(Third Person).
Draven straightened, his knuckles still flexing from the blow.
But just then, the air shifted. A chill rippled through the corridor, heavy and sharp as frost.
Jeffery's head snapped up, his instincts prickling. "Alpha…" he murmured.
Before Draven could answer, a blur of black and silver movement flashed across the hall.
Brackham let out a strangled cry as something fast and unseen tore him away from the ground. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer by Draven's boots but pinned against the far wall by a pale hand.
The vampire leader stood there—the very one Draven had delivered to Brackham as a gift.
The bullet hole on his forehead had already healed, the skin gleaming cold and perfect. His red eyes burned with pure hatred.
Two vampires appeared beside him, their fangs bared, blood dripping down their chins. The air grew thick with their scent—iron, smoke, and vengeance.
