Lawrence's existence felt like a lie, like a cruel joke. If he was still human, at least he'd be able to die; his wounds wouldn't heal, and his body wouldn't repair itself. But the only things that could kill a vampire were wolf walkers or a stake to the heart. He physically couldn't stake himself—his new instincts would kick in and prevent that—and the only place he'd find a wolf walker was the Myrefall Forest.

However, he'd heard many a story about how painful a wolf's bite was. Some vampires said that it was a hundred times worse than the pain that came with the transformation. But was it worse than the pain of heartbreak? Lawrence felt as though getting bitten so that he could be free might just be worth it.

Was that what Abbot wanted, though? Now that he was done with him, would Lawrence ending his life be playing into the Count's hands? Leaving him to fuck around with that human, leaving that human to get all the things Lawrence was supposed to be getting right now. The thought angered him, and the anger aroused a deep, dark fury inside him—a new, intense feeling of sheer rage.

Abbot was supposed to be his.

With a seething growl, Lawrence frustratedly tossed and turned in bed. The hunger wasn't helping. He needed to feed again—all Fledglings needed frequent feeds until they were ready to begin learning—but he didn't care about blood at the moment. All he could think about was Abbot and the man he'd caught him fucking.

That human. Blonde hair, green eyes, and shrouded in the scent of liquor and beer. Why would Abbot do this to him? He didn't understand, and he wanted answers, but there was something that he ached for more than that. He wasn't sure whether it was his hunger, his new instincts, or something else, but he couldn't lay still knowing that the man who took Abbot from him was still breathing. He didn't care who made the first move, nor did he care who initiated what; he wanted to kill that bitch, and he didn't feel an ounce of hesitation.

He sat up and glared across the room at the door. Was he hoping that killing the man Abbot was screwing would bring the Count back to him? Maybe a small part of him was, but everything else inside him wanted to kill that human for taking away the man he loved. He hoped that it would hurt Abbot, but he suspected that it wouldn't. He'd never seen that human before, nor had the Count mentioned anyone like him, so it wasn't likely that he meant a thing to Abbot. Lawrence didn't care, though. He still wanted him dead.

A knock came at his door.

Lawrence got up and headed over to it, and when he pulled it open, he set his eyes on Bronson, who was holding a glass of blood. His anger and frustration made him want to comment on the fact that it had taken the General long enough to get it, but he didn't want to make enemies. Now that Abbot had betrayed him and left him to navigate the Fledgeling world alone, he'd need all the allies he could get.

"Sorry it took a moment," Bronson said as Lawrence took the glance from him. "How are you feeling?"

Wow...the first person to ask him that was supposed to be Abbot, and the fact that it was someone else—someone Lawrence didn't even consider a friend—made his steadily-beating heart ache again. "Fine," he mumbled, looking down into the glass. But he didn't want to let the despair consume him. He wanted to focus on the anger, the rage. "Why can't I leave this room now?" he questioned.

Bronson sighed and crossed his arms. "Because you're a Fledgeling, Lawrence. Count Abbot explained all of this to you, did he not?"

He shrugged and glanced down at the blood again. Abbot had told him, but it didn't make as much sense as Lawrence had thought it might. He was of sound mind; he wasn't trapped in a hunger-stricken trance, unable to think about anything but blood, blood, blood.

"Your body is still adjusting," Bronson told him. "It may feel like the transformation is complete, but there's a lot going on that you're not physically aware of. This time tomorrow, once your bloodlust has calmed enough, you'll start learning to control your urges. Until then, though..." he nodded over Lawrence's shoulder.

Lawrence didn't bother trying to reason with him; the last thing he wanted was to give the General a reason to pull rank. He closed the door and headed back over to the bed. Clearly, there was only one way he was going to get out of this chamber and find the human who Abbot cheated on him with.

His eyes shifted to the window. He didn't yet know how to fly or transform into a bat, though, so he was going to have to dive out like he was some sort of lemming. He'd break his body, but it would repair itself. No pain could be greater than that which he felt from Abbot's betrayal.

