Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 19

(Clarence’s POV)The voice on the other end was not Molly’s. It was an ancient, somber male voice, carrying an air of unquestionable authority.“Prince Thorne. I have been sent by the Progenitor to discuss the terms of the dissolution of your blood bond with Lady Molly.”Clarence felt his blood run cold.When he appeared at the Progenitor’s ancient castle deep in the forest, he was still clinging to a final, desperate thread of hope that he might see Molly.Maybe she was finally willing to see him.Even if it was just to negotiate the terms of their separation, at least he could see her, know she was safe.But the grand council chamber was empty, save for the Progenitor’s steward.No Molly.“Where is my mate?” Clarence demanded.“My apologies, Prince Thorne. Lady Molly is not in attendance today,” the steward said, taking a seat at the far end of the long table and unrolling an ancient parchment scroll. “This is the dissolution agreement she has prepared. The division of assets, territ

(Clarence’s POV)The ring held more memories, but Clarence couldn’t bear to watch.Every image was a blade carving up his soul. Every word was a lash against his flesh.He finally understood. While he was indulging in cheap thrills, Molly had been enduring a slow, agonizing death by a thousand cuts.She had faced this every day.Every day, a reminder that her mate was in another woman’s bed, badmouthing her.Every day, forced to look at his disgusting, deceitful face.Swallowing the pain in his chest, Clarence called Seraphina.“Darling, you finally called! I was starting to think you’d forgotten all about me,” her syrupy voice cooed.She was smart enough to pretend their last fight never happened.“Get to my castle. Now,” Clarence’s voice was arctic, devoid of all emotion.“What?” Seraphina was clearly taken aback by his tone. “Clarence, what’s wrong? You sound… strange.”“I said, get to my castle. Now.”He was fighting the urge to appear before her and rip her throat out.For the fir

(Seraphina’s POV)The sewers of New York, just after midnight.Two towering blood thralls dragged a woman from the shadows and unceremoniously dumped her at the filthy entrance.“No! Please!” Seraphina fought wildly, her nails clawing bloody tracks down their arms. “I can give you my blood! It’s pure!”But the thralls were impassive, mechanically carrying out the Prince’s orders.During the struggle, Seraphina’s silk lingerie was torn on the rough concrete, the sound a piercing shriek.“Ah!” she cried, trying to cover herself, but it was too late. The thralls released her, and she fell hard onto the sewage-slicked ground.The cold, foul water stung her bare skin. Broken glass gashed her knees.Droplets of her own blood soaked into her torn clothes, mixing with the grime on the floor.The thralls vanished into the darkness.“Well, well, if it isn’t Seraphina.”A shrill female voice echoed from deeper in the sewer. A pack of ragged, low-caste vampires were sharing a rat, and they had spo

(Clarence’s POV)Victor let out a heavy sigh.For over a month, Clarence had barely fed, hadn’t entered his healing sleep.The entire New York Coven was in disarray.“Father…” Clarence looked up, his eyes shining with a desperate light. “I’ve looked everywhere, used every informant… why can’t I find her? Why?!”Victor knelt and gripped his son’s shoulders. “Clarence, listen to me. If conventional methods have failed, then we must use unconventional ones.”“What do you mean?”The old Prince’s eyes hardened with resolve. “Our family has built alliances across the globe for millennia. It’s time to call in those favors. I will make every vampire in the world know that we are looking for Molly.”Clarence’s head shot up. “You mean…”“A global missing person’s notice. Through our partners on every continent—the European clans, the Asian bloodlines, the ancient families of South America… we will let everyone know who the Thorne family is searching for.”Isabella looked at her husband in shock.

After leaving Norway, I moved to a remote town in the Arctic Circle, a place where I could see the auroras.My landlord was a kind old man named Anker. He didn't speak much English, and we mostly communicated with gestures and simple words, but the quiet was exactly what I needed.Every evening, I painted by the fireplace.The familiar colors flowed onto the canvas, accompanied by the sound of the wind off the sea and the echo from the distant mountains.I read. I drank coffee. I watched the lights dance across the sky.I felt truly at peace.One afternoon, Anker knocked on my door. He looked hesitant, holding an old tablet.“Celeste,” he said, using my new name. “I don’t know if I should show you… but this video is everywhere online… about a rich man from New York. They say… they say he is dying.”I put down my brush and looked at the old man’s worried face. “What video?”I took the tablet. The screen showed a blurry video. The quality was poor, but I could still clearly see the famil