Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 345: A Father’s Duty

Meanwhile, the elders of the Nightshade Coven moved through the fray, saving as many vampires as they could, though not the enemy’s soldiers. Their focus was on rescuing women and children, those who never should have been caught in the conflict to begin with.

But not all elders chose mercy. The more aggressive among them—yes, Griswold, of course—threw themselves into the heart of battle. Vampiric auras clashed and erupted like lightning storms, shaking the air.

The knight generals of the Asvaldur Imperial Army proved terrifyingly powerful, and some of the Asvaldur elders had joined the fight as well, raising the stakes even higher.

"Arghh!!" Cielo screamed, clutching her arm. While her father was busy commanding his knights, an enemy elder had blindsided her with a brutal attack. The blast scorched her right hand, leaving it blistered and raw.

The elder moved to strike again—this time aiming for her leg—but Lisbeth reacted in an instant. Blue ice surged across the battlefield, curling swiftly along the ground until it gripped the elder’s ankles, locking his feet in place. He staggered, nearly losing his balance as he fought against the freezing bind.

Lisbeth sprinted to Cielo’s side, kneeling to check her injury. "Are you okay?" she asked quickly. Cielo gave a pained nod, but Lisbeth didn’t have time to relax.

Behind her, the elder raised his aura, preparing to strike her from behind. But he never got the chance.

The elder froze, gasping. His hands flew to his throat, clawing at an invisible force crushing his windpipe. No one was near him. Nothing touched him.

Lisbeth turned and followed the line of invisible pressure—straight to King Valentin.

He stood unmoving in the chaos, one arm raised, his power rippling through the air like a vice.

"Father..." she breathed.

But the battlefield showed no mercy.

No one paused just because one man was protecting his daughter. War didn’t wait for sentiment. The moment King Valentin diverted his focus, fully absorbed in shielding Lisbeth, someone saw their chance and struck.

A vicious blast slammed into his side.

The impact sent him staggering, blood bursting from his mouth as he hit the ground with a force that made it feel like the earth shook. For a moment, everything went still. The king wasn’t dead... but the wound was deep, and even a vampire king had his limits.

The elder Lisbeth had frozen earlier broke free in that instant with rekindled rage. He turned on her with fury blazing in his eyes—and so did she.

Their attacks collided at the same time.

A brilliant explosion of their powers erupted between them, blasting both backward. Smoke and shattered earth filled the air, crackling with lingering power.

Amidst the smoke, King Valentin tried to rise—but others had seen him fall. They came for him like wolves scenting blood. A group of enemy vampires surged forward, weapons drawn and auras blazing. Even wounded, he met them with relentless force, his power still formidable.

But he was outnumbered.

His eyes flicked across the chaos, searching for Lisbeth—and found her just as she was hurled through the air, her body crashing into rubble like a ragdoll.

"Lisbeth!" he shouted.

She groaned, forcing her eyes open. Dust clung to her lashes. Her vision was hazy, spinning, but something in the fog moved.

A figure. Silent. Steady. Approaching her through the mist with deadly intent.

She tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead. Too slow. Too late. The shadow loomed closer, arm raised to strike—

—and then it stopped mid-motion, a pressure clamping down on it from afar. King Valentin, even from across the field, had reached for her again, his power wrapping around the elder like an invisible hand.

But his reach came at a cost. His focus wavered. And in that split second, the enemy vampires around him struck as one.

This time, he didn’t rise. His body fell still, crumpling to the blood-soaked ground.

***

Thorin felt like his entire body had shattered—but thankfully, it wasn’t literal. It just felt that way. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, it was as if every bone had been ripped apart and stitched back together wrong.

Thessara’s boost to Emperor Kaan’s power wasn’t just noticeable—it was brutal.

With a low groan, Thorin forced himself to his feet. Every movement sent sharp, fiery jolts through his limbs. He bit down on a scream, swayed, then leaned hard against the only wall still standing near him.

"Tch... that’s cheating," he muttered, spitting the words like venom.

He knew about Thessara. Riona had told him everything, passing on what the vampire ancestor had revealed. Emperor Kaan wasn’t just a genius—he was dangerous on his own, sure, but Thessara’s influence made him monstrous.

Still... Thorin would never admit it out loud.

Let the emperor have his overpowered ghost whisperer. Thorin would fight him anyway—even if it felt like his ribs were made of splinters.

But where was he?

Thorin’s eyes scanned the wreckage. He was still in the same corridor—the one where he’d stood his ground, blocking the emperor from reaching Riona. But now, it was barely recognizable. The walls were mostly rubble, the floor cracked and scorched. Their battle had torn it all apart.

This was the same corridor... and yet completely different.

"Don’t tell me... no—no!" Thorin muttered, his voice low and tight as panic crept into his chest.

The emperor was gone.

The space where Emperor Kaan had stood just moments ago was empty, and that emptiness filled Thorin with a cold, gut-twisting dread. What if he’d already gone after her? What if he’d caught up?

"No!!"

With a growl of frustration and fear, Thorin launched himself down the corridor, sprinting into the ruins, desperate to find the emperor before it was too late.

Please, he thought. Let him not have found her yet.

***

Meanwhile, in another part of the crumbling castle, Emperor Kaan stormed through the corridors like a blade looking for something to cut.

But no matter how many doors he passed, no matter how many turns he took, he always ended up in the same place.

The halls blurred together—identical cracks in the stone, the same bloodstains on the wall, the same shattered chandelier flickering in protest above his head.

Again. And again. And again.

He growled, dragging his claws against the stone as he turned another corner, only to find himself standing at the very entrance he had just left. His eye twitched. Magic. There was something wrong.

He should have found her by now. He clenched his fists. "What... is this?"

The disorientation grew heavier, a fog creeping into his mind. Kaan rarely felt confused, but this was unmistakable. A spell. A trap. But who would dare?

Then, a glimmer of realization sparked.

Someone close. Someone who had access to the magic wielders. Someone who wouldn’t be questioned.

His eyes narrowed.

Roderick.

The name burned in his mind like acid. His most trusted aide. The one who always walked two steps behind, the one who always bowed lowest.

A soft echo rang behind him. Footsteps.

Kaan turned slowly, his aura flaring to life. Sir Roderick stood in the hallway’s shadow, his face unreadable.

How? He’s a vampire, so he should be under the control of the poisonous mist.

The emperor stared at him, his gaze sharpened like the edge of a knife.

"Roderick," he said, voice low. "What a convenient time to appear."