The Downfall of Count Abbot [Preview Chapters]

Step One | Catch Him In The Act

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It was like fire in his veins, a searing blaze coursing through his body, each agonizing pulse heralding Lawrence's inevitable transformation into one of them. Despite the torment, there was an undeniable sense of gratitude; this was the threshold he'd long-awaited, the threshold to a new existence.

Every grimace, every anguished cry—they were the rites of passage, marking the end of one life and the dawn of eternity. The pain was the price, and he gladly paid it, knowing that beyond it lay a timeless realm waiting to embrace him.

Just a few more hours, and forever would begin.

Lawrence's body writhed beneath the blankets, each convulsion a testament to the profound metamorphosis occurring within him. His human heart, once singular and mortal, yielded to the imperative growth of the proselytes, the mystical organ fundamental to all Caeleste kind; without it, no being with ethos could survive. And as it settled into its rightful place, weaving its arcane threads through his being, a surge of energy erupted, a fervent manifestation of the power bestowed upon him by his immortal lineage.

The pain started settling, Lawrence's body went cold and still, and the racing heart inside his chest slowly eased to the eternal, slow rhythm that would never change.

With a sudden jolt, his eyes flung open, darting about the shrouded chamber that enclosed him. Black drapes veiled the windows, casting shadows that danced with the flickering glow of scattered white candles, their feeble light offering scant illumination.

A potent scent, rich and metallic, permeated the air, stirring his newfound senses and kindling an insatiable hunger deep inside. Urgency seized him, propelling his body upright as he sought out the source of that tantalizing aroma. With aching desperation, his gaze alighted upon a small vessel brimming with crimson elixir. Without hesitation, he snatched it, the fluid disappearing in a fervent gulp as he yielded to the primal call of his awakening nature.

But as his hunger was satiated, a deep, dismaying feeling of emptiness ensnared him. He glanced around the room, searching for the man who graced him with this gift. The man who owned his heart and soul.

"Abbot?" he asked, his voice hoarse and his throat sore.

Count Abbot earlier stood witness as his venom coursed through Lawrence, watching over him, protecting him the same way he always did. Yet, as the Fledgeling vampire emerged from the haze of unconsciousness, seeking the comfort of his presence, the Count was conspicuously absent.

Confusion gripped Lawrence like icy talons, clawing at the fringes of his awareness. How could Abbot abandon him now after tethering him to this fate with his own hands? The echo of his absence reverberated through the chamber, a dissonant note in the symphony of Lawrence's awakening. The void left in his wake, once suffused with his watchful gaze, now loomed ominously, a silent testament to his inexplicable departure.

Worry quickly accompanied his loneliness. There could only be one reason why Abbot would leave him in this state. Had something happened while he was unconscious? Had the humans of Myrefall City launched another attack on the coven's castle?

Lawrence scrambled to his feet, but when he stood up, the world twisted around him, forcing him back down onto the bed. He groaned and exhaled deeply—it was going to take time for him to adjust, but if Abbot needed him, he couldn't just sit around and do nothing, could he?

"Abbot?" he called again as he slowly rose.

The disorientation grasping Lawrence's body and mind weakened with every step he took towards the door, and once he reached it, he pulled it open. His spinning gaze met that of General Bronson, one of Count Abbot's third in command.