Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 352: Race Against the End

Thorin relied on his heightened werewolf senses to track Riona’s scent through the chaos. He found her trail easily—but then something else caught his nose. Something far more urgent.

Puck.

If it had been only Puck’s scent, Thorin might’ve stayed his course. But it was laced—no, drenched—with blood. The metallic sting of it overwhelmed everything, nearly masking Puck’s own scent entirely.

Riona’s trail, by contrast, was steady. There were faint hints of blood, yes, but not enough to raise alarm. Thorin figured she was holding her own in whatever fight she was tangled in.

Puck, though—that much blood could only mean one thing.

Thorin bolted toward the source of the blood-soaked scent and found Puck, motionless beneath a pile of castle rubble. A low growl rumbled from his chest as his muscles surged with power. Only his arms transformed, swelling with supernatural strength as he tore through the debris.

Stone by stone, he uncovered Puck’s battered body, then hauled him out into the open. Once the last of the rubble was cleared, Thorin let the strength drain from his arms, returning them to their usual form.

He knelt, pressing his ear to Puck’s mouth, listening.

A breath. Faint, but there.

Thorin exhaled in relief. Puck was still alive.

Puck’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with pain. "Thorin?" he rasped, barely audible.

Unlike vampires, werewolves didn’t heal in the blink of an eye. Their bodies did mend on their own, yes, but not quickly. Deep wounds could take months to fully recover. Still, there was one advantage: they didn’t need to fall into a deathlike slumber to heal, the way vampires often did.

More importantly, Puck hadn’t gone toe-to-toe with Ol’gaz. He’d been collateral damage—cast aside while trying to follow Riona too closely. Maybe she’d tried to keep him out of danger. Or maybe Ol’gaz had found his presence annoying and swatted him away like an insect. Either way, he’d caught the edge of the fight, and the explosions had done the rest.

Thorin’s situation was far worse. His body bore the aftermath of two brutal battles. First, against Kaan. Then, against Thessara, who had hijacked Kaan’s body to ensure their twisted victory. In essence, Thorin had fought an ancient, unhinged force wearing a familiar face.

It was a miracle he was still standing. Whether it was strength or sheer luck, only the gods knew.

"Where’s Riona?" Thorin asked, voice low but urgent.

Puck recounted what little he could. Disjointed glimpses. Snatches of words exchanged between Riona and the demon. And then, the explosion. The details were scattered, like shards of a broken mirror, but enough to piece together the danger she’d faced.

Riona had a habit—a dangerous one. She always fainted after using her explosive power. It had never failed before. That meant she was likely unconscious now, exposed and vulnerable.

Kaan’s scent was nowhere nearby, which was strange. He’d won the fight, and Thorin had been unconscious for some time now. Thorin assumed the emperor would’ve been the first to catch up to Riona. Whatever had happened to him, Thorin didn’t know, but he was grateful for one thing: Kaan hadn’t reached her.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward the direction Puck indicated. Her scent was faint, but still traceable, and it drifted in the air like smoke.

He slipped an arm beneath Puck. "Can you get up?"

Puck nodded. Thorin helped him to his feet.

"Can you still fight?"

"I’d have to be dead not to," Puck said, cracking a smile that was more grit than charm.

It wasn’t bravado. He was a Howl of the pack—the second in command. Warrior blood ran deep in his veins. Letting his Alpha fight alone was out of the question. And he’d seen the state Thorin was in. The battle hadn’t killed him, but it had come close.

Close enough to leave scars, and maybe cost him more strength than he let on.

They made their way toward where Riona should’ve been, but halfway there, they ran into Kaan, limping up the stairs.

Their eyes locked. fгeewebnovёl.com

Thorin didn’t need to ask. He saw it instantly—Kaan’s intent burned in his gaze.

The emperor looked different now. Worn. In pain. Thorin’s lip curled into a satisfied smirk; the broken bones he’d given him were clearly doing their job. And Kaan was suffering, each movement a battle against the agony searing through his body.

Still, he climbed. He had a mission: kill the Blood Moon child. Bend the demon to his will.

"Don’t even think about it," Thorin growled.

Beside him, Puck took a defensive stance—one foot braced behind, knees bent, fists raised. The fight wasn’t over.

Now that Kaan had regained control of his arm and had learned Thorin’s fighting style, he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. He swiftly widened the distance between them, his fingers flickering with speed as he summoned his vampiric power.

To the untrained eye, it looked as though he could reduce his enemies to ash with a mere gesture. But the truth was more technical: his power released microscopic particles that dissolved whatever they touched—stone, steel, skin. The result was ash, but the process was far more brutal.

The werewolves didn’t know the full extent of vampire abilities, nor the many variations of their powers. But they had something vampires didn’t: superior senses.

Each particle Kaan unleashed carried a faint, distinct scent—imperceptible to most, but not to Thorin or Puck. Their sharpened noses picked up the invisible danger with ease.

And when those particles condensed into something larger, solid enough to tear through flesh, they emitted a subtle hum. Too quiet for ordinary ears, but not for werewolves.

Their hearing was unmatched, finely tuned to the frequencies of the natural and supernatural alike.

Puck and Thorin weaved around the invisible cloud of particles. Normally, these deadly particles could spread far and wide, just as they had during the rebellion of the elders in the Kingdom of Eira.

But now, Kaan was weakened. His injuries, the lingering pain, and the energy he’d drained in earlier battles all took their toll.

He couldn’t summon the same density or force. The particles were scattered, sparse, and weaker than usual. When they grazed the werewolves’ skin, they didn’t dissolve it into ash like before. Instead, they left sizzling burns—painful, but survivable.

It was enough.

Puck and Thorin could still fight back, striking and dodging with brutal efficiency. The particles, though no longer a lethal weapon, became a shield—an invisible defense that slowed their assault and kept Kaan just out of reach.

From the outside, the fight looked evenly matched. Kaan’s formidable defenses clashed against the werewolves’ relentless assault. But in truth, Kaan was losing ground. Not because he lacked the strength to fight back, but because he was running out of time.

Every second spent locked in battle dragged him further from his true goal—Riona—and with her, his chance to seize the world slipping through his fingers.

Then the ground trembled.

The shock was so violent that all three were forced to break off, staggering against the walls for support as the castle around them groaned and shuddered.

Kaan was the first to recover. Wasting no time, he unleashed a fresh wave of particles, aiming to reduce the werewolves to ash.

But Thorin and Puck sensed the attack before it could reach them, each leaping in opposite directions to dodge the invisible threat.

While they were still regaining their balance, Kaan lunged forward.