CHAPTER 389: DELIVERING BRACKHAM’S GIFT

(Third Person).

Far from the silence of the woods, Duskmoor City burned with chaos.

The night sky glowed with the red shimmer of street fires, and the air was thick with smoke, gunpowder, and blood.

Screams echoed between the tall buildings, blending with the deep, guttural snarls of beasts and the hissing screeches of vampires.

Jeffery stood at the centre of it all, the storm of battle swirling around him. His claws were slick with black blood, his eyes blazing gold under the moon’s light as another vampire lunged toward him.

He caught it midair, slammed it hard against a crumbling wall, and snapped its neck in one fluid motion. The creature went limp, sliding down the bricks like a broken doll.

"Push them back!" he roared, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Drive them to the edge of the district!"

His command rippled through the pack. Dozens of werewolves— warriors from Draven’s estate and those living in Duskmoor surged forward, their bodies half-shifted, claws and fangs glinting as they tore through the vampires.

A vampire dropped from a rooftop, claws aimed for Jeffery’s spine, but one of the wolves intercepted, ramming into it midair. They crashed to the street in a violent tumble.

Jeffery glanced back briefly and gave a sharp nod of approval before turning, his expression cold and focused.

The vampires fought with desperation now. Outnumbered and cornered, they attacked wildly, tearing through and slashing at anything that moved. But the werewolves were stronger and faster.

Jeffery’s Beta instincts kicked in like a blade of precision—every command calculated, every counterstrike brutal and efficient.

A tall vampire with ashen hair hissed at him, eyes glowing crimson. "You think this will end us, wolf?"

Jeffery’s lips curled into a snarl. "No. This will only make you run faster."

The next second, he lunged forward, their bodies colliding. The vampire clawed at his arm; Jeffery twisted, slamming his palm into its chest before tearing out its heart.

Then, he let the lifeless body drop and raised his head, scanning the street.

The vampires broke formation and scattered. Some turned and fled, their inhuman speed carrying them into the shadows.

Jeffery straightened, breathing hard, the scent of victory and blood thick in his lungs.

Across the city, similar scenes unfolded—wolves overpowering, vampires retreating. Draven’s plan was working. The vampires’ rage and confusion only fed their panic.

One of Jeffery’s next in command—a scarred warrior with silver eyes ran up to him. "They are pulling back toward the eastern end, Beta!"

Jeffery’s jaw tightened. "Good. Make sure none of them think to circle back."

The lieutenant nodded and howled—a low, commanding sound that rippled through the night.

The wolves answered, their collective roars shaking the air as they surged after the fleeing vampires.

From a rooftop, Jeffery watched as the last of them disappeared into the dark horizon—a stream of pale bodies vanishing into the forest beyond Duskmoor’s borders.

He stood there a moment longer, chest heaving, the adrenaline still burning in his veins.

Around him, the sounds of battle faded, replaced by the crackle of fire and the distant, broken cries of human survivors.

Jeffery exhaled slowly. "It’s done," he murmured, his golden eyes dimming to brown again. "They are gone."

The city was a ruin, but Duskmoor had survived, and with it, Draven’s plan had taken another step toward completion.

---

The night had barely begun to quiet when Draven’s car rolled through the iron gates of Duskmoor’s government house.

The massive building loomed ahead, floodlights casting long shadows across the courtyard where soldiers moved about in confusion and panic, their uniforms blood-streaked, their faces drawn tight with fear.

Draven stepped out of the vehicle slowly, his boots crunching over the gravel. Then, he hung the limp body of the vampire leader bound in silver chains that shimmered faintly in the moonlight, over his shoulder.

The scent of ash and gunpowder filled the air. Brackham’s men turned as he approached, their weapons raised out of reflex. But one look at Draven’s expression, and they quickly lowered them.

"Tell your mayor I’ve brought him his gift," Draven said, his voice low, and controlled.

The nearest soldier barely keeping his composure, nodded and sprinted inside.

Moments later, Brackham himself appeared in the doorway, flanked by two of his advisors. His suit was rumpled, his face pale under the harsh light.

"Alpha Draven..." he began, trying to sound composed, but his voice wavered. His gaze dropped to the vampire chained and unmoving over Draven’s shoulder, and his breath caught. "Is that—"

"The one you wanted alive," Draven interrupted.

Brackham blinked, completely stunned. "You... you actually did it."

"I did," Draven said flatly, letting the body drop to the ground with a dull thud. The vampire stirred faintly, a groan slipping past its lips, proof of life, but barely.

Two of Brackham’s guards flinched backwards with fear flashing across their faces.

Draven’s dark eyes flicked to Brackham. "You should take him before he wakes up. He is not as tame as he looks."

Brackham gestured sharply for his soldiers to move, though none of them dared get too close.

It took three men and a thick steel chain to drag the vampire toward the basement entrance of the building.

Draven stood silently, watching them with an unreadable expression.

When the creature was finally gone, Brackham turned back to him, his hands clasping together nervously. "This... this is remarkable, Alpha. You’ve done the city a great service tonight."

Draven’s mouth curved faintly, though the expression held no warmth. "Have I?" he said quietly.

Brackham forced a smile, mistaking the tone for modesty. "Of course. You’ve helped save Duskmoor from destruction. My people—our people—will finally have peace again."

Draven’s eyes gleamed faintly in the light, unreadable. "Peace..." he echoed, tasting the word like it was a lie. "Tell me, Mayor—do you really believe peace can come from the kind of request you made tonight?"

Brackham blinked, uncertain. "What do you mean?"

Draven’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, then drifted toward the darkened horizon where the moon hung high.

"It’s nothing," he said, his voice smooth, almost casual. "Just exercise a little patience... and you will understand soon enough."