The party's lights gradually dimmed, and the manor's grand hall began to empty, leaving only faint whispers and the lingering clink of glasses. Serena stood on the terrace, a half-drunk glass of champagne in hand, the slight intoxication flushing her cheeks with a soft pink. The night breeze rustled her red gown, and she closed her eyes, savoring a fleeting moment of calm.
"It's getting late," Lucian's voice came from behind, low and tinged with a seductive edge. He approached, his hand settling naturally on her shoulder. "I'll take you back."
Serena opened her eyes and turned to him, her gray-green gaze softened by the wine but still lucid. She smiled faintly, her tone clear-headed. "Thank you, but I have my own arrangements."
Lucian raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulder, his domineering aura unmistakable. "You've had a lot to drink tonight. I'm not comfortable letting you go alone." His deep eyes locked onto hers, as if trying to hold her captive in his stare.
Just then, a familiar figure strode quickly from the terrace entrance. Caleb, in a simple black jacket, his golden-brown hair tousled by the wind, fixed his gaze on Lucian's hand. His light brown eyes darkened instantly.
"She doesn't need you to take her," Caleb said, his voice cold and resolute, carrying an unyielding edge. He stepped forward, positioning himself beside Serena and blocking Lucian's view. "I'm here to get her."
Lucian narrowed his eyes, appraising Caleb. The air thickened with unspoken tension as their presences clashed. Lucian's brow furrowed—he sensed something in Caleb's aura, not the raw wildness of an ordinary werewolf, but a deeper, more commanding strength, like that of a general among the clan, radiating innate authority. He muttered under his breath, "Interesting…"
Serena, sensing the brewing storm, gently pushed Lucian's hand away and straightened. "Enough, Lucian. Thank you for tonight. I'm leaving with Caleb."
Lucian didn't resist, stepping back with a slight smirk, his amber eyes flickering between them. "As you wish. But, Caleb, protect her well. Don't let me down."
Caleb snorted coldly, grabbed Serena's wrist, and turned to leave. His strides were swift, laced with suppressed anger. Serena stumbled slightly as he pulled her along, muttering, "Slow down—I'm not so drunk I can't walk."
Once in the car, Caleb started the engine without a word. Serena leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes closed, the alcohol making her head spin, though she noticed his unusual silence. She opened her eyes and glanced at him. "What's wrong? Still jealous of Lucian?"
Caleb's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his voice low. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."
Serena chuckled softly, about to reply, when Caleb slammed on the brakes. The car jolted to a halt, her body lurching forward, the seatbelt digging painfully into her shoulder. "What's happening?" she asked, frowning.
"Ambush," Caleb said, his voice low and steady, his gaze sweeping the darkness outside as a golden glint flashed in his light brown eyes, like a wolf zeroing in on prey in the night. He opened the door, issuing a quiet command: "Stay in the car. Don't get out."
Outside, eight shadowy figures burst from the roadside, wielding knives, clubs, and even a gleaming steel whip, their murderous intent aimed straight at the car. Caleb vaulted out with a flip, moving like a gust of wind, his landing sending a faint tremor through the ground, a testament to the explosive power within him.
The first assailant thrust a dagger at his chest. Caleb dodged to the side, the blade grazing his jacket and leaving a shallow mark. He seized the man's wrist, twisting hard—a sharp crack sounded as bones broke, followed by a scream. With a pull, he flung the man into a roadside boulder, blood spurting as the attacker's head smashed against it, knocking him out instantly.
A second foe swung an iron club at the back of his head. As if with eyes in the back of his skull, Caleb ducked, the weapon whistling overhead. He snapped up a leg, striking the man's inner knee with precision—a dull crunch echoed as the leg buckled, dropping him to his knees. Without pause, Caleb drove an elbow into the man's neck, felling him like a broken marionette.
The third and fourth attacked together—one slashing a knife at his waist, the other cracking a steel whip toward his shoulder. Gold flared in Caleb's eyes as he roared, his hands striking simultaneously. His left hand caught the knife blade, twisting it until it snapped; his right seized the whip, yanking its wielder forward. A knee slammed into the man's gut, a muffled thud signaling ruptured organs as blood spewed from his mouth and he collapsed. The knife-wielder turned to flee, but Caleb lunged, grabbing his throat, lifting him, and slamming him into the ground, dust rising as he lay still.
The remaining four hesitated, shaken by his ferocity, but soon formed a semicircle, hoping numbers would prevail. Caleb sneered and charged into them. His speed blurred into a phantom streak, fists hammering like a tempest, each blow cracking bones. One took a punch to the jaw, teeth scattering as blood sprayed; another caught a side kick to the chest, ribs snapping audibly as he flew three meters into a tree trunk.
The last, a club-wielder, swung wildly at Caleb's head in desperation. Caleb didn't dodge—raising an arm, he blocked, the club striking his forearm with a metallic clang, snapping in two. The man froze, stunned, and before he could react, Caleb's fist smashed into his face, collapsing his nose and sending him flying like a sack of sand.
The fight lasted barely two minutes. All eight lay sprawled across the ground, groans mingling with the stench of blood in the air. Caleb, breathing heavily, wiped a splash of blood from his face and turned to check the car, ensuring Serena's safety. Bathed in moonlight, his tall, cold figure resembled a wolf king fresh from tearing apart its prey.
Then his ears twitched—his keen werewolf senses caught distant footsteps. His pupils contracted sharply as he whipped around. A new shadow emerged from the trees, clutching a handgun, closing in on the car from less than ten meters away with alarming speed—a premeditated killer.
"Fuck!" Caleb roared, urgency lacing his voice. He sprinted toward the car, legs pumping with such force that the ground cratered beneath him, his speed whipping up a gust of wind.
