Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted - Chapter 471

Chapter 471: Ava: You’re Leaving?
“Your wards are impressive, despite the…” Acarus gestures at the canvas walls with an elegant sweep of his hand, “limitations of this structure.”

He moves with eerie vampire grace, inspecting the interior of our strategy tent while maintaining a calculated distance from both Lisa and me. His golden hair catches the lantern light, making him look like he’s glowing from within, only adding to his strange aura.

“You’ve been working hard,” he adds, his gaze sweeping over the papers stacked off to the side of a table.

“Thanks. Necessity is the mother of obsessive warding.” I tug my coat tighter around me. The stove’s keeping this tent warm, but the temperature’s dropped after exiting and re-entering.

There’s something strange about him, Grimoire mumbles. Beyond the obvious vampire traits.

He’s been strange from the start. Nothing about him has ever made complete sense.

Selene settles at my feet, her blue eyes tracking Acarus’s movements. He’s helped us before. Whatever he is, I think we can consider him an ally.

Grimoire falls unusually quiet in response, retreating into a contemplative silence. It’s heavy in the back of my mind.

“We need your help,” I say, jumping into the topic without easing in. “Lisa has a problem.”

Lisa twists her fingers together nervously as she stares at the ground. Her shoulders are hunched, a far cry from the confidence she had just a few minutes before.

“The Mad Prince won’t let me go,” she explains. To the floor.

She doesn’t say anything else, so I take it upon myself to explain her strange episodes of compulsion, and how she has no memory of them when they sneak up on her. How we’re running out of time.

“He’s going to come back for me,” Lisa whispers. Her slumped shoulders have straightened, though her voice trembles. “Soon. I don’t much time left.”

Acarus nods, unsurprised. He doesn’t look at Lisa, keeping his eyes on my face instead. Maybe he realizes how uncomfortable she is around vampires. “He doesn’t let go of anything he considers his.”

Lisa takes a deep breath, finally lifting her chin and looking at him. Her eyes flit away after a second, though. “Will… will mate bonding with Kellan break the connection? With the Prince?”

Acarus doesn’t move closer, but his attention sharpens as he turns to Lisa with the unnerving, unwavering focus vampires can muster. Lisa shifts her weight, her hands fisted so tightly at her sides her knuckles have gone pale.

“His hooks are deep,” he says finally, his voice low and musical.

Lisa’s breath catches. “I…” She swallows hard, her cheeks flushing. “When he fed from me, I… I had an orgasm. I didn’t want to. I hated it. But my body…”

“That’s unfortunate,” Acarus says, his tone clinically detached. “Though most thralls are quite pleased when it occurs.”

“I wasn’t pleased,” she snaps, then immediately ducks her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry.”

“Humans are often angry. It does not bother me.”

I move closer to Lisa, placing myself slightly between them. My protective instincts flare, even though Acarus hasn’t made any threatening moves. She grabs onto my hand and squeezes, hard.

Having to say, over and over, that you had an orgasm at the hands of your kidnapper… My heart hurts for her.

It’s stupid she has to even mention it, but it apparently makes a big difference.

“What the Prince has created are what you would call vampire threads,” Acarus continues. “Compulsions spun through psychic bonding and blood resonance. But unlike threads, which can be cut or snapped, these are more like hooks—and they’re almost impossible to pull out.”

He tilts his head, studying Lisa. “For normal vampires, this level of compulsion would take several feedings over a sustained period. But the Mad Prince is different. He’s older than even my mother, and his methods are… unique. As you’ve experienced.”

Lisa pales.

“The thread is likely tied to his feeding and blood rites,” Acarus continues. “It’s an infamous method he’s perfected over centuries. Many follow in his footsteps. From a scholar’s point of view, it’s groundbreaking. But I’m sure you aren’t interested in his accolades.”

I shake my head. “We just want to know if it can be broken.”

“It can be severed,” he acknowledges. “But at a cost.”

The tent seems to grow smaller as he outlines the options, each less appealing than the last.

“Counter-bonding with another vampire might override it, but the new bond would be permanent.” His lips curve into a slight smile that holds no warmth. “Magical unbinding is rare and risks death for someone as uninclined to the arcane as she is. Or…”

“Or?” Lisa asks softly.

“One could embrace the thread fully and bend it to your will—but that would be impossible for someone of your strength.” He tilts his head. “A wolf’s mating bond… is not created in the same fashion. So I could not tell you if this is an advisable course.”

Lisa looks utterly gutted, her face drained of color except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks.

“Is there a chance it will work?” I press. “The bond helped her fight him off once before.”

Acarus lifts one shoulder in a faint shrug. “Everything’s worth trying once, or so humans say.”

The dismissive response sits heavy in my stomach. We’ve waited for a vampire with answers for so long, and this is all we get.

No real solutions and the same worries as before.

* * *

We exit the tent into the crisp winter air, and Lisa gives me a quick, tight hug.

“I need to talk to Kellan,” she says, her voice stronger than I expected after the lack of good news. “He should hear all this.”

She squeezes me one more time before heading to the hospital without waiting for my response.

Acarus stands next to me, and we both watch her go.

I sigh. “Well, it wasn’t the answer we were hoping for. But thank you.”

“Hmm. More importantly, how long has that been here?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

I follow his gaze upward—and there it is, the ghost, hovering above the tent, its translucent form wavering like smoke in the wind.

“He doesn’t like me,” Acarus murmurs. “You’ve drawn something hungry.”

My skin prickles. “Do you know what it is?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see something close to pity in them. “Ask me later. When you’re ready to bury something sacred.”

Before I can demand clarification, he smoothly changes the subject. “I’ll prepare the dream-eater for transport.”

“Transport? Wait—” This conversation is slipping away from me too quickly. “Aren’t you staying? We have more questions—”

“I’ll return soon,” he says. “But the dream-eater is the priority. Ah, that reminds me. Burn your dead. Don’t let anyone die without flame.”

The sudden directive throws me. “But—wait? You’re really leaving?”

A throat clears behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Eleanor stands there, clutching her journal to her chest, her mousy braids pulled tight and her glasses reflecting the winter sun.

I didn’t even realize she was still with us.

Me neither, Selene admits.