Chapter 403

[ 1,123 words ]

(Third Person).

Jeffery and the others followed, their movements swift and brutal. Within minutes, silence returned—broken only by the faint hum of dying machinery.

Meredith exhaled, lowering her blade. But the sight before her froze her breath in her throat.

Dozens of bodies. Broken test tubes. Cages—some empty, some still filled with the half-living.

Some werewolves lay inside glass chambers, their bodies mutilated, tubes protruding from their veins.

On the other side, human infants lie in incubation pods, their small chests rising and falling faintly.

Meredith’s hand trembled as she pressed it to her mouth. “This is…”

Jeffery’s voice was thick with disgust. “Monstrous. He was experimenting on both humans and werewolves.”

Draven’s gaze hardened. “That power-hungry beast that called himself human.”

Meredith moved to one of the desks littered with notes and vials as her healer’s instincts took over.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned over the pages of the bloodstained report.

She scanned the complex data sheets, the blood samples, the formulas, the strange chemical mixtures, and the endless rows of failed test results.

When the meaning finally clicked, her violet eyes darkened as her stomach twisted.

“He was trying to clone us,” she said at last, her voice low, but steady. “To make an army of artificial werewolves.” Jeffery’s expression darkened.

“And that is why he wanted a living vampire,” he said, disgust curling in his tone. “To blend their endurance with ours—to create something beyond both species.”

Meredith looked over the wreckage, the broken glass chambers filled with what had once been living beings. Her throat tightened.

“But it looks like he never succeeded. These notes… none of them reached completion. That’s why all these specimens failed—the bodies couldn’t sustain the transformation. The subjects died too early.”

Draven stood silent for a long moment. The air around him seemed to change—thicker, heavier, colder.

His jaw clenched as his gaze swept over the torn bodies of his kin, the smell of blood and metal rising like smoke.

But when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of restrained fury.

“Destroy it,” he ordered. “All of it. Every vial, every record, every drop of what he has done here.”

Jeffery nodded sharply, already motioning to the warriors. Meredith turned toward Draven, but he was already moving, his long strides echoing through the corridor.

“Draven!” she called, her voice sharp with concern. “Where are you going?”

He paused at the doorway, his back half-turned to her. The crimson emergency lights painted the hard edges of his face.

“To put an end to Brackham’s life.”

The silence that followed was thick, vibrating with the sound of the machines dying around them.

Jeffery looked after him, unease flickering across his features. “Alpha,” he said carefully, “let me come with you.”

Draven stopped mid-step and looked back—first at Jeffery, then at his wife. His eyes softened, just a fraction, betraying the conflict beneath his calm mask.

Meredith met his gaze, understanding what he wasn’t saying. She stepped closer, her voice firm but warm.

“Take Jeffery with you,” she said. “I will finish here with the others. And when it’s done, I will reach you through the mind-link.”

Draven hesitated, the shadows shifting across his face. Then he gave a single nod. “Be safe,” he murmured.

“I will,” she promised.

Then, he turned and strode towards the exit, Jeffery falling into step beside him.

Meredith watched them go until they vanished into the corridor’s red haze. Then she turned back toward the lab, her violet eyes hardening with resolve.

“All right,” she said quietly to the warriors. “You heard your Alpha. Bring this place to total debris.”

—

The muffled thud of gunfire echoed faintly through the walls.

Inside the conference room, the senators sat rigid around the long table, their faces drained of colour.

Each blast made them flinch, the polished glasses of water trembling with the vibrations.

“What’s happening out there?” one of them whispered, his voice tight with panic.

“Can’t you hear? The vampires are inside the building,” another hissed, gripping the armrest of his chair.

The oldest senator wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes darting toward the door. “Brackham… he has left us, hasn’t he?”

Silence followed. None of them answered, but the look in their eyes said enough.

Shortly, a sound that froze the breath in their lungs came—low snarls, wet and guttural, right outside the corridor.

Someone whimpered. Another whispered a prayer.

A violent bang shook the door. Then another. And another until the wood splintered.

The senators stumbled backwards, their chairs screeching across the marble floor, their screams escaping from the depths of their bellies as the heavy doors cracked open under brute force.

The last thing they saw were glowing red eyes before the doors burst wide, crashing against the walls.

The vampires poured in—a blur of claws, fangs, and bloodlust. More screams filled the room.

One senator was dragged across the floor; another’s throat was torn open before he could cry out. A few tried to run, but the vampires were faster.

Within minutes, the conference room became a slaughterhouse.

When the vampires finally left, only silence remained—broken by the faint drip of blood pooling beneath the table.

—

Meanwhile, the elevator doors to Brackham’s personal floor slid open with a sharp ’ ding’ , revealing a hallway bathed in red emergency lights and littered with debris.

Draven and Jeffery stepped out, their boots crunching over shattered glass and bullet casings.

At the far end of the corridor, a woman’s scream split the air. Brackham’s secretary.

Draven’s head snapped in her direction just as a pale figure—fast and blurred—lunged over her desk.

The vampire’s claws sank into her shoulders, its fangs descending toward her neck.

Draven’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he just raised his hand in a sharp signal.

Jeffery nodded once and broke into a sprint. The air around him rippled as he shifted slightly, his speed unnatural.

The vampire didn’t even look up before Jeffery was on him—one swift strike of his clawed hand and the creature’s head hit the floor, rolling lifelessly beside the secretary’s body.

Jeffery exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling. “Damn it,” he muttered.

But Draven was already moving. He strode past the fallen bodies, every step silent but purposeful.

When he reached the heavy double doors of Brackham’s office, he didn’t bother with the handle. With one savage kick, the doors burst open, crashing against the walls.

The room inside was dim, the lights flickering. The air smelled of fear, smoke, and human sweat.

Brackham was there, standing behind his desk, his face ashen, a pistol trembling in his hand.

Draven stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm.

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