Six days.
This number hung over Elian and Rafe's hearts like a volcano about to erupt. The brief, fragile calm that had shrouded the safe house was instantly shattered. An unprecedented sense of urgency replaced all previous personal emotions.
In the face of a common crisis that could destroy everything, so-called racial hatred seemed so insignificant.
Over the next two days, the safe house transformed into a terrifyingly efficient war command center.
For the first time, Elian deployed his global intelligence network—a spider web of precision that spanned the globe without reservation. Countless streams of encrypted data flowed through secret channels, converging here. Abnormal fluctuations in financial markets, underground arms deals, blind spots in city surveillance... everything was broken down into basic information units before him.
Rafe also revealed another side of his abilities as the young werewolf alpha. He was no longer the brute who thought only with his fists. He descended from his unreachable clouds and activated his countless "ears" and "eyes" throughout the city's gray zones. Street thugs, dock workers, nightclub bouncers... these voices from the bottom of society, ignored by high society, coalesced into another vast and effective intelligence network.
One controlled the sky, the other surveyed the earth.
Cold calculation and wild instinct achieved perfect complementarity for the first time. Their efficiency was astounding—intelligence screening and analysis that once required weeks was completed in just forty-eight hours.
All leads pointed to one place: the abandoned underground railway system of Crescent City, like a scar across the urban landscape.
"They have a base there, definitely," Rafe said with certainty, pointing at the holographic map showing the maze-like network of underground tunnels. "It's hidden enough, with passages leading everywhere, and... filled with chaotic energy forgotten by the city. The perfect place for such evil rituals."
Elian nodded in agreement. His finger traced across the map, finally stopping at a location marked "Platform Thirteen," abandoned and sealed for nearly fifty years.
"Based on heat signatures and energy fluctuation anomalies, this is our most likely target."
No unnecessary words. No tactical arguments.
They looked at each other and stood simultaneously with silent understanding.
"I'll bring my elite squad," Rafe said.
"I only need you," came Elian's concise but powerful reply. "The more people, the more noise. We must infiltrate before they notice us."
Rafe studied him deeply, then nodded firmly.
That night, two black shadows slipped into the abandoned subway station entrance like phantoms melding with darkness.
The entrance was covered in cobwebs and dust, the air thick with the mixed smell of rust, mold, and stagnant water. This was a corner forgotten by time.
They moved one after another down the deep main tunnel toward the depths. Rafe led with his remarkable night vision and keen sense of smell, easily avoiding obstacles on the ground and detecting any unusual scents in the air.
Elian followed behind, his hearing capable of catching the sound of water drops falling from the tunnel ceiling hundreds of meters away, distinguishing the slightest abnormal vibrations in the wind.
They didn't speak, yet their steps, breathing, and vigilant directions formed an amazing synchronization. As if they weren't two separate individuals, but a perfectly coordinated battle partnership trained through countless encounters.
Suddenly, Rafe stopped and raised his hand.
Elian instantly froze, his body lowering slightly into a defensive stance.
"Ahead... there's blood," Rafe's voice was extremely low. "Fresh. And... more than one type."
They exchanged glances and crept forward cautiously.
After turning a corner, they found the source of the blood—several werewolf corpses carelessly dumped beside the rails. From their tribal tattoos, these were scouts responsible for perimeter patrol. Their deaths were horrific, bodies covered with cuts and burns from silver weapons.
Rafe's fists clenched instantly.
But before he could react, Elian had already grabbed his arm and yanked him backward!
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
Several silver-gleaming crossbow bolts flew past Rafe's nose, embedding deeply in the opposite wall.
A trap!
"Enemy attack!"
Dozens of black shadows emerged from all directions in the darkness. The Sacred Thorn Knights had already laid a perfect snare here!
Battle erupted instantly.
This time, there was no hesitation. Elian and Rafe stood back to back, entrusting their most vulnerable rear to their former sworn enemy without reservation.
"Three on the left, I've got them!" Rafe roared, charging toward the heavy-shield enemies.
"Five on the right, plus those two snipers above—they're mine." Elian's voice remained ice-cold, but his speed was like black lightning.
A bloody dance of slaughter commenced in this dark underground space.
Rafe's fighting style was bold and sweeping, full of wild power. Like a true giant wolf, each charge tore open gaps in the knights' shield formations; each claw swipe left deep marks on their alloy armor.
Elian moved like an elegant artist of death. His figure weaved through enemy formations like a phantom. No one could see his movements clearly—only silver sprays of blood constantly blooming in the air. The peculiar black obsidian blade in his hand was like a viper's fang, always finding the most incredible angles to pierce the gaps in enemy armor.
Power and speed.
Savagery and precision.
They were no longer two independent warriors, but one perfect, efficient, terrifying killing machine.