However, there was also the fact that, unlike Abbot, Lawrence wasn't immune to sunlight. If he wasn't careful, if he didn't track the human down, kill him, and return to the castle by dawn, he'd burst into flames...unless he found somewhere else to take shelter, but that was risky. He was still a Fledgeling, and the blood cravings would eventually overpower his hunger for revenge.

He downed the glass of blood that Bronson had brought him. As he wiped his lips, he headed to the towering window and pulled the curtains apart. The silvery moon was full and high in the sky...which meant that the threat of dawn wasn't the only thing he had to be cautious of if he left the grounds.

Werewolves lived in Myrefall Forest.

Lawrence couldn't be deterred. The wolves might be the creatures that Abbot's coven had sworn to protect the humans of Myrefall from, but they knew better than to attack a vampire outside the woods. If he stuck to the roads, he wouldn't come across any beasts.

He sat on the windowsill and waited, watching the courtyard below, his eyes shifting from each car parked within. The only one he didn't recognize—the ugly, ten-year-old motor—had to belong to the human, so the moment he saw it move, he'd descend...and he'd follow that man to wherever he lived.

But his new reality smacked his face again. He was a vampire; he couldn't waltz into someone's home uninvited. He'd have to kill the man on the road. And not only that, but he'd have to find a way to hide that it was a vampire who was responsible. If a vampire killed a human—and was discovered—the treaty that their Lord had worked so hard to solidify with Myrefall would be destroyed.

Lawrence wouldn't dare risk being responsible for something so serious, something potentially war-starting. But once again, being around Abbot meant that he knew a thing or two, and disguising a vampire's kill was one such thing.

An hour passed.

Two went by, and the moon climbed higher.

After another thirty minutes, Lawrence was starting to think that the human wasn't leaving. The idea of him getting to sleep in the same bed as Abbot hurt his heart once again. He was supposed to be sleeping at the Count's side, not some random human.

But that wasn't going to happen now. Abbot had made his choice, and Lawrence had made his...despite the despair.

And there he was. The blonde-haired human he'd not long seen getting fucked by the man who he was supposed to spend eternity with was walking to his car.

Why was it only then that Lawrence had the idea to hide in the man's backseat? No...it was a good idea, but he might have set off the alarm, alerting the human that something was up.

He was wasting time. He didn't even know how to use his new speed yet, so he was going to have to get to his own vehicle.

Lawrence unlocked the window and pushed it open. He was four floors up, so the landing was going to hurt like fuck, but he didn't care. And he didn't give himself a chance to overthink it, either. He flung himself out the window, and as he plummeted down towards the concrete, the cold wind scraped at his face. Maybe that was what Bronson was talking about; vampires weren't sensitive to temperature, but he could feel the cold—he probably wouldn't be able to for much longer, though.

He hit the ground with a loud crack and several crunches. Pain exploded through his body, making him grunt and groan, gritting his teeth. But just moments after the landing, his broken, twisted limbs began contorting and snapping back into place.

The sound of an engine starting snatched his attention.

As he sharply turned his head towards the sound, searing pain surged through him. He didn't care, though. He set his blood-red eyes on the human's car; smoke oozed from the exhaust, and it looked like the guy was getting ready to back out of his parking space.

Lawrence couldn't force his body to heal any faster; only vampires as old as Abbot could pick and choose what their ethos did and didn't do. He had no choice but to bear the pain as he used his bloodied hands to drag himself along the cobblestone. It wouldn't take long for someone to decipher the difference between the wounds the other coven members were inflicting on each other while fucking like rabbits and the ones on Lawrence's body—he had to be quick.

He crawled and crawled until his legs cracked and snapped back into place, and when he was finally able to climb to his feet, the human pulled out of the courtyard and drove down onto the country road.

With an irritated huff, Lawrence hurried over to his motorbike. His keys were still in his trouser pocket; he climbed on, inserted and twisted the key, and revved the bike up. There wasn't a moment to waste.

Lawrence swiftly drove out of the courtyard and down onto the road. He kept his sights on the human's car, speeding up. There were only two ways he could see this going; one: he could attempt to get the man to pull over, but there was a chance that he'd recognize him and put his foot down, or two: Lawrence sacrificed his beloved bike and dove into or onto the car and went from there.

Option two was going to hurt, physically and mentally, but once he tore that human's heart out, his satisfaction would outweigh the torment.

