Chapter 10

The battlefield was silent now, the blood-streaked ground a stark contrast to the calm in Michael's chest. His heart still pounded, but it wasn't from the fight—it was the peace that came with protecting what mattered. He never killed for himself. He only took life for those who threatened his family, never for petty reasons.

The katana slipped from his body, its edge grazing his fur before falling away, the weight of its bloodied steel finally leaving him. His wolf form began to heal, fur crawling across the open gashes, bones snapping back into place, each wound sealed one by one.

The Yeonghon Samkki lay discarded at his paws, blood trickling over its blade, the glow now a weak flicker, like it too had lost its will to fight.

Michael's body contorted, muscles and sinew shifting as he reverted to human form, skin stretching back, shedding fur in the process. He stood there for a moment, naked in the dim light. He grabbed a pair of pants from one of the fallen men, slipping them on quickly, though the chill of the air still clung to his skin.

His fingers brushed over the katana, lifting it with reverence. The ancient runes shimmered faintly as the light caught them, dancing across the steel like a story waiting to be read. The handle was worn, smooth where the previous owner's grip had left its mark. But the blade… its edge flickered with a faint yellow hue, reflecting the sun's rays just right, as though it had a secret to tell. He studied it, turning it in his hands, feeling its weight, its history. "Are you a beauty," he muttered softly, marveling at the weapon's presence.

Michael yanked a phone from one of the bodies, his fingers pressing against the screen as he held it up to his face, waiting for the device to unlock. The familiar hum of the phone's vibration sent a wave of impatience through him. He quickly scrolled to Alfred's number, his thumb pressing down hard on the call button. The phone rang, each tone a little more urgent than the last.

The seconds dragged on until, finally, a voice crackled through the speaker.

"Hello, this is Alfred."

"Alfred, I need a pick-up," Michael growled, kicking one of the bodies with a dull thud, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. "Some crazy Koreans kidnapped me… Well, I think they're Koreans." He exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into his words.

The drive back was brutal. Michael sat stiffly, his mouth smeared with blood that he was desperately trying not to gag on.

"My lord, may I ask how they overpowered you?" Alfred's voice was careful, though a hint of concern laced it.

Michael let out a slow breath, his eyes flicking to the katana beside him, its blade gleaming with a sickly golden glow. He picked it up and held it out, the light catching the edge just right. "Well, my dear butler, I didn't expect them to be this prepared."

Alfred's eyes caught the gleam of the katana in the rearview mirror, his grip on the wheel tightening ever so slightly. "I see," he murmured, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone.

"My lord, I believe it would be best to report this to your father," Alfred said, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

"You've got this. I'll leave it here with you," Michael said as the car eased up to the curb near his apartment.

The engine hummed into silence as Alfred shifted, his sharp gaze meeting Michael's in the rearview mirror. "My lord…" His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it. "Did you use your fire?"

Michael's grip tightened around the door handle. Halfway out of the car, he hesitated. A faint wisp of heat curled from his fingertips before he clenched his fist, extinguishing it.

He turned back, locking eyes with Alfred's knowing stare.

"Yes," he said, his gaze sharpening, a shadow crossing his face as his jaw set into a firm line.

Michael stepped onto the sidewalk, his strides slow but deliberate. The city buzzed around him, yet his mind was elsewhere, tangled in a storm of thoughts. Get a grip. His fingers twitched at his sides, the lingering heat of his fire still pulsing beneath his skin. His jaw clenched.

As he neared his apartment, his gaze lifted to the sky, following the effortless glide of birds soaring high above. A vision stirred in his mind—his lifelong dream, the one he had kept buried beneath years of restraint. Wolves and vampires, united.

For so long, he had stayed in the shadows, waiting, watching, knowing the time wasn't right. Moving too soon would have meant exposing himself to forces far beyond his control. But now… now the pieces were there, scattered, waiting to be placed.

And it was time to start putting them together.

unspoken threats, the divide between species growing sharper with each passing day. War wasn't a possibility—it was inevitable. The vampires and werewolves ruled the world, but that balance teetered on the edge of collapse.

Even now, dragons were siding with the vampires. His thoughts drifted to Victoria—lowborn or not, she was still a dragon. As long as her kind remained in the Beyond, there was still a chance. But the looming threat of war cast a long shadow, and his father's grip on power, though firm, was slipping. The question was—how much longer would it hold on?

He let out a slow, heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. This was the kind of burden his brother should be shouldering, not him. A yawn crept up, his body aching with exhaustion, but sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. The weight of inevitability settled in his chest—whether he wanted it or not, the fate of everything rested on him.