CHAPTER 392: CAUGHT IN THE TRAP

(Third Person).

Meredith tilted her head, amusement flickering through her gaze. "Are you going to share every bite like this?"

Draven’s lips curved faintly. "Seems fair, doesn’t it?"

And so it continued—slow, quiet, and intimate. He would feed her, then take a bite himself, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

Every now and then, his fingers brushed hers or the edge of his knuckles ghosted against her cheek as he steadied the spoon.

When the tray was nearly empty, Meredith’s laughter broke softly through the hush. "I can’t believe this. The mighty Alpha Draven, feeding someone with his own hands."

Draven’s mouth twitched in a shadow of a smile. "Don’t make it sound like a weakness."

"It’s not," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s... nice."

For a long moment, he just looked at her—the firelight dancing across her silver hair, the faint flush in her cheeks, the quiet strength that even exhaustion couldn’t hide.

Then, setting the spoon aside, he reached for the pint of ice cream and peeled off the lid. The cold air from it misted faintly.

"Your favourite," he said.

Meredith laughed softly, shaking her head. "You really think I can eat more?"

"Just one bite." Draven dipped the spoon and offered it again.

She hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and took it. The cold sweetness melted against the lingering warmth of the meal, and she hummed softly at the contrast.

Draven’s eyes softened, and this time, when he ate from the same spoon, the moment lingered—something quiet but charged beneath the stillness.

"You are really impossible," she whispered, smiling faintly.

He brushed his thumb gently along her jaw, his voice low. "And you are beautiful when you are stubborn."

Meredith’s breath caught. The spoon stilled between them. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, just the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of two hearts learning to beat in the same space.

A few seconds later, Meredith finally set the spoon aside, her lips curving faintly as she sank back against the pillows.

"I never knew you could be so unexpectedly sweet," she murmured.

Draven only arched a brow. "Unexpectedly?"

"You don’t exactly give a hint before making soft gestures," she teased softly.

He huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh and stood to set the tray aside. "Why do I need to give a hint for?"

Her eyes tracked him as he moved elegantly, composed, exuding quiet authority with every gesture. When he turned back, his gaze softened as it rested on her.

"You should rest now," he said, lowering his voice. "Your side needs time."

She shifted a little, wincing, and he was instantly beside her, one hand steadying her arm.

"Here," he murmured, helping her ease down more comfortably against the pillows. His touch was gentle but sure, the kind of care that didn’t need words to be understood.

Meredith looked up at him, her expression soft. "You don’t have to stay. I will be fine."

Draven’s eyes held hers for a moment. "I know you will," he said. "But I’m staying anyway."

He reached down and brushed a strand of silver hair from her face, his thumb lingering against her temple.

Then, without another word, he crossed to the lamp and dimmed the light until the room was cast in a soft golden glow.

When he returned, he sat down at the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the blanket over her arm.

Meredith’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing slowing, steadying under his presence.

After a long silence, her voice came faintly through the quiet. "Draven?"

"Yes?"

"I’m proud of how we fought tonight," she murmured, eyes still closed. "And I’m proud of you, too. We make good comrades."

For a moment, something unspoken flickered through his chest—pride, warmth, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

"I think so as well. But you need to stop talking and go to sleep," he said softly.

She hummed in response, her lips curving into the faintest smile as sleep began to claim her.

Draven stayed there, unmoving, watching her until her breathing evened out completely.

He traced the edge of the blanket with his thumb, then leaned forward and pressed a quiet kiss to her hair.

The world outside was still and silent, but in that small moment, the weight of war and politics, of blood and chaos, faded away, leaving only this fragile peace between them.

---

~Underground Secret Lab~

The hum of machines echoed faintly through the underground chamber. Fluorescent lights cast a cold, sterile glow on the metal walls, illuminating the figure chained at the centre of the lab.

The vampire was bound to a reinforced chair, his wrists and ankles locked in chains. A thick collar circled his neck, buzzing faintly with low electric pulses meant to subdue his strength.

Despite the sedatives coursing through his veins, his crimson eyes glowed with simmering rage.

Brackham stood before him, his reflection glinting off the polished steel table beside them. He looked at ease—too much so for a man standing inches from a predator that could snap his neck in a heartbeat.

"Well," Brackham said, his voice calm and smug, "you don’t look so frightening now, do you?"

The vampire’s lip curled, revealing the faint gleam of his fangs. His words came out slow, slurred slightly by the sedative but still laced with venom.

"You think chains make you powerful, little human?" He sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "You are just a measly creature—meat that pretends to rule."

Brackham smirked, unbothered. "And yet here you are, caught like a dog in a trap."

The vampire leaned forward as far as the restraints would allow, his eyes burning brighter. "Pray that I never wake fully, little man. You will die screaming before your guards even draw a breath."

Brackham chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Oh, I intend for you to wake after all, you are far more useful alive." He paused, his eyes glinting. "But you do talk too much."

Before anyone could react, he reached into his jacket, drew his gun, and fired a single shot into the vampire’s head.

The sound cracked through the lab, sharp and deafening.

The vampire’s body jerked once, then slumped forward, the bullet lodged deep in his skull.

The doctors gasped, one of them dropping a tray with a metallic clatter. "Sir—! He—he will—"

"—wake up?" Brackham finished, lowering the gun. "Yes. Eventually."

He turned the weapon idly in his hand, watching as a faint trickle of dark blood slid down the vampire’s face. "That’s why you will work quickly."

He stepped aside and gestured to the limp body. "Extract every specimen we can—blood, tissue, bone marrow, anything viable. I want results by morning."

The doctors hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances.

Brackham’s expression hardened. "And be careful. He may shed that bullet before you are done."

That was enough to make them move. The team rushed forward with trays and syringes, the sound of metal instruments clinking nervously as they began their grim work.

Brackham slipped the gun back into his coat, his face smoothing into calm satisfaction. He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing against the sterile floor.

Behind him, the vampire’s fingers twitched faintly against the chains—a small, involuntary movement that none of the doctors noticed.

Brackham smiled to himself as the heavy door hissed shut behind him.

"Let’s see," he murmured, "if monsters still bleed like men."

***

~Draven’s Estate~

The following morning, Meredith woke up to an empty side of the bed. She reached out and touched the space next to her.

There was only a little significant warmth left, signalling that it hadn’t been too long since Draven.

Releasing a soft sigh, she stretched her arms above her head and noticed that the pain from yesterday was gone. She wasn’t surprised.

Just then, the door leading to her bathroom opened, and Azul stepped out.

"Good morning, my lady." She bowed her head slightly, then lifted it the next moment with a smile on her lips. "Your bath is ready."

"I didn’t hear you come in," Meredith murmured as she swept the blanket to the side and touched the floor with her feet. "Has it been long since my husband left?" She inquired.

"Not long, my lady."

Meredith nodded. Then, she walked past Azul into the bathroom where she was helped out of her clothes.

Some minutes later, Meredith stepped out of her bedroom alone and took the stairs straight to the ground floor. But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, a little figure ran into her arms.

"Good morning, my lady."

Instantly, the corners of Meredith’s lips curved upwards as she wrapped her hands around Xamira. "Good morning. How are you?"

"Fine." Xamira finally leaned away from Meredith’s embrace and lifted her neck to meet her gaze from that angle. "I heard you were injured. Are you better now?"

Meredith nodded, resting her palm on Xamira’s head. "How did you know I was injured?"

"You and Daddy didn’t come down for dinner last night. And when I asked to see you, my nanny said you needed some rest because you were injured."