He sped up, gaining on the car, and once he was right on its tail, he breathed deeply and prepared himself. As he guided his bike around to the side of the car, he glared inside the blonde-haired human; the bitch had a satisfied smile on his face, looking all flustered and content as if he'd found the love of his life. Knowing that he'd felt the very same way when he first met Abbot made Lawrence feel both disgusted and dismayed.

But he had to push the grief aside once again. Anger was in control here.

The moment the human turned his head and locked sights with Lawrence, the Fledgeling propelled himself off his bike and through the passenger seat window. With a horrified yelp as glass flew everywhere, the man abruptly turned the wheel and lost control of his car. Lawrence lunged at him and grabbed his throat, but the car hit something on the side of the road, flipped and rolled until it collided with a tree, and Lawrence was thrown out through the windshield.

He tumbled across the grass and came to a slow halt as he dug his fingers into the mud. The smell of smoke and pine filled his nostrils, along with human blood. The sanguine scent aroused his hunger, urging him to seek it out.

And he gave in. Now that he had the human where he wanted him, he could let his new instincts take over and finish the job.

His vision blurred crimson, and all of his senses focused on the blood. He quickly rose to his feet, setting his eyes on the human. With panicked pants and grunts, the man dragged himself out of the smoking car. He tried getting up, but his femur was poking out through his flesh, and several ghastly gashes clung to his face and body.

"P-please!" he begged as Lawrence slowly prowled closer. "I-I didn't know he had a boyfriend!"

Lawrence didn't care whether he knew or not. All that mattered was his hunger...his hunger for blood, and his hunger for revenge.

When he reached the man, he grabbed the back of his shirt and effortlessly pulled him to his feet. He pinned his back against the nearest tree at lightning speed, gripping his collar, and as he glared into the man's eyes, the human trembled and whimpered.

What a pathetic little thing. To think that he was once in this man's position, so weak and meek, at the mercy of Count Abbot's cold, dead heart.

"P-p-please!" he cried, shaking his head. "I-I won't ever see him again!"

Lawrence snarled, looking him up and down. "It's too late for that," he growled, his voice a distorted grumble. The man's fleshy appearance faded, becoming a crimson outline with only the body's heart and veins visible. Lawrence knew what this was; just as Abbot had told him, vampires could see the life force of their prey, and that was exactly what he was staring at. He knew exactly where to cut, where to bite, and where to tear.

But he closed his eyes and waited for his normal vision to return. He wanted to see the life leave this man's face.

"P-ple—"

He opened his eyes and snatched the human's throat, silencing him. He glared at his horrified visage, watching as his skin turned blue, and his white sclera went red. And just as the man was about to succumb to being deprived of air, Lawrence mercilessly plunged his hand into the human's chest and tore out his rapidly beating heart.

And with that, the man Abbot had cheated with was gone, paying the price of trusting a dirty, lying, betraying bastard.

Lawrence wasn't done yet, though. He immediately erected his fangs and sunk them into the dead man's neck. With desperate grunts, he gulped down as much blood as he could, each mouthful more intoxicating than the last. Both hungers raging inside him began to settle, and with the satisfaction...came the despair.

However, Lawrence couldn't sink into either. He couldn't try to control his thoughts or revel over the dead body in his grasp.

A low, rumbling growl came from the woods in front of him.

Lawrence dropped the corpse, and a bone-chilling silence enveloped the forest, broken only by the ominous snarls that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the woods. It wasn't just a sound; it was a primal warning, a declaration of malevolent presence that sent shivers down his spine.

With every step backwards, the darkness seemed to thicken, suffocating him in its oppressive embrace. The air grew heavy with a sickly-sweet scent, like decay and rot mingling with the damp earth. The shadows danced, twisting and writhing, their movements fluid yet unsettlingly deliberate. Lawrence strained his eyes—which hadn't yet evolved to see in such a lack of light—trying to pierce the veil of darkness, but all he could discern were the glimmers of moonlight reflecting off unseen eyes—eyes that bore into his soul with an intensity that froze him in place.

A cold sweat coated his skin as he realized that he was no longer alone.

Something was watching him.

Something was hunting him.