Everything happened so fast. Lawrence didn't have a chance to attempt to run. Snarling wolves emerged from the darkness-engulfed tree line, their bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him as if he was their next meal. If his heart were human, it would be racing in his chest; his limbs went stiff, and his breaths became harder to take as the dread of his imminent slaughter consumed him.

They wouldn't attack him, would they? The wolves knew better than to kill vampires, especially those who belonged to a coven. But Lawrence didn't yet wear the coven's mark—as far as these wolf walkers were concerned, he was alone...and dangerously close to their territory.

He watched as two wolves investigated the corpse of the human he'd just killed. The rest kept their sights on him, examining him from head to toe. They started growling—he knew that meant they were talking to each other—and the longer he stood there, the greater the urge to attempt to escape grew.

And then they started prowling closer.

Their growls became more hostile, and they were closing in on him.

They were going to kill him.

He held out his hands and stepped back—

The wolves snarled defensively and moved nearer.

"I-I don't mean you any harm," Lawrence insisted, trying to work out what to say. "I was just hunting this guy, and I didn't mean to get so close to the forest. I—"

One of the wolves lunged at him.

Lawrence panicked and went to dodge as best he could, but that was when four clouds of dark smoke descended and hit the ground in front of him. Four of Abbot's Acolyte vampires materialized, and General Bronson, who appeared behind him, grabbed Lawrence and pulled him away from the wolf as one of the other vampires used his body to shove the creature away.

"Back the fuck off," one of the Acolytes warned as the wolves snarled and growled, surrounding the wolf who hit the ground after the vampire collided with him.

"Don't try it," another Acolyte warned.

The wolves snarled, and the vampires hissed, and after a few moments of intense glares, the wolves turned around and headed back into the trees.

Bronson then turned Lawrence to face him, holding his shoulders as if he were a child. "What the fuck were you thinking?!" he exclaimed.

Lawrence, still shaken from the confrontation, gawped at the General.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Bronson questioned.

"Wouldn't be the first one," an Acolyte muttered.

"Shut up, Enzo" the General snapped.

Enzo lost his sly smirk. "Sorry, sir."

Bronson sighed heavily and took his hands off Lawrence's shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes shifted to the dead human, and a look of disappointment smothered his pale face. "Yeah...he did it again, huh?" he mumbled.

Lawrence frowned. "What?"

With a shake of his head, the General grasped Lawrence's wrist. "We're going back to the castle. Grant, deal with the body."

Grant, the hazel-haired Acolyte, nodded.

Bronson then dematerialized both himself and Lawrence into black smoke and raced back to the castle. When they landed and rematerialized in the courtyard, the General kept hold of Lawrence and dragged him inside. He silently escorted him through the halls, and every vampire shot Lawrence either a sympathetic stare or a judgemental one—why?

Once they got back to his room, Bronson opened the door and shoved Lawrence inside. "Stay here until tomorrow. I swear to hell, Lawrence if I find you outside of these walls again..." he paused and exhaled deeply. "Just stay here."

A part of Lawrence wanted to back down and do as he was told; he was shaken, and the dread still had a hold on him, but he had questions. "What did Enzo mean...that it wouldn't be the first time that someone tried to get themselves killed?"

"Nothing. He's just being a prick," the General dismissed. "Get some—"

"What did he mean?" he insisted.

Bronson looked hesitant. "Why did you kill that human?"

Lawrence clenched his jaw. "Abbot—"

"Count."

"Count Abbot cheated on me with him—I walked in on them fucking," he said, gritting his teeth. His anger was returning, and so was the dismay. His existence felt pointless again, and the desire to fall into his bed and never get out again quickly ensnared him. "I thought he loved me."

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General Bronson didn't look at all surprised. He dragged out a sigh and crossed his arms. "He does this, Lawrence. You're not the first man he's lured in. A lot of the vampires in this castle were created through the same scenario as you. Count Abbot heads to a bar or a club or some other place where he knows all the pretty, unfortunate guys hang out; he lures them in, lets them get attached, and then he turns them. Not even hours later, he's moved onto the next."

Lawrence felt utterly decimated. His broken heart shattered, ground into nothing but dust, and his body ached with every stiff breath he managed to take. "What?"

"I'm sorry, kid. Someone might have warned you earlier if we weren't all bound to Count Abbot's order."

"He...ordered everyone not to tell me that he planned to dump me all along?" he questioned—he didn't want to believe it...but it had already happened, and Bronson was someone he trusted. He wasn't lying, was he?

"Every single one of us," the General confirmed. "He compelled us all not to tell any humans that he brings here what his intentions are; the only reason I can tell you now is because you're no longer human."

Lawrence dragged his heavy body over to the bed and slumped down. Abbot had been lying to him since day one. It was all a lie. None of it was real—at least not for Abbot. What Lawrence felt was real; his love was real, his desire was real...and his anger was real. His wrath. What Bronson just told him only added fuel to the raging fire inside him, igniting his fury into something devastating.

