The Downfall of Count Abbot

Step Four | Find His Other Victims

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The transformation was brutal—worse than Abbot had warned him. Lawrence writhed in his bed like he had a fever, and when the hunger set in, he began to wish that he'd savoured killing that human. He needed blood, but Bronson only brought it to him every other hour; he knew that was to prevent him from gorging and making his transformation take longer, but he just...needed it.

Each passing hour felt like a century, dragging on longer than the one before. It was torture. But Lawrence had to hold on, he had to make it. He wouldn't let this beat him; he wouldn't let Count Abbot go free. He had to survive so that he could make him feel the pain and loss that he'd made him feel.

It was all worth it. The pain in his chest as his proselytes matured, the pounding in his head and burning of his nerves while his body evolved beyond that of a human, and the crushing, tormenting hunger. He'd go through it again if it meant that he got to get his revenge—if he got to give Abbot what was coming to him.

He suffered through the rest of the night, almost lunging at Bronson when he brought him blood; every cup only made him hungrier. When morning came, the agony got worse. His limbs felt like they were trapped in a vice, and there was an invisible dagger through his chest. The blood began to make him feel nauseous when he drank his next cup, but he knew that if he didn't drink it, he'd be a Fledgeling much longer than he wanted to be. So he downed each glass, ensuring that he swallowed every drop.

As the sun set, the burning inside him gradually decreased, like he'd taken some sort of painkiller, and it was finally kicking in. But he knew why he was starting to feel better. This was around the time Abbot had given him his blood and venom; this was the same time twenty-four hours ago that the man he loved started him on his journey into eternity.

A journey that he was now facing alone.

He wouldn't let the dismay get to him this time, though.

From his bed, he watched and waited until the last rays of light seeping in through the cracks in the curtains disappeared; the occasional chatter outside his door grew into mass conversation, signalling the awakening of the rest of the castle. He heard Bronson's voice, and when the General stepped into his room for what he hoped would be the last time, Lawrence sat up and looked over at him.

"You can mesh with the rest of the coven now," Bronson said. "You'll find most of the Fledgelings in the back right of the ballroom; they like—"

"Like the leather couches, yeah," Lawrence mumbled as he stood up. He already knew most of the ins and outs of the coven and its ranks.

"Someone will also take your belongings up to your new room for later."

"Okay, thanks."

He then followed Bronson out of his room and through the candlelit halls; the many voices coming from the open doors bounced off the black walls, and the smell of blood and wine hung thick in the air. Lawrence couldn't tell whether it was warm or cold anymore, but from his time as a human, he remembered the halls carrying a faint but bitter draft.

When he got to the ballroom, Bronson left him to join the other Generals and higher-ranking vampires. Lawrence didn't care, though; he'd rather be on his own right now than chauffeured around the place. The ballroom was bright and bustling with vampires, some much older than the rest. A huge crystal chandelier lit most of the open space, and small lanterns hung around the dark walls. Leather couches were lined around the room, and a huddle of them sat in the far right, where all the Fledgelings were grouped up.