CHAPTER 385: NOT MUCH TIME LEFT

(Third Person).

"Sir!" a female officer cried, spinning from her console. "We are getting reports that civilians are being hit—our own people, by stray bullets from the crossfire!"

Brackham’s heart slammed against his ribs. "No... that’s impossible! The perimeters were secure!"

"They are not anymore!" she shouted back. "Sir, our people are dying out there, not the vampires we targeted!"

Another explosion shook the control room, rattling the glass walls. One of the feeds went dark, replaced by static.

The mayor’s pulse thundered in his ears as he turned to the giant central screen.

On it, a child, no more than eight, was dragged away by a soldier frantically trying to reach safety. A sudden flash erupted, and both vanished in fire.

Brackham froze. For one terrible heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe.

"Call it off," he said.

No one heard him.

"CALL IT OFF!" he roared, slamming his hand down on the console. "Cease fire! Now! Tell every damn unit to stand down!"

The room erupted into motion as orders flew through the comms. "Cease fire, cease fire! Pull back!"

But outside, the damage was already done. The streets were burning. Duskmoor—his city was a battlefield of ash and screams.

Brackham staggered back, pressing a trembling hand to his forehead. The heat, the smoke, the smell of blood, even through the screens, it suffocated him.

He had lost control completely.

For a long, strained moment, he just stood there listening to the panicked chatter of his men, to the static-filled reports of dead soldiers and civilians alike.

Then, without a word, he reached for his personal phone. His fingers shook as he scrolled through his contacts, found the name he had been dreading to call.

He hesitated only a second, his pride clashing with fear before pressing call.

---

The ringing of Draven’s phone cut sharply through the heavy silence in the room.

Everyone looked up from the muted television still showing the chaos in Duskmoor—the riots, the blood, the dark shapes darting between streets.

Draven reached for the phone on the table beside him, his expression unreadable as he glanced at the screen.

"Brackham," he muttered.

Dennis leaned forward instantly. "Looks like the old fool finally broke."

Draven pressed the receiver to his ear. "Mayor."

Brackham’s voice came through tight and uneven, the desperation thick in his tone. "Draven—Alpha Draven—we’ve lost control of the city! The vampires are attacking everything that moves! My soldiers... they can’t stop them! I need your help—please, you have to do something now!"

Draven leaned back against the sofa, one arm resting lazily along the backrest, his tone calm—too calm. "Withdraw your soldiers and pull every gun off the streets."

"What?" Brackham sounded incredulous. "Withdraw them? That will leave my people defenceless!"

"They are already defenceless," Draven replied flatly. "Your soldiers are only fueling the rage of the vampires. Pull them back. Now."

Brackham’s voice shook with disbelief. "Then what would be the fate of my people?"

Draven’s eyes flicked toward the screen again—a group of humans cornered near a burning car, their screams fading. His voice stayed cold.

"Nothing can be done for those who chose to become sacrificial lambs."

A strained silence filled the line. Dennis and Jeffery exchanged a glance; Meredith’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

Finally, Brackham spoke again, lower this time, nearly pleading. "The fate of my city is in your hands now, Alpha. Save the people you can."

Draven exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze hardening. "Fine."

Then, he ended the call.

For a moment, no one moved. The room was thick with quiet tension, broken only by the faint sound of the television reporter narrating chaos outside.

Draven rose from his seat. "Jeffery," he said, his tone sharp and commanding, "gather half of our warriors as well. We will need to outnumber the vampires if we want them to flee quickly."

Jeffery blinked. "Half? That means our people and your trained warriors will both be involved in the fight?"

Draven nodded once. "Exactly. I want this to look like a complete retaliation—make Brackham think I’m fighting for him."

Jeffery hesitated. "Then who leads the attack?"

Draven’s golden eyes found his Beta’s. "You will."

Jeffery’s brows shot up. "Me? What about you, Alpha?"

Draven’s mouth curved slightly, but there was no humour in it. "I have another task. I will be capturing the vampire Brackham requested."

That drew everyone’s attention. Meredith straightened in her seat, her violet eyes widening. "You are going after one alone?"

"Not alone," Draven said quietly, slipping his hands into his pockets as his gaze moved between her and Dennis. "You both are coming with me."

"This is wonderful." Dennis arched a brow, his usual grin forming.

Before Draven could react, Meredith tilted her head slightly, her tone calm but curious. "To capture the vampire?"

Draven’s eyes found hers, the faintest curve tugging at his lips. "You are a warrior now, remember? You have a part to play."

For a second, surprise flickered through Meredith’s violet eyes—then pride. The weight of his words sank deep, burning warm in her chest.

She straightened subtly, her earlier tension melting into resolve.

"I won’t let you down," she said quietly.

"I know." Draven’s voice softened for a heartbeat before command returned to it.

"But where exactly are you going to find this vampire, if not in the city?" Her gaze narrowed, curiosity and concern mixing in it.

Draven’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to thicken, a quiet power settling over him like a storm about to break.

"You will see soon enough."

The silence in the room dwelt for a few more seconds before he clapped his hands once, sharp and decisive.

"Let’s go get ready. There isn’t much time left."

---

Meredith stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back with a steadiness that belied the pulse thundering in her chest.

Azul and her other maidservants moved around her in quiet, focused harmony, their excitement humming through the air like a subtle current.

Azul laid the chosen outfit across the bed: a fitted black-and-lilac combat suit with reinforced leather panels—elegant, yet built for movement.

Then, Deidra handed Meredith the matching boots while Cora adjusted the silver clasps on her cuffs.

Kira’s fingers worked deftly, sweeping Meredith’s long silver hair into a high, sleek updo that exposed the proud curve of her neck.

When they finished, Meredith took a moment to breathe. She flexed her gloved hands once, grounding herself in the weight of what was to come.

"Will you be taking your phone, my Lady?" Arya asked carefully.

Meredith shook her head, her voice calm and resolute. "No. Tonight isn’t for phones."

The maids exchanged knowing glances, a mixture of awe and pride gleaming in their eyes. Azul smiled softly and whispered, "May the moon guide you, my Lady."

"Thank you." Meredith’s lips curved in return.