My Stepmom Is A Vampire & Her Entire Bloodline Wants To Breed Me

Chapter 206: Dylan Helplessness

"You’re weak. From the beginning until now, you were never able to fight me."

The giant spider’s voice echoed through the space as Dylan’s body swung upside down, suspended from the ceiling by thick strands of web.

The threads cut into his limbs, keeping him from falling as if he were nothing more than decoration.

Blood poured from the deep wound in his abdomen where a spider limb had pierced him. His breath came out ragged and uneven, each inhale burning his lungs as darkness crept at the edges of his vision.

He had fought. He really had.

Dylan had slashed again and again at the monster’s limbs, pouring everything he had into each strike.

Yet every severed arm regenerated, splitting and growing back thicker than before, as if the creature had no end. His blade shattered repeatedly as he tried to cut through its neck, but the flesh refused to yield.

His blood was running out. His strength was fading.

"Fuck," he muttered weakly, his head drooping. "What the hell is this place?"

He thought he had conquered his fear. He was no longer afraid of his mother. Fear was gone, replaced by pure hatred, and that was why his blade had moved so easily before. Hatred made it simple to strike, simple to destroy.

But hatred alone was not enough.

The spider twisted him midair, turning his body slowly as if inspecting an ornament. Its laughter echoed, sharp and cruel.

"That’s why your father is dead," it said calmly. "Because of you."

Dylan’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs, the rage exploding inside him.

"If you didn’t run away that night and let him find you, he would still be alive."

"No!" Dylan shouted, swinging his dagger wildly despite how useless it felt. "It’s not my fault. It’s yours. You killed him!"

The spider laughed louder, its face resembling his mother more clearly now. The familiar shape was unbearable. Dylan screamed, his voice cracking as years of buried fury burst out of him.

Yet nothing changed.

Nothing worked.

His movements slowed. His body trembled. Finally, exhausted beyond thought, Dylan closed his eyes.

And the memory dragged him under.

***

"You useless child. Why do I even have a son like you? You’re exactly like your father."

The slap rang through the room, sharp and loud. Dylan’s small body stumbled back as pain exploded across his cheek. He cried silently, not daring to look up. He knew better than that.

"Your disgusting eyes remind me of him," his mother screamed. "Everything is your fault."

She shoved him hard into the wall. His back hit the surface painfully before he slid down to the floor.

"Why do I have to suffer while your father goes around with that disgusting slut?"

Her foot slammed into his stomach, again and again.

Dylan curled in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his body as he sobbed.

"I’m sorry," he whispered between gasps. "I’m sorry, Mom. I won’t come home late anymore. I promise."

She did not hear him. Or she did not care.

Her kicks grew harsher, her insults sharper. Dylan wondered faintly if dying here would be better than living like this. The world began to blur, his vision fading.

Then suddenly, everything changed.

His mother gasped and dropped to her knees beside him. She gathered him into her arms, clutching him tightly as tears streamed down her face and dripped onto his skin.

"I’m sorry," she sobbed. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry."

Her voice softened, familiar and warm.

"It’s your fault," she whispered gently. "If you were a good boy, I would never have to hit you."

She was always like this. Cruel, then loving. Violent, then apologetic. A perfect mother until she wasn’t.

Held in her arms, Dylan stared blankly ahead, unable to cry anymore.

He had never known when this torture would end. And part of him feared it never would.

All of his friends, even the teachers, eventually noticed something was wrong.

Dylan flinched whenever the boys joked around in the garden. If someone accidentally pushed him too hard, he would scream and fall to the ground as if he had been punched, his body reacting before his mind could catch up.

It always drew attention, and it always made things worse.

But Dylan never talked.

His teacher tried again and again, calling him aside with a worried look, asking gentle questions about what was happening at home.

Dylan always shook his head and stayed silent. He knew better. If his mother ever found out that he had told anyone, the punishment would be far worse than anything he had already endured.

Sometimes, Marcus or Connor invited him over to their houses instead.

Their parents seemed to understand without asking too many questions, offering him food, letting him stay longer than usual, pretending it was all normal.

Sometimes they gave him toys and even school supplies, but Dylan usually refused them. If his mother found anything unfamiliar in his room, it would not end well.

That afternoon, Connor’s mother placed a tray on the table while they played games together.

"Alright, everyone," she said cheerfully. "I brought some jelly cups and chips for you, and drinks too."

Dylan smiled politely. "Thank you, Miss."

"Oh, you don’t have to be so formal," she replied. "I cooked brisket and a full dinner today. Why don’t you eat with us?"

Dylan froze. He opened his mouth to decline, already rehearsing the apology, but Connor answered before he could.

"Of course he will," Connor said brightly. "My mom’s brisket is the best. You have to try it."

Connor wrapped an arm around Dylan’s neck playfully, pulling him close. Dylan laughed awkwardly, trapped between warmth and fear, and nodded without daring to say no.

When Connor’s mother returned to the kitchen, Marcus leaned closer and grinned.

"You know," he said, "your family should just adopt Dylan. You already look like brothers."

"I know, right?" Connor added. "I’ve always wanted a little brother."

Dylan laughed, feeling lighter than he had all day. "Why am I the little brother? I’m older than you."

"But you’re smaller," Connor replied immediately, ruffling Dylan’s hair. "So you can’t be the big brother."

All of them laughed together, the sound unfamiliar and precious.

Watching them, Dylan realized something he had never allowed himself to think before. This was what a family was supposed to feel like; warm, loud, and safe. Just being there made his chest ache in an almost painful way.

When dinner was ready, Connor’s mother gently rubbed his hair and spoke softly.

"If you ever need help, just call us," she said. "You can come here anytime."

She hugged him, careful and kind. Dylan’s throat tightened, his vision blurring slightly. His mother had hugged him before, but never like this. Never without conditions. Never without fear hidden underneath.

Connor’s father smiled as well. "We even have an empty room," he added lightly. "We wouldn’t mind having someone fill it."

Dylan wanted to say yes.

The word burned at the back of his throat, heavy and tempting. But another thought followed quickly, sharp and terrifying.

What if his mother found out? What if she came here? What if she hurt them too?

He could not risk that.

"I think my mother would be lonely if I left," Dylan said carefully. "So I can’t. I’m really sorry."

He waited for disappointment, for awkward silence, for anger.

Instead, Connor’s mother smiled and hugged him again.

"That’s alright," she said gently. "We’re already happy knowing you think of us as family."

Dylan nodded, his face warming as emotion swelled inside his chest.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You are my family."

For the first time in a long while, he thought maybe his life was not entirely hopeless.