to look into her face. Her dark eyes were filled with tears, her smile radiant.

"My son," she said again, her voice trembling with emotion.

Damian swallowed hard. His mind was spinning, his thoughts a chaotic storm. "I… I think there's been a mistake," he managed to say, his voice hoarse.