Chapter Ten: Ambush
The party's lights gradually dimmed, and the manor's grand hall began to empty, leaving only faint whispers and the lingering clink of glasses. Serena stood on the terrace, a half-drunk glass of champagne in hand, the slight intoxication flushing her cheeks with a soft pink. The night breeze rustled her red gown, and she closed her eyes, savoring a fleeting moment of calm.
"It's getting late," Lucian's voice came from behind, low and tinged with a seductive edge. He approached, his hand settling naturally on her shoulder. "I'll take you back."
Serena opened her eyes and turned to him, her gray-green gaze softened by the wine but still lucid. She smiled faintly, her tone clear-headed. "Thank you, but I have my own arrangements."
Lucian raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulder, his domineering aura unmistakable. "You've had a lot to drink tonight. I'm not comfortable letting you go alone." His deep eyes locked onto hers, as if trying to hold her captive in his stare.
Just then, a familiar figure strode quickly from the terrace entrance. Caleb, in a simple black jacket, his golden-brown hair tousled by the wind, fixed his gaze on Lucian's hand. His light brown eyes darkened instantly.
"She doesn't need you to take her," Caleb said, his voice cold and resolute, carrying an unyielding edge. He stepped forward, positioning himself beside Serena and blocking Lucian's view. "I'm here to get her."
Lucian narrowed his eyes, appraising Caleb. The air thickened with unspoken tension as their presences clashed. Lucian's brow furrowed—he sensed something in Caleb's aura, not the raw wildness of an ordinary werewolf, but a deeper, more commanding strength, like that of a general among the clan, radiating innate authority. He muttered under his breath, "Interesting…"
Serena, sensing the brewing storm, gently pushed Lucian's hand away and straightened. "Enough, Lucian. Thank you for tonight. I'm leaving with Caleb."
Lucian didn't resist, stepping back with a slight smirk, his amber eyes flickering between them. "As you wish. But, Caleb, protect her well. Don't let me down."
Caleb snorted coldly, grabbed Serena's wrist, and turned to leave. His strides were swift, laced with suppressed anger. Serena stumbled slightly as he pulled her along, muttering, "Slow down—I'm not so drunk I can't walk."
Once in the car, Caleb started the engine without a word. Serena leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes closed, the alcohol making her head spin, though she noticed his unusual silence. She opened her eyes and glanced at him. "What's wrong? Still jealous of Lucian?"
Caleb's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his voice low. "I didn't like the way he looked at you."
Serena chuckled softly, about to reply, when Caleb slammed on the brakes. The car jolted to a halt, her body lurching forward, the seatbelt digging painfully into her shoulder. "What's happening?" she asked, frowning.
"Ambush," Caleb said, his voice low and steady, his gaze sweeping the darkness outside as a golden glint flashed in his light brown eyes, like a wolf zeroing in on prey in the night. He opened the door, issuing a quiet command: "Stay in the car. Don't get out."
Outside, eight shadowy figures burst from the roadside, wielding knives, clubs, and even a gleaming steel whip, their murderous intent aimed straight at the car. Caleb vaulted out with a flip, moving like a gust of wind, his landing sending a faint tremor through the ground, a testament to the explosive power within him.
The first assailant thrust a dagger at his chest. Caleb dodged to the side, the blade grazing his jacket and leaving a shallow mark. He seized the man's wrist, twisting hard—a sharp crack sounded as bones broke, followed by a scream. With a pull, he flung the man into a roadside boulder, blood spurting as the attacker's head smashed against it, knocking him out instantly.
A second foe swung an iron club at the back of his head. As if with eyes in the back of his skull, Caleb ducked, the weapon whistling overhead. He snapped up a leg, striking the man's inner knee with precision—a dull crunch echoed as the leg buckled, dropping him to his knees. Without pause, Caleb drove an elbow into the man's neck, felling him like a broken marionette.
The third and fourth attacked together—one slashing a knife at his waist, the other cracking a steel whip toward his shoulder. Gold flared in Caleb's eyes as he roared, his hands striking simultaneously. His left hand caught the knife blade, twisting it until it snapped; his right seized the whip, yanking its wielder forward. A knee slammed into the man's gut, a muffled thud signaling ruptured organs as blood spewed from his mouth and he collapsed. The knife-wielder turned to flee, but Caleb lunged, grabbing his throat, lifting him, and slamming him into the ground, dust rising as he lay still.
The remaining four hesitated, shaken by his ferocity, but soon formed a semicircle, hoping numbers would prevail. Caleb sneered and charged into them. His speed blurred into a phantom streak, fists hammering like a tempest, each blow cracking bones. One took a punch to the jaw, teeth scattering as blood sprayed; another caught a side kick to the chest, ribs snapping audibly as he flew three meters into a tree trunk.
The last, a club-wielder, swung wildly at Caleb's head in desperation. Caleb didn't dodge—raising an arm, he blocked, the club striking his forearm with a metallic clang, snapping in two. The man froze, stunned, and before he could react, Caleb's fist smashed into his face, collapsing his nose and sending him flying like a sack of sand.
The fight lasted barely two minutes. All eight lay sprawled across the ground, groans mingling with the stench of blood in the air. Caleb, breathing heavily, wiped a splash of blood from his face and turned to check the car, ensuring Serena's safety. Bathed in moonlight, his tall, cold figure resembled a wolf king fresh from tearing apart its prey.
Then his ears twitched—his keen werewolf senses caught distant footsteps. His pupils contracted sharply as he whipped around. A new shadow emerged from the trees, clutching a handgun, closing in on the car from less than ten meters away with alarming speed—a premeditated killer.
"Fuck!" Caleb roared, urgency lacing his voice. He sprinted toward the car, legs pumping with such force that the ground cratered beneath him, his speed whipping up a gust of wind.