Chapter 331: No Shadows Will Be Left For Them
Third Person.
The night was slick with rain, the road gleaming under the headlights of Brackham’s armoured vehicle.
Inside, crates rattled with guns, bullets, and explosives—the precious cargo Brackham had demanded.
In the shadows, Dennis crouched with six men at his back. The faint human scent Meredith had prepared for them clung to their collars, disguising them in the night.
No one would guess they were wolves.
"Remember," Dennis whispered, his voice sharp but steady. "No claws. No blood. Take them down, take the weapons, and vanish."
The truck slowed at the bend, right where they had been waiting. In a flash, the wolves moved, but tonight, they weren’t beasts but rather men in the dark.
A guard barely had time to shout before Dennis slammed him into the side of the vehicle, knocking him cold without a mark.
Another was tripped, gagged, and dragged into the ditch, unconscious before he could lift his weapon. Fists, elbows, and precision strikes were silent and efficient.
There were no snarls or howls, just the thud of bodies hitting wet pavement.
Within minutes, the back doors of the vehicle yawned open. Crates were lifted out and passed hand to hand, swallowed by the night without a shot being fired and any trace left.
Rain began to fall harder, washing away footprints, covering their tracks. By the time the driver stumbled out and called into the dark, Dennis and his men were already gone, melting into the trees with the stolen cargo.
The attack had lasted less than five minutes. To Brackham’s men, it would look like shadows had swallowed their weapons whole.
---
The rain hadn’t stopped by the time Draven got off the phone. Then, with a small smile plastered on the corner of his lips, he turned to Meredith.
"You look like you have some good news to share," she said, putting her book down next to her on the sofa. "What is it?’
"Dennis is back," he announced, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Come with me. We are going to see the goods."
Meredith’s eyes widened. Then, without asking any further questions, she rose to her feet, falling into step beside him as he led her through the silent corridors, then across the cobbled courtyard where rain dripped from the eaves.
The night air smelled of wet stone and pine, sharp enough to sting her lungs.
They stopped at the old horse shed, its heavy doors shut against the storm. Two guards stood discreetly nearby, but none dared glance at her.
Draven pushed the door open, and inside, the air was thick with hay, leather, and the faint metallic tang of weapons.
Lanterns hung low, their light casting long shadows across stacked crates. Jeffery was already there, sleeves rolled up, prying open one of the lids with a crowbar.
"Everything made it back clean, Alpha" Jeffery reported, glancing up at his Alpha. "There are no prints or trails. Dennis handled it well."
Draven stepped forward, lifting a black case from the pile. He unlatched it with deliberate care, revealing rows of glinting rounds nestled in foam—the kind of ammunition Brackham had been stockpiling.
His hand lingered on the cold steel, but his gaze shifted toward Meredith who strode closer with curiosity, unease and pride warring in her chest.
These weren’t herbs or salves she could read at a glance—they were weapons of war, cold and foreign in her eyes. Yet Jeffery’s words echoed like a balm.
"Luna, your mixture worked," he said, his tone softer now. "Without it, they would have never successfully pulled this off."
Meredith’s pulse fluttered. She felt Draven’s heavy and deliberate eyes on her.
He closed the case with a snap, then turned, crowding her space just enough that the hay-scented air between them grew taut.
"You’ve been useful to me," he said, voice low, almost a growl. His hand brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, lingering a fraction too long. "But tell me, my Queen, do you understand what that means?"
Her breath caught, her violet eyes flashing. "That I’m more than what they think I am."
The corner of his mouth curved, dangerous and amused. "Exactly."
For a moment, the world shrank to just them — the crates, Jeffery’s presence, even the rain outside seemed to fade.
Her body leaned forward instinctively, drawn to the heat and power that radiated from him. And though his touch was fleeting, his gaze devoured her, like a predator savouring the promise of more.
Jeffery cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. "We will keep the weapons here until you decide otherwise."
Draven’s eyes lingered on Meredith a beat longer before he stepped back, the tension snapping like a bowstring.
"Leave them," he said flatly. "They will be of use when I decide."
Just then, Meredith’s gaze shifted as she thought of something. "And Brackham?" She asked. "He will notice."
"Yes, and he will rage," Draven answered, his voice a low growl in the lantern light. "But he won’t know where to point his anger. And that’s all that matters."
---
Duskmoor’s Government House.
The storm clawed at the windows, rattling them in their frames as Mayor Brackham paced behind his desk.
His tie was loose, his eyes bloodshot from the hour and the report that sat open before him.
"You are telling me," He muttered, slamming his palm flat against the desk, "that a full armoured shipment was stolen under your nose, every crate. Every round, gone, and no one saw a dam thing?"
Then, the officers standing before him shifted uneasily. One cleared his throat. "Sir, the men insist they saw nothing. There were no attackers, and no weapons were drawn. They just blacked out. When they came back, the truck was empty."
Brackham’s gaze snapped up, sharp as broken glass. "And you expect me to believe this was simple robbery? Armoured men taken down without a sound? Without a mark?"
Silence followed. No one dared answer that question.
Then one of the officers, seated stiffly in the corner, spoke with a tremor in his voice. "Sir, what if it wasn’t men at all? What if it was them?"
The word hung in the air like a curse.
Brackham’s jaw tightened. "Vampires."
The room grew colder at the sound of it. Another officer crossed himself instinctively, while a third muttered, "God help us..."
Brackham straightened, voice turning from rage to ice. "Enough. I don’t want more excuses. And like I said, I don’t want prisoners or research specimens anymore. Burn the woods. Every inch of them. If they hide in shadows, then we will leave them no shadows left to crawl in."