All Chapters of To Bleed For You: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The concrete loft didn’t smell like an empty warehouse anymore. It smelled of citrus floor cleaner, fresh-ground coffee, and the faint, sweet trace of Chloe’s vanilla body spray. Thalia sat cross-legged on the floor, a power drill resting against her thigh. Scattered around her were pieces of unboxed particle board, a labyrinth of metal screws, and a confusing instruction manual. For a werewolf who could track a scent through a blizzard, deciphering flat-pack furniture blueprints was a far more frustrating challenge. "No, see, you’re looking at it upside down," Chloe said, sliding a cardboard box across the floor to use as a makeshift table. She leaned over Thalia’s shoulder, her dark hair brushing against Thalia’s arm. "Tab A goes into slot B. If you force it, you’re going to crack the laminate. Put the drill down before you destroy your new dresser." Thalia let out a low, huffing sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, but she set the tool down anyway. "I could just hold the pi

The grand double doors of Blackwood House clicked shut, sealing out the damp night air. The suffocating chill of the foyer immediately rushed back to greet Elena, but as she stepped onto the polished marble, she found she wasn't alone. Vivienne was standing at the base of the grand staircase, her lethal posture perfectly still, her hands resting casually on the hilt of the daggers at her waist. Her dark eyes scanned Elena, immediately picking up the faint, foul trace of city exhaust and fresh motor oil clinging to her sister's pristine silk coat. Vivienne knew her sister better than anyone alive. She didn't need to ask for a status report. "Did you convince her?" Vivienne asked, her cold, executioner's voice cutting through the dead silence of the foyer. Elena didn't blink. She didn't need to ask who Vivienne was talking about. She slowly unbuttoned her coat, her aristocratic features frozen in a weary mask. "She listened." "Are you sure you want that wolf to be around you

The early morning light inside Blackwood House did not wake the living; it merely shifted the shadows. A thin, pale sliver of dawn crept through a gap in the heavy velvet library curtains, cutting a sharp path across the dark mahogany table where Maya had fallen asleep. Her head was resting on her folded arms, the wool blanket Elena had draped over her shoulders the night before slipping slightly down her back. The house was dead quiet. The ancient vampires had long since retreated to their subterranean chambers, leaving the upper floors to the heavy, stagnant silence of the daytime. Right beside Maya’s hand, the dark rectangle of her phone screen suddenly flared to life. Buzz. The vibration was soft against the polished wood, but in the absolute stillness of Blackwood, it sounded like a crack of thunder. Maya’s eyelids fluttered open. For a disorienting second, her brain tried to sink back into the heavy, lethargic numbness that had anchored her for weeks. She reached out

The small, grease-smudged slip of paper in Thalia’s hand felt incredibly fragile against her calloused fingers. Chloe had been absent from Garrity’s Auto Body for three days. At first, Thalia had tried to ignore the subtle shift in the shop's atmosphere, burying herself under the chassis of a delivery van. But by the third morning, the total absence of vanilla body spray, the silent office desk, and the lack of stale donuts had made her wolf claw restlessly at her ribs. Unable to take the quiet, she had marched into the back office and demanded Chloe’s address from old man Garrity. Now, Thalia stood in the dim, narrow hallway of a cramped apartment building three blocks from the warehouse district. The air smelled of old wood, stale cooking spices, and—faintly, beneath it all—the distinct, sluggish scent of human illness. She knocked on the peeling paint of door 4B. A tired-looking girl in oversized sweatpants swung the door open, blinking up at Thalia’s tall, imposing frame

The relentless, chaotic roar of the city outside the bedroom window had finally softened into the gray, muted hum of dawn. Thalia sat on the small plastic chair, her head resting back against the wall, her amber eyes half-closed but her senses entirely alert. She had spent the last eight hours in that exact spot. Every time Chloe had stirred, whimpered from a nightmare, or shivered from a fresh wave of chills, Thalia had been there—replacing the cold cloth on her forehead, forcing her to take small sips of water, and keeping a steady, grounding watch. Around five in the morning, the scent of the room shifted. The heavy, stagnant heat of the sickness began to lift, replaced by the clean, damp smell of a fever finally breaking. Chloe let out a long, deep sigh, her body relaxing completely into the mattress for the first time in days. Her eyelids fluttered open, the cloudy, feverish glaze gone from her brown eyes, leaving them clear, sharp, and remarkably vulnerable in the pale m