Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 268: It Was Good While It Lasted

Florian stepped forward, slow and deliberate like a predator savoring the fear in its prey. The dim light barely touched him, casting long, creeping shadows as he crouched down. His fingers wrapped around the syringe, lifting it with an eerie care.

Lisbeth convulsed, black liquid spilling from her lips in thick, sickly splatters. She clutched her chest, her body wracked with violent tremors, struggling for breath.

Florian let out a soft hum. Not of surprise. Not of curiosity. Something colder. Something cruel.

He raised the syringe to eye level, tilting it slightly, watching the poison swirl inside. His lips curled—not in amusement, not in anger. Just... something unreadable.

"What made you think this would work on me?" His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.

Lisbeth’s vision blurred, her limbs trembling. He was coming closer. The poison—her last hope—still rested in his hands, unspent. For a fleeting moment, she thought he would turn it on her, drive the needle into her skin, end her suffering right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crouched lower, leveling himself with her, his face just inches away. His eyes, sharp and inhuman, bore into hers—unyielding, patient, merciless.

Lisbeth felt the truth then. She was never his opponent. Never even a threat.

Florian leaned in, voice a low, guttural vibration that sent ice through her veins. "What made you think you could overpower me?"

His voice had changed—no longer hoarse, but deep and guttural as if something dark had stirred awake inside him.

He was studying her. Not as a rival. As something already broken and lost. As something that belonged to him. As prey.

Lisbeth wanted to speak. Staying silent felt like surrender, and she refused to let him have that victory.

No—she wasn’t done yet. No matter how shattered her body felt, the fire inside her refused to die. Even if this was her final moment, she had to make it mean something. She had to stop him.

But before she could summon a single word, Florian moved. The syringe twirled between his fingers with effortless ease. Then, with a single, brutal clench of his fist, the glass crumpled. A sickening crunch echoed through the room.

Lisbeth flinched.

Thick, molten gold dripped between his fingers, glistening as it splattered onto the cold stone floor. Her last chance—her only weapon—reduced to nothing in his palm.

Florian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He only watched her, his expression stretched into something unnatural, something wrong. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t belong to him.

Because it wasn’t him.

Ol’gaz was awake now, fully in control. And he was drinking in her despair like the finest blood.

The light in her eyes dimmed, and he shuddered with pleasure. Oh, how he wanted to laugh, to revel in this delicious moment—but no. He would wait. He would stretch it out, let the horror settle deep into her bones.

Yes... just like that.

Her fear. Her hopelessness. It was intoxicating. Soon, the world would wear that same expression. Soon, they would all kneel.

This kingdom. This world. Everything...

It belongs to me.

"Arrgghhh!!!" Lisbeth screamed, every ounce of remaining strength pouring into her as she lunged upward, aiming for Florian’s face.

The more his features twisted into something monstrous, the braver she became. The guilt that had once tangled her thoughts, making her believe she was harming Florian instead of the demon, was swept away by the vile, unnerving grin that now twisted his lips.

Florian’s eyes narrowed, surprised by the ferocity of her attack—but not afraid. Foolish. He was too powerful to be caught off guard by someone like her. With a single, fluid motion, he rose and stepped aside, his movements so fast they blurred.

Lisbeth crashed to the ground, her breath knocked out of her. She braced herself against the cold stone. Her palm landed in the thick, dark liquid that still pooled on the floor. For a moment, she stared at it. The poison.

A spark of desperation flared in her chest. The syringe was useless now but the poison wasn’t gone. It was still here, still capable of doing something. Not enough to kill him, maybe... but enough to make him falter. To slow him down.

"Oh, my. Princess," Ol’gaz purred, the laughter slipping from his lips despite his best efforts to suppress it. It was a cruel, mocking sound—one that stripped the air of any hope. "Thank you for the entertainment."

Lisbeth pushed herself to her feet, her eyes wild, frantic. She scooped up the poison from the floor. She didn’t have time to think—just act. With every ounce of her remaining strength, she dashed toward him, her hand outstretched, the poison ready to end it all.

But Ol’gaz was already moving as if he had anticipated her every step. He was too fast to follow, and he danced just out of reach, a twisted smile curving his lips. He was toying with her. Giving her just enough hope to keep the fight alive.

Lisbeth reached out again, desperate to land a blow. But before she could react, Ol’gaz’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with inhuman strength. The world spun as he twisted her arm, forcing her to spin with him. Her body followed the motion, helpless to fight against his iron grip.

In an instant, he shoved her poisoned palm to her own lips, pressing the thick liquid against her skin. Lisbeth recoiled, her body jerking in defiance—but it was too late. The poison smeared across her lips, the cold, metallic taste burning into her mouth.

Ol’gaz released her with a languid motion, stepping back to watch her with cold amusement. He didn’t see this as a battle—no, for him, it was nothing more than a game, a twisted performance for his entertainment.

Lisbeth’s body shook with the effort to move. Her fingers, slick with poison, trembled as she pushed herself up, every muscle screaming in protest. She scanned the room, desperation clawing at her mind, searching for anything that could give her a chance.

Her eyes locked onto the bowl—the last thing she had left. It was a fragile thread of hope. With a raw, desperate cry, she crawled toward it.

It’s not over yet. I still have a way.

But as she moved, she could feel his eyes on her—like a predator watching its prey struggle. Every inch she crawled felt like an eternity, the room closing in around her.

Lisbeth’s pulse throbbed in her ears as she clutched the bowl, a sense of cold, terrible resolve settling over her. She wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

He didn’t need to drink it all. Just a few drops were enough to send the poison coursing through his veins. But what Lisbeth didn’t realize, as she furiously focused on aiming the bowl at Ol’gaz, was that in her desperation, she’d unknowingly wetted her lips.

The instant she did, she felt it.

As she leaped into the air, the poison began to take hold. First, a searing burn on her lips, then a creeping heat spreading across her tongue. Her throat constricted painfully, her lungs felt as if they were filling with fire. It spread faster than she could understand.

Lisbeth’s body betrayed her. The numbness hit—an overwhelming, suffocating sensation that dulled her senses and left her unable to move. Her vision darkened, edges blurring into inky blackness. The world around her spun out of control.

Her body hit the floor with a thud, the bowl—her last hope—crashing beside her, the last drop of poison spilling onto the ground.

Ol’gaz watched her collapse, his gaze almost bored. He sighed as if mourning the loss of a particularly amusing toy, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"Pity," he murmured, his voice cold and detached. "It was good while it lasted."