Chapter 75
Kellan
I hate vampire cities.
Most importantly, I hate the vampire city—Veridia, they call it.
A place where the sun is a myth and the air tastes like rust and old blood. The journey here has been a week of tense silence in the car, my wolf clawing beneath my skin, restless and aggressive without Ember's calming presence.
Every mile that stretches between us is a physical ache, a frayed thread in our bond that pulls taut with a constant, low-grade panic.
And the sight that greets us at the city gates does nothing to soothe the beast.
I look at the humans in chains. Not literally chains, but collars—thick, leather bands adorned with metallic crests—and I am unable to hide my distaste.
They move through the mist-shrouded streets with downcast eyes, their postures slumped in a silent, perpetual surrender. Some carry trays of refreshments for lounging vampires, others scrub the already-spotless cobblestones.
Livestock. Pets.
Sadistic pieces of shit.
