Chapter 110
Amos left Chloe at the staff door of the hospice. She hesitated and, for a moment, he thought she might want to kiss him. But after the way she’d rebuffed him earlier, he decided not to push it.
“Goodnight, Chloe p>
“Goodnight, Amos p>
He spent the early part of the night scouting ever–widening circles around the hospice. He found a thrall almost immediately, only two blocks away, huddled miserably against a steam vent in an alley behind a laundromat. She was dressed in ragged, dirty clothes that hung off her emaciated frame like rags. Her age was impossible to guess. Her face was sunken from starvation and neglect, her hair dark with filth.
“Hello,” Amos said gently.
She looked up at him with terror in her eyes, curling back against the wall as if it could shelter her from Amos. “Please,” she begged hoarsely, her voice barely audible. “Leave me alone p>
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. Blind, maddening rage threatened to overwhelm him. This was what the Council turned a blind eye to for centuries. This, done to innocents, over and over again. All because Markov was powerful and old and they were all too cowardly to cross him.
“I’ll go,” the woman said weakly. “I promise. I just… I’m so cold p>
“I want to help you. Will you come with me p>
She closed her eyes, buried her face in her knees. “I’m sorry,” she
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whispered, her voice fracturing on a sob.
Amos took his anger and shoved it down deep, so he could deal with it later. He took a steadying breath, then cautiously approached the weeping woman, making sure to make enough noise that she heard him coming. He crouched beside her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t try to run or fight.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “On your feet. I’m going to take you somewhere safe p>
“Somewhere safe” was one of the Council–owned safehouses for “difficult cases,” which included everything from abandoned thralls to vampires who’d been turned as children. By the time he ushered the woman inside, she’d stopped crying. To the attendant who took her from Amos’s custody, she managed to shakily utter her name.
“Thank you,” the house manager, a red–haired vampire who’d probably been in his fifties or sixties when he’d been turned, told
Amos. “She’s the fourth of Markov’s thralls that we’ve recovered so
far p>
“Four already?” Amos asked. “That can’t be good news p>
The house manager shook his head, expression grim. “The fact that
we’ve found that many so quickly? There are probably dozens out
there. Maybe hundreds p>
Amos let out a low hiss of dismay. “We’ll be tracking them down
forever p>
The house manager shrugged. “What else can we do p>
Accepting that grim truth, Amos returned to the streets. Before the
night was over, he found two more thralls. One was a young man,
turned in his late teens or early twenties–another sin to lay at
Markov’s feet. Turning anyone below the age of twenty–five had
been declared a crime since the Council of Ctesiphon ruled on it in
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the year 980 C.E. The other thrall was a middle–aged man who had tried his damnedest to run from Amos, frenzied with terror at the
sight of him.
It became clear that gathering Markov’s thralls was going to be especially difficult, since all his victims had been conditioned over
years and years to fear their sire, and to therefore fear all vampires.
Each time Amos brought one of the thralls to whichever safehouse
was nearest, the house managers and attendants all pressed him to
consider siring a thrall if they chose to fully turn. Each time, Amos fervently declined. He had no desire for progeny, and he especially did not want the bond that came with being a sire. He especially did
not want a bond with any of Markov’s line.
As the night faded, Amos returned once more to the hospice. Chloe
would still be inside, working until after sunrise. He had no hope of seeing her again that night, but just knowing he was near her
soothed a primitive part of his psyche.
The hunger for her was sharpening into something feral. The urge to
hunt her, to watch her from the darkness, to wait for his opportunity to pounce, to hear her gasp as he seized her, to hear her cry of fear turn into moans of pleasure as his teeth sank into her flesh… it was all becoming impossible to ignore. Each feeding ratcheted that need higher. Every other aspect of Chloe–her sweetness, her strength, her playful humor–intensified the possessiveness. Every conversation with her, every non–sexual intimacy they shared, called to the jealous, acquisitive side of his nature.
He tried to keep himself in check, but this feeling was something deeper than attraction or affection. It came from a primordial part of his brain that would not be reasoned with or shamed into better behavior. And as his higher mind grew fonder of her, it became less inclined to restrain the monstrous parts of him that wanted to take
and consume and claim.
But if he was going to have any hope of keeping her, he couldn’t
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surrender to those impulses. He needed to control himself. He needed to be the kind of man Chloe wanted and deserved. He couldn’t allow himself to be a monster even if, deep in his heart of hearts, a monster was what he truly was.
♡ (1)
Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.