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.

The red-eyed vampire frowned at him and said, "You're not to leave this room until dusk tomorrow. Your transformation isn't complete."

"Where's Count Abbot?" he asked.

Bronson was easy to read. He hesitated, clearly unsure whether he wanted to answer or not. "You need to get back into bed, Lawrence."

"Did something happen?"

"No, everything's fine. Please, back in bed," he insisted.

Reluctantly, Lawrence acquiesced with a nod, allowing the heavy door to seal off his solitude once more. Questions swirled in his mind, a torrent of confusion and worry crashing against the shore of his consciousness. Abbot pledged to stand vigil, to be his unwavering guardian through this perilous rite of transformation. Yet there Lawrence was, alone and bewildered, grappling with the unsettling absence of the Count's reassuring presence. Why would he leave without a word, without even arranging for someone else to take his place once Lawrence stirred from his slumber?

As he sank onto the bed, Lawrence's fingers grazed through the tangled strands of his tawny hair, now slick with sweat and neglect. The sensation elicited a shudder, a stark reminder of the physical toll exacted by the metamorphosis. Discomfort gnawed at him, a visceral malaise that transcended the clammy sheen on his skin. Despite the clamour of unease, one thought remained steadfast amidst the tumult: he had to find Abbot.

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He reached into the nightstand and took out his phone. First, he tried calling him, but after seven failed attempts, he texted him.

Where are you?

But there was no reply.

He tried again.

Is everything okay? I woke up and you weren't here.

Still nothing.

What the hell was he doing?

Lawrence was starting to panic. Although it wasn't racing, his heart was aching, and he knew that if he didn't find the Count soon, the pain would only get worse. He needed him right now; he was supposed to be guiding him through the first hours of his transformation, welcoming him into the coven. He wouldn't miss that...would he?

With a breathy huff, he put his phone in his pocket and stood up. He had to get rid of Bronson, so he walked to the door and pulled it open again.

Bronson sighed deeply as he turned to face him. "Lawrence, get back in—"

"Can I have more blood?" he requested. "I...I need more blood."

The General adorned that same reluctant stare, but after a few moments of contemplation, he sighed and nodded. "All right. Get back in bed and I'll bring you some."

"Thank you," he said, sounding as grateful as he could.

Lawrence then closed the door and waited, listening. When he heard Bronson's footsteps receding, a strange desperation began to fill him. He wanted to find Abbot, he wanted to bask in his new life with him, and he wanted to talk about forever again. How he loved those conversations; the thought of spending eternity with his soulmate was at the top of the list of things that convinced him to join Abbot's ranks, that and the fact that his human life was dull and empty. He wouldn't have to work in that coffee shop anymore, and he wouldn't have to listen to his man-child of a boss, either.

When Bronson's footsteps were so far away that even Lawrence's new, sharper senses couldn't hear him, he pulled the door open and left the chamber he'd been left to turn in. He navigated the familiar castle halls, passing the painting-lined black walls, following the blood-red, gold-trimmed rug. He never noticed the smell of warm amber before, or the scent of cinnamon. Until now, he hadn't seen the cobwebs clinging to the rib-vaulted ceiling or the tiny cracks in some of the foundations.

Already, he was experiencing so much, indulging his new senses, but it only brought dismay. He didn't want to do any of this without Abbot at his side.

As he approached Abbot's room, though, it wasn't just his voice that he heard coming from inside.

There was someone else. Another man. Laughing. Abbot was laughing, too.

Lawrence frowned but didn't want to give in to the angst that suddenly struck him. It could be one of Abbot's subordinates; it wasn't unusual for him to meet with them. But to leave him to transform alone just to speak to another vampire?

No...something was wrong. Different. Lawrence hadn't yet been taught how to master his senses, but he'd been around Abbot for almost a year, and he'd picked up a few things. He knew what to listen for. Inside that room was the calm, rhythmic beating of a vampire's heart...and the elevated beating of a human's.

With a perturbed frown, Lawrence grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

And that was when his heart shattered.

Count Abbot, the man he loved, the man he was supposed to spend forever with, had his tongue down someone else's throat. He had his dick in someone else's ass. And the pendant that Lawrence had given him was tossed carelessly on the table with two empty liquor bottles.

Lawrence's throat tightened, and if his heart could beat any faster, it would be racing, and he'd be stifling his breaths. He could feel tears forming in his eyes, and both anger and dismay boiled inside him.

"Abbot?" he asked shakily.

The Count pulled his face away from the human, breaking their fervent kissing, and set his gaze on him. But where the usual sweet, content smile would sit, there was an irritated glower. Instead of adorning a startled, regretful stare, Abbot scowled.

"Do you not know how to knock?" Abbot snapped as the human shamefully hid his face from view.

Lost for words, confused by his sudden attitude change, Lawrence stuttered, his horrified eyes shifting from Abbot to the human. "Who's that?" he questioned.

"I should go," the human said.

"No," Abbot said to him and then glared at Lawrence. "You shouldn't be out of your chamber. Go back or I'll have someone take you."

Lawrence couldn't believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing. Why was Abbot fucking and kissing someone else? Why was he talking to Lawrence like he was just some other vampire now? Where was his smile or his soft-spoken words? His attentiveness? His worry and concern? And why was he looking at him like that? With...resentment in his dark, gold-rimmed eyes.

He didn't want to believe it, but all the evidence was right in front of him. Everything Abbot ever said to him was lies. Why would he be screwing someone else if he only had eyes for Lawrence? Why would he be telling him to leave instead of begging for his forgiveness if he was the only person he ever needed and wanted? And why had he tossed away the pendant that Lawrence saved up months to buy like it was nothing? Like it meant nothing?

"Leave!" Abbot's voice bellowed.

Lawrence flinched, and he had no choice but to abide. When he was human, Abbot had no control over him, but now that he was one of them, he couldn't disobey his Count's order.

He obediently turned around, each step heavier than the last as if he carried the weight of their shattered promises on his shoulders. The ache in his heart twisted into a sharp, searing pain, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a reminder of the betrayal that pierced his soul.

Tears, hot and bitter, streamed down his face, leaving trails of anguish in their wake. With each salty drop, he felt the depths of his despair deepen, drowning in a sea of abandonment and disbelief. How could Abbot do this to him? Their plans to spend eternity together, whispered promises of forever, now shattered like fragile glass beneath the weight of reality.

The echoes of 'I love you's' and 'I'll never leave you's' mocked him, taunting reminders of a love that now felt like a cruel joke. Lawrence's once steadfast belief in their bond crumbled like sand slipping through his trembling fingers. He felt like a fool, betrayed by the one person he trusted above all others.

In that moment, the world felt empty, devoid of meaning or purpose. Lawrence's chest constricted with a pain so visceral, it was as if a stake had been driven through his very being. He had given his heart completely, only to have it shattered into irreparable pieces. Betrayal and devastation intertwined, weaving a tapestry of heartbreak that threatened to consume him whole.

His new life was over before it had even started.