He wasn't going to stop at killing Abbot's new toy.

He was going to destroy him. Abbot deserved to feel all the pain that he'd inflicted on not just Lawrence but all the other vampires in the castle.

How was Abbot even a Count? Why was he so highly respected when he did this? Why did the men whose hearts he'd broken worship him, follow him, and love him? Lawrence scowled at the thought of love. He still loved Abbot—of course he did. But the pain was greater, and the desire to make him pay for what he'd done was getting stronger with each passing moment.

"You look like you got plenty of blood out of that guy, so I'll have someone bring your next glass tomorrow morning," General Bronson said. "Are you going to be okay?"

Lawrence turned his head and set his eyes on him. "Who else did he do this to?"

"Lawrence, you really don't want to go th—"

"Tell me...please."

Bronson sighed deeply. "Just promise me you're not going to do anything destructive with his information."

"I just wanna know who else he's screwed over."

"Well, before you, it was Daniel, and before him, it was Frederick. Then...Mark, Brent, Austin, Harrold—honestly, all the Fledgelings, Lawrence."

Lawrence glared down at his lap. He was just another name on the pile, wasn't he?

"Look, it happened, okay? But you're one of us now, and you've got a whole lot of forever ahead of you. Right now, just focus on completing your transformation, and then you can figure out where to go from there. You can integrate with the other Fledgelings, learn how to use your new abilities. Just...don't let this Count Abbot thing eat at you. There's nothing you can do about it now."

Nothing he could do about it? He was going to do something about it whether Bronson advised it or not. Abbot deserved karma, and if the world wouldn't hand it to him, then Lawrence would. But he needed to be smart and careful. He needed information.

"Rest," Bronson told him as he started closing the door.

"Why...does he do it?" Lawrence asked, looking across the room at him.

"We don't know," he answered, sounding defeated. "Some of us think that he likes breaking people. Others think that he's trying to create some sort of record. And then there's those of us who think that he's just so fucking old that he doesn't give a shit who he hurts, like people are just objects for him to use and dispose of once he's done with it."

It almost sounded as if Bronson was speaking from experience, but he was almost as old as Abbot, so he couldn't be one of the men that the Count had used and disposed of, could he? Lawrence wanted to know. "Are you one of us? One of the people he destroyed?"

"No, but I've known a lot of them, and most of them gave themselves to the sunlight not long after he tossed them away. Some left and joined other covens—they were the lucky ones. After hundreds of years, it gets very depressing seeing it happen over and over. I try my best to save them, so please...don't do anything else reckless or stupid, Lawrence. I don't know how many more Fledgelings I can face losing."

Lawrence looked down at his lap again. He understood Bronson's viewpoint; standing on the sidelines watching someone continuously destroy so many other people for no reason whatsoever.... Lawrence wasn't sure he'd be able to stomach it, especially if most of those people ended up dead because of the heartbreak.

He wouldn't let the pain destroy him, though—no more than it already had, anyway. He'd do what none of the others had the balls to do.

"I'll see you in the morning," Bronson said, and then he closed the door.

Lawrence laid down on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He needed to find the other Fledgelings whom Abbot used and tossed away; he wanted to know how they felt, and maybe he'd gain an ally or two on his quest—if not, though, he was perfectly fine working on his own. He just needed a plan, but before he could come up with something, he needed to finish his transformation.

He sighed deeply and rolled onto his side. In the silence, his despair crept through all the anger and pondering. Yet again, he asked himself why Abbot did this to him, he asked him why he couldn't be the exception, the one who broke Abbot's habit. But he wasn't. He was just like the other men the Count had done this to. However, he planned to be the last.

A world without Abbot, though.... The thought made Lawrence feel cold inside—empty, alone, all the things he already felt because he knew that he didn't matter to the man he loved. Why did he still love him? Was it because he was his sire? Did all vampires feel love for their leaders? No...it wasn't that kind of love. The love that Lawrence felt for Abbot was the kind that blossomed over time—at least he thought so.

Lawrence scowled away as much of the longing as he could. The thought of kissing Abbot again...the thought of being touched by him now knowing that he'd fucked someone else—it disgusted him. For all he knew, Abbot could have been two-timing him; Abbot could have been fucking and kissing and rimming God knew how many other men behind his back. He felt sick.

With a dismayed sigh, he rolled onto his back again. There was no use in letting the dismay consume him. There was no use in sulking like a teenager. It wasn't like he could change what happened, nor could he change Abbot—at least not in the way his heart wanted.

That was it.

That was what he'd do.

He'd take away what Abbot loved most.

His title.

Lawrence knew how much Abbot loved being the leader of a coven. He'd witnessed first-hand how powerful leadership made him feel, and how cruel it made him. He lorded about the place as if he was the creator of vampires himself.

Abbot took away the thing that Lawrence loved most, so Lawrence would give him a taste of his own medicine.

He was going to strip Abbot of his precious title.