<h4>Chapter 220: The Vampire Attack (II)</h4>


    <strong><i>(Third Person).</i></strong>


    The moon hung heavy, casting silver light over the estate grounds now painted with streaks of blood and dark shadows.


    The air was thick—tense with rage, instinct, and the metallic tang of death.


    Draven moved through the trees like a ghost, his presence nearly silent, but his senses were ring.


    The scent of vampire blood mixed with the crushed grass beneath his boots.


    Just then, two figures emerged from the right, vampires both—one crouched low, the other already lunging, his fangs bared.


    Draven didn’t flinch.


    With one swift motion, he spun low and grabbed the lunging vampire midair by the throat, mming him into the other.


    The two crashed into a thick tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Before they could recover, Draven’s ws extended with a snikt of steel-like flesh.


    He plunged one set into each vampire’s chest.


    The vampires hissed in agony.


    "I gave you a chance to stay in your filth-ridden forest," Draven murmured coldly.


    With a vicious twist of his arms, Draven tore his ws sideways, ripping through their ribcages.


    The vampires crumpled, lifeless, their blood steaming against the cold soil.


    ---


    Elsewhere, Jeffery stood in the clearing like a storm waiting to break. One vampire darted toward him—young, fast, arrogant.


    But Jeffery didn’t even move until thest second. Then he stepped aside with a sudden blur, grabbed the vampire by the back of the head, and mmed him into the dirt hard enough to make the earth shake.


    The vampire thrashed once—then Jeffery’s foot came down, crushing his throat.


    One w swept across the creature’s belly, opening it wide. The vampire gurgled and died in stunned silence.


    A few meters away, Dennis caught movement in his peripheral vision. Another vampire—female, sleek and smiling—rushed toward him with long, wed fingers aimed at his chest.


    "I got her!" Jeffery shouted, appearing beside Dennis in a heartbeat.


    They moved in tandem. Jeffery took her left side, Dennis the right.


    The vampire blocked Dennis’s first swing but didn’t expect Jeffery to drop low and sh at her thigh, nearly severing her leg.


    She screamed and tried to leap back, but it was toote. Dennis grabbed her from behind and mmed her into the ground, holding her in ce.


    "Do it!" he yelled to Jeffery.


    Jeffery raised both arms and brought them down in a twin strike, burying his ws in her chest. She choked on her scream and went limp.


    Jeffery exhaled, straightened, and looked at Dennis with narrowed eyes.


    "Don’t disfigure this one. We need proof, remember?"


    Dennis chuckled, wiping blood from his jaw. "Rx. I held back."


    They left the body intact, its mouth still twisted in a final grimace.


    Near the north end of the estate, three werewolf warriors crept together through the trees—eyes glowing faintly, muscles taut with anticipation.


    A sudden gust of wind made one of them pause.


    "Wait..." one whispered.


    Just then, a blur dropped from a tree above, aiming for the middle warrior’s neck. But the wolves were ready.


    The leftmost warrior leapt up midair and tackled the vampire before it couldnd a strike. They crashed into the ground, rolling violently.


    The other two lunged into the fray, ws ripping, fists pounding.


    The vampire hissed and fought back,nding a scratch across one warrior’s cheek, but it wasn’t enough. Together, they overwhelmed him.


    One pinned the arms, another held the legs, and the third dug both ws deep into the vampire’s chest, pulling apart the flesh until the heart was exposed and torn out.


    The vampire shrieked once—then died with his eyes wide in horror.


    Panting, the warriors looked at each other and nodded.


    "That’s three down," one growled. "Let’s move."


    They melted back into the darkness, searching for more prey.


    All over the estate, the night echoed with the sounds of battle—snarls, roars, hissing, and the terrible final cries of dying vampires.


    And at the center of it all was Draven, de-sharp and blood-soaked, eyes glowing faintly gold under the moonlight, ready to remind the world why he was never to be underestimated.


    ---


    A heavy stillness hung in Draven’s room, one that felt too deliberate—too unnatural.


    Meredith stood at the window, fingers pressed lightly against the ss, her breath clouding the chilled surface.


    Her heart raced from the bloodlust and the raw, wing energy in the air.


    "Valmora..." she whispered, not needing to finish the sentence.


    <i>"I know,"</i> came the smooth, low growl of her wolf. <i>"The battle has begun."</i>


    Meredith’s throat tightened. "Should I go out there? What if someone gets hurt?"


    <i>"No."</i>


    The word cracked like a whip across her mind, firm and final.


    Valmora’s voice slithered deeper into her thoughts. <i>"Step out there, and you will be the target. Those blood-sucking demons won’t hesitate to take you hostage—or worse. And we are not ready to face them yet."</i>


    Meredith swallowed and stepped away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself. "But I feel so useless in here. I should be helping."


    <i>"You’re not useless,"</i> Valmora said, her voiceced with a rare gentleness. <i>"You are surviving, preparing for tomorrow. There’s a time for everything, and this is not your time to fight. Trust your mate."</i>


    Meredith lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.


    "I should have listened to you and trained harder," she muttered.


    "There is still time for that," Valmora replied.


    ---


    Back outside the house, blood painted the grass in wide strokes. The silence now was more chilling than the battle cries that hade before.


    Only three vampires remained—and two had already fled toward the forest.


    But one stood his ground.


    He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in tight ck leather that gleamed beneath the moonlight.


    His face was cruel, handsome in a twisted way, and his eyes burned with that distinctive crimson glow—feral, arrogant, ancient.


    Draven stepped forward, boots silent even on the blood-soaked ground.


    His hands dripped with vampire blood, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. But his aura—calm and deadly—spoke volumes louder than the death he had already dealt.


    "You’re the one from the forest," Draven said coldly. "The one who ran after attacking Dennis."


    The vampire smiled, revealing those wicked fangs. "You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you?"


    Draven didn’t answer. He simply flexed his fingers, and his ws glinted silver under the moonlight.


    "You’re wasting your kind," the vampire said, circling slowly. "You could’ve ruled alongside us. Yet you cling to humanity. You dine with them. Pathetic."


    Draven raised a brow. "You trespassed into my home. Murdered my guards. And now you want to lecture me on alliances?"


    The vampire’s smile twisted into a snarl. "You’re too attached to your peace. I wonder what you will look like... when I tear your mate limb from limb."


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