Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 225: Five Years and a Thousand Eye Rolls

Chapter 225: Five Years and a Thousand Eye Rolls

The Fallen One’s sob story did manage to poke at Riona’s heartstrings, but it didn’t exactly play her like a violin. Honestly, expecting her to leap into action was his first mistake—did he not know her at all?

Even after five years—yes, five whole years—Riona still wasn’t ready to risk another heartbreak by facing rejection from Florian. She didn’t want to be reminded of how much of a bully and an obstacle she’d been to her brother, someone she cared for deeply.

Still, even after all this time, the Fallen One hadn’t given up trying to convince her to return and save Florian. "It’s not too late. You can still go back and save him," he would say.

Riona’s response? The world’s most dramatic eye-roll. After five years of the same script, the only thing she felt was mild annoyance. Did he seriously think this was going to work on her now? Of course, it wasn’t.

"Will you stop? Seriously, aren’t you bored of repeating the same speech? Things might never be too late for you, but it’s way past late for me," she said.

Her voice carried no trace of annoyance, just a calm acceptance as if she had grown wiser overnight—though, in truth, it had taken five years for her to change.

Now she lived in a forest near the border of Eira, at the foot of a mountain, where the weather was as bland as her enthusiasm for life.

No snow, no blistering sunlight, just eternal cloudy days. The sun couldn’t even be bothered to stick around, rising late and setting early.

Honestly, it was the perfect place to hide from the royal family and the troubles that entailed.

As Riona made her way across the uneven, damp forest floor, she heard two middle-aged vampires calling out to her from a distance.

"Hi, Donovan! Hi, Lucilla! Are you out looking for knot bark and mammodill?" she asked without slowing down.

It was just a passing question; she didn’t expect a deep conversation. Every vampire in this group of outcasts already knew what those ingredients were for.

Donovan and Lucilla had been part of the Strays long before Riona stumbled into this hidden forest community at the foot of Eira’s mountain.

She hadn’t even known these outcast vampires existed until she stumbled across their camp. Turns out, they’d been lying low for centuries, dodging politics like it was a garlic buffet.

They didn’t care for aristocracy either, dismissing it as nothing more than a way for rich vampires to lounge around while everyone else did the heavy lifting.

Over the years, they had figured out how to survive on their own, even creating a unique recipe for something like artificial blood. Well, calling it ’blood’ was generous—it wasn’t exactly the real deal, but it did the trick.

Creating a lower-quality version of Crimson Vitae’s artificial blood required just two ingredients: knot bark and mammodill, as you might have guessed. And it needed a lot of both.

Surprisingly, it tasted pretty good—though not as good as Crimson Vitae’s premium artificial blood. Riona kept that opinion to herself.

After all, none of the Strays knew her true identity. As far as they were concerned, she was just a commoner from the Kingdom of Eira, kicked out of her home after her parents died.

Technically true—her parents were dead—but the rest of her story was far messier, and she wasn’t about to unpack it.

Just as Riona was finally about to leave, Donovan came sprinting over like a dog who’d spotted an unattended sandwich.

Right. This is Donovan we’re talking about—not one of the halfway-normal vampires in the Stray. No, he had to approach me.

Riona tried her best to keep a straight face, but the Fallen One just had to interrupt.

"Is that supposed to be a poker face? Looks more like you smelled something rotten. Honestly, just leave already, and you won’t have to listen to his foolish talk anymore."

He acted like listening to Donovan’s endless chatter was somehow worse than facing her brother—the same brother who last time had flat-out blamed her for his inability to speak.

"Shut up!" Riona hissed under her breath.

"What was that?" Donovan asked, his hearing picking up her whisper. He wasn’t even a werewolf, yet his hearing was that sharp. Did all nosy vampires develop super-hearing specifically to fuel their insatiable curiosity?

Thankfully, his brain didn’t catch on to what she actually said.

Riona quickly shook her head and forced a smile so wide it could have been mistaken for a grimace. Donovan stopped, squinting at her like she’d grown a second head.

"Oh. You look awful. Are you sick, my dear?" he asked, completely oblivious to how rude he sounded.

"Donovan! How many times do I have to tell you?" Lucilla hollered as she shuffled over, clearly struggling but fully committed to her outrage. "You never tell a lady she looks awful. That’s bad manners!"

Because that’s what needed addressing here—not the fact that Donovan was a walking insult generator.

"No, really, it’s fine. Your husband’s right, Lucilla—I’m already exhausted. Mind if I rest for the night?" Riona said, jumping at the chance to escape the world’s most interesting couple.

No offense, but dealing with them was... a challenge.

Donovan was harmless enough, but his complete lack of tact often left Riona wondering how he’d survived this long without being accidentally staked. Lucilla, on the other hand, was sweet but so naive it was almost a superpower.

Unfortunately, naivety didn’t help matters; if anything, it made things worse. They both had a knack for focusing on the least important part of any situation.

And then there was the forgetfulness—probably a perk of being ancient. Case in point: Donovan seemed to have already forgotten why he’d even approached Riona.

Instead, he gave her a cheerful smile and a wave, as if that had been his plan all along.

"Nice dodge!" the Fallen One remarked, immediately regretting his words.

Complimenting her was a big mistake. That just eliminated one more excuse he could use to pressure Riona into returning to the royal palace.

Riona, on the other hand, was practically glowing with self-satisfaction. "Well, thank you," she muttered with a smirk, gracefully sidestepping the vampire couple as she made her escape.

***

Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Eira was drowning in fear. Margrave Boris knocked on the king’s office door, then stepped inside, his face as grim as if he were announcing the apocalypse.

And maybe he was—because the news he carried wasn’t just bad; it was consistently bad. Frankly, it had been ages since the margrave had delivered anything remotely cheerful.

King Valentin glanced up from his desk, his quill still scratching across the parchment. "Why the ominous silence? Another incident?" he asked, his tone tinged with weary resignation.

"Unfortunately, yes. Incidents," Boris corrected, the plural hanging heavy in the air.

At that, the king finally set the quill down, his shoulders sagging as he let out a loud, weary sigh. His brow furrowed deeply, the lines on his face seeming more pronounced than ever.

Vampires were supposed to age gracefully, their skin barely touched by time, but King Valentin looked alarmingly human in his weariness—as if the stress of everything had accelerated the years.

"Two more vampires were found on separate streets," Boris continued, his voice grim. "Both drained completely dry."