However, there were simply too many knights, and they fought fearlessly, wave after wave like a tide. Worse still, a knight commander activated a briefcase-sized device.
"Hummmmm—"
An extremely piercing subsonic wave that humans couldn't hear exploded forth.
Rafe felt as if his head had been struck by an invisible sledgehammer. Stars danced before his eyes, and the blood in his body seemed ready to boil and burn.
Elian also let out a suppressed groan. The sound waves were madly interfering with his highly sensitive vampire senses.
Their movements simultaneously showed a moment's delay.
In battles between masters, that moment was enough to be fatal.
Several silver nets descended from above.
"Go!" Elian made a split-second decision, pushing Rafe away while charging in the opposite direction to draw most of the firepower.
"This way!" Rafe reacted, kicking open a rusted iron door nearby to reveal a narrow entrance to a maintenance passage.
They rushed into the passage one after another. Behind them, the heavy iron door was violently struck by pursuing knights.
Inside the passage was absolute, impenetrable darkness.
The space was extremely narrow, barely allowing one person to pass. To evade pursuit, they could only keep moving deeper into more confined areas. Finally, they squeezed into an abandoned ventilation equipment room of barely two square meters.
Elian secured the heavy iron door behind them.
The world instantly fell silent.
Only... each other's breathing remained.
No, more than that.
Elian could clearly hear Rafe's heart pounding violently from battle and drug effects, like war drums hammering against his eardrums beat by beat.
And Rafe could clearly smell the scent from Elian's body—a mixture of ancient dust and cold blood that had grown somewhat richer from using his powers. His wounds had reopened during the fight, and that unique vampire blood scent was madly stimulating his inner wolf instincts.
They were trapped in an absolutely dark, absolutely quiet, absolutely cramped space.
Their bodies were pressed tightly together.
Rafe could feel Elian's inhuman coldness seeping through thin fabric. Elian could feel Rafe's furnace-like burning temperature.
The adrenaline hadn't yet faded.
The life-or-death crisis still lingered.
Emotions and desires suppressed for days, even centuries, accumulated like magma blocked at a volcanic mouth, seeking an outlet for eruption in this ultimate silence and darkness.
No one spoke.
Time seemed infinitely stretched.
Finally, Rafe moved first. He only meant to adjust his somewhat uncomfortable compressed position, but this tiny movement became a fuse, instantly igniting the powder keg.
His arm accidentally brushed across Elian's chest.
In that instant, both bodies stiffened simultaneously.
In the darkness, they couldn't see each other's expressions, yet could clearly "feel" each other's reactions.
Elian's breathing showed a barely perceptible irregularity.
Rafe's heartbeat skipped a beat.
It was over.
This thought appeared simultaneously in both their minds.
Something—something they had been deliberately avoiding, desperately suppressing, something forbidden—had completely spiraled out of control.
No one knew who moved closer first.
Perhaps it was Rafe, drawn by that deadly, ice-cold blood scent, following beast instinct.
Perhaps it was Elian, seduced by that burning, life-filled warmth, breaking centuries of self-imposed rules.
When their lips collided clumsily yet precisely in the darkness, both their minds went completely blank.
This wasn't a kiss.
This was a release—a primal venting of emotions suppressed far too long.
No tenderness, no exploration. Only near-savage devouring, filled with anger, confusion, desperation, and mad possession. Rafe's hand roughly gripped Elian's nape, pressing him forcefully closer. Elian's hand clutched desperately at Rafe's shirt front, knuckles white from the force.
They were like two dying beasts at the world's end, using the most painful method to lick each other's wounds and prove each other's existence.
This kiss was filled with the taste of blood, sweat, and... despair.
After an eternity, they finally separated, gasping.
The darkness remained deathly silent. But the air now held something more dangerous, more intimate, and more irreparable.
They had both made a mess of everything.
Just as neither knew how to face this silence, footsteps sounded clearly outside the door.
Then a calm, elegant voice with the magnetic quality of authority spoke. Though quiet, it penetrated clearly through the heavy iron door.
"Report. Have you caught them?"
The instant he heard this voice, Rafe felt Elian's entire body stiffen violently in his arms.
It was a tremor deeper than facing death—originating from the very soul.
Rafe had never seen Elian so shaken. He could even feel violent, invisible tremors from the location of his long-silent heart.
That voice...
Elian slowly raised his head, gazing toward the iron door through absolute darkness. In those usually placid gray-blue eyes, for the first time, appeared an expression he couldn't understand himself—a mixture of ultimate shock, hatred, and... a trace of fear buried for centuries that even he had forgotten.
He recognized this voice.
He could never forget this voice.
Two hundred thirty-seven years ago, this very voice had whispered in his ear the curse that dragged him into eternal hell:
"From this day forward, you shall have new life, my child."
That was his "sire"—the ancient vampire prince who should have self-destructed and turned to ash two centuries ago.