Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 348: False Victories

The emperor panted, his breath ragged but defiant. His body was a wreck—shredded and broken by Thorin’s relentless assault—yet he barely felt a thing. Dark blood dripped from his mouth as he sneered at the two fallen warriors before him. He believed them both dead. He was only half right.

Roderick, the vampire, hadn’t survived the draining—his strength no match for the emperor’s consuming force. Thorin, on the other hand, was a werewolf. Hardy. Stubborn. Capable of losing rivers of blood and still clinging to life.

"That’s the price of defying me," Emperor Kaan growled, as though every triumph, every act of devastation, had been his doing alone. He didn’t mention Thessara—the true source of his victories, the one who had hollowed him out so pain could no longer reach him.

Thessara had taken over his body, her ancient will fused with his flesh. Though Kaan’s mind still lingered within, his body was no longer his. It was hers. And since Thessara had long been dead, she couldn’t feel pain—so neither could he.

"Only one more thing left to do," Thessara’s voice echoed within him, calm and cold.

She didn’t care that Kaan wanted the glory. Let him pretend he was the architect of the world’s ruin. Let him bask in a delusion of power. All she wanted was to watch the world collapse, to hear it scream as it was torn apart.

Kaan didn’t answer her. He clenched his jaw and stared into the distance, ignoring her voice, her commands. He was beginning to realize the truth—and he hated it.

He wasn’t the master of this destruction. He was just the vessel.

"Rise high and kill them all. I’ll help you. You just have to let me," Thessara whispered, her voice like silk laced with poison.

She conveniently omitted the price of that help.

So far, Kaan had only surrendered his body to her, not his power—not the vampiric essence that defined him. But if he let her into that part of him, if he allowed her to tap into his core, the consequences would be irreversible.

His soul, his identity—everything that made him who he was—could be consumed.

No being, no matter how strong, could safely contain an ancestor to that extent.

If Thessara poured her ancient power into his, their fusion wouldn’t elevate him. It would obliterate him. He wouldn’t just lose control—he would cease to exist. Nothing would remain of Emperor Kaan, and no one would remain to remember him.

Kaan raised his hand, eyes narrowing as he studied his palm. He could move his arms again, and the bleeding had stopped, but his fingers remained numb—alien, as if they belonged to someone else.

"You’re healing. Fast," Thessara cut through his thoughts, her voice smooth and intentional. She couldn’t let him spiral into anxiety—not now. That might disrupt the fragile thread of control she was weaving.

"You won’t feel a thing," she continued, voice slithering deeper into his mind. "Just give me your consent, and I’ll take care of the rest. Before you even notice, your body will be whole again. No pain. No effort."

Kaan said nothing. In his silence, he was calculating—measuring whether he still needed Thessara. The battle wasn’t over. Even if he wiped out every last enemy, there was still the demon. Could he face it without her?

Doubt was unfamiliar to him. But after barely surviving the clash with the Alpha, whose cunning and strength had outmatched his own, he was forced to confront a truth he’d long ignored.

He had always seen himself as a genius among vampires, certain he could win no matter the opponent. And for the most part, he had.

He’d defeated two renowned werewolves, both feared and respected. Against Zacharias, he’d relied on his vampiric abilities. Against Remus, the dreaded Alpha, he’d struck from the shadows, using Amara to keep the beast off balance. Each time, victory had been his—but never through brute strength alone.

In none of those victories—the very ones that fed his pride—had he relied solely on his physical prowess. If Thorin hadn’t been so fast, maybe Kaan’s dust could have killed him. If his arms hadn’t been injured, maybe he could’ve unleashed his full power. But none of that had mattered.

Thorin had outmaneuvered him. Outpowered him. And for the first time, Kaan had lost—utterly and completely—through sheer force of strength.

With his first real failure came doubt. The demon was no ordinary foe—it wasn’t even of this world. Even while imprisoned within a vampire’s body, it had wielded terrifying power.

Its poisonous mist had turned vampires into Kaan’s puppets. But the moment Kaan strayed from the demon’s will, the roles reversed—he would become Ol’gaz’s puppet instead.

And now, with Florian gone, the demon would only grow stronger.

Did Kaan truly have what it took to force such a being to kneel? His mages had all fallen to the mist. No one was left researching ways to subdue the demon. No strategy. No support. Just him.

As Kaan hesitated, still weighing his options, Thessara felt something and left without a word.

No warning. No transition. She simply withdrew from his body, and the absence hit him like a landslide. Pain, sharp and overwhelming, surged through him. The sensation of shattered bones and torn flesh flooded back all at once, demanding to be felt.

Kaan staggered, nearly collapsing, but caught himself against the wall. A raw scream tore from his throat. Every fiber of his being burned with agony. The cost of Thessara’s control was clear now: while she numbed his pain, she also delayed it. Now it hit him in full force—amplified, unrelenting.

"Am I really healing?" he muttered through clenched teeth, forcing his arm to rise. The motion sent another bolt of pain ripping through him. "So I was hurt this badly... I didn’t even know."

Thessara hadn’t cared for the body she borrowed. She only used it to destroy whatever stood in her way. She had wielded it like a weapon.

Kaan took a few ragged breaths, trying to steady himself. His body trembled as it knit itself back together. He could feel the slow churn of internal movement—flesh and bone mending. He was healing, no doubt about that. And now, finally, he could feel his arms again.

His fingers twitched—still numb, but returning.

They were the most important part of him, and the only ones he needed most now. Without them, he couldn’t shape his power. Without them, he was nothing.

***

Emperor Kaan stepped forward, disappearing down the corridor. He was muttering to himself—words she couldn’t hear. But one thing was certain: Roderick was dead.

The man who had orchestrated the rebellion among the magic wielders against the emperor was no more.

The witch collapsed to her knees, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. She writhed as though the pain were her own, as though she had been the one struck down.

Now that the emperor was out of sight, the veil cloaking her presence dissolved, leaving her exposed in every way.

She crawled to Roderick’s lifeless body. When she reached him, she folded over his form, sobbing. Mourning.

He had been—almost—a friend. Not quite. Not yet. But given more time, they would’ve found that bond. She was sure of it.

Now, that chance was gone. Forever.