Chapter 147

Simon had sent a summons just after dawn. It had no preamble, no subject line, and only a single word in the body: "Urgent."

The lab was cold when I arrived, harshly lit and sterile. Everything gleamed in stainless steel, as if the scent of antiseptic alone might scare the truth into surfacing. Richard was already there, arms folded and jaw set. He didn’t greet me but nodded toward the display.

On the screen was a magnified strand of something that looked almost like blood, though it was too thick, too dark, and too organized.

Simon didn’t look away from the monitor. “This was taken from a tissue sample embedded in the hyoid bone. It was the cleanest extraction we could get since most of Darius’s system burned too fast.”

Richard’s voice was flat. “And?”

“And it’s not wolf, and it’s not human either.” Simon tapped a few keys, and the image on screen split in two. “It’s showing dormant viral sequences that match known relics from vampire DNA archives, ancient ones, preserved in bloodstone repositories. Almost extinct markers, but still viable and still present.”

I stared. “He was a vampire?”

Simon finally looked at me. “We think so. A cloaked one, modified to suppress the more obvious traits like sunlight sensitivity, blood compulsion, and speech patterns. But the markers are there.”

Richard stepped back from the table. His face didn’t change, but the silence around him did. Something sharp and cold settled in the room.

“How long?” he asked.

Simon shook his head. “We won’t know until we pull similar data from other remains. If this is a pattern and not a fluke, we’ll need to reclassify dozens of past deaths, and maybe more.”

He handed Richard a folder. “These are the case files we’re reopening, soldiers and staff who were classified as unclaimed, misidentified, or marked as ‘remains too damaged for proper sequence.’ Most of them died within the last eight years, and most were stationed near cathedral sites.”

Richard didn’t take the folder right away. When he finally did, he didn’t open it. “I want a task unit deployed quietly. Start with the two oldest bodies and the most recent unexplained death, and use whatever resources you need.”

Simon nodded. “Already started.”

“The Council?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Richard said. “Not fully.”

But they would know soon. That was obvious. A secret like this didn’t stay contained, especially not with David already circling like a hawk. Sooner or later, someone would try to weaponize it.

Nathan joined us an hour later, his coat smelling like outside. He tossed a duffel onto the counter, unzipped it, and pulled out three vacuum-sealed kits. The chemical odor hit instantly, bitter, metallic, and clinging.

“These were seized from a supplier tied to Darius’s personal stock. We followed a shipment out of Fenlock and hit the drop site this morning.”

He held up a vial. “Preservation gel laced with hematic agents, the same compounds we’ve only seen in vampire biology. Used to suspend scent, stabilize corrupted cells, and mimic Pack hormonal cycles. He was using these to pass as wolf.”

Richard’s mouth was a hard line. “What else did you find?”

“False-scent oils, synthetic sweat compounds, and modified saliva,” Nathan said. “Everything you’d need to fake Pack biology to a very intimate degree.”

Simon wrote something down, then said quietly, “If this was possible for one of them, it’s possible for more.”

I watched them speak. The three of them, Richard, Simon, and Nathan, were coiled with control and purpose. I should have felt included, but I didn’t.

Because while they planned and catalogued and strategized, my ears were still ringing with the words from earlier. Not wolf, not human, altered.

I stepped out of the lab as casually as I could. I didn’t bolt, but I didn’t say goodbye either.

The air outside was sharper than expected. I walked the loop around the west corridor once, then again. I tried to tell myself I was just cooling down, just letting the adrenaline wear off. But the words kept repeating.

Altered markers, preservation vials, not wolf, not human.

That night, I didn’t eat, didn’t join the evening brief, and holed up in the second floor library. I tried to focus on the old architecture books I used to read when I was younger, back before my world had rules and meanings and bloodlines.

By the time I heard the knock, I already knew who it was.

I didn’t answer. He opened the door anyway.

Richard didn’t say anything at first. He just stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not.”

“You skipped every scheduled touchpoint today.”

“I had nothing to add.”

He stepped inside. “Bullshit.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t care. You’re spiraling.”

“You think I’m spiraling?” I snapped, standing. “You think I’m overreacting because I don’t want to sit through one more debrief where everyone pretends we’re still playing by the same rules? I’m not spiraling. I’m adapting.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Maybe you should be avoided.”

He reached me before I realized he’d crossed the room. One hand caught my wrist, and the other tangled in my shirt. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me with something cold and unfamiliar in his eyes.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say it’s not about what Simon found.”

I couldn’t.

He pushed me against the wall, not rough but firm. His leg slid between mine. My breath caught.

“You don’t get to disappear when it gets hard.”

“You don’t get to pretend it’s not already too late.”

I didn’t mean to kiss him. I meant to shove him. But our mouths met in a clash that tasted like fury.

He caught my thighs and lifted me. Carried me to the desk and bent me over it without a word. His hand curled around the back of my neck, holding me there. When I tried to shift, he tightened his grip, firm but not cruel.

“I’m not going easy on you tonight,” he said.

“Don’t,” I gasped. “Don’t you dare.”

He ripped my leggings down, grabbed a strip of cloth from the bookshelf curtain tie, and used it to bind my wrists behind my back. The rough knot dug in just enough to make me writhe.

He hooked a finger into the waistband of my underwear and yanked it aside in one fluid motion. The cool air hit my soaked skin, and then his fingers were there—pressing in slow and deep, curling to drag against every spot that made my knees buckle. Just as my hips started to roll against him, he pulled away completely, leaving me shaking and gasping against the desk, the ache spreading sharp and wild through my gut.

“Beg for it.”

“Please,” I said, grinding against the edge of the desk. “Please, Richard, fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

He didn’t tease. He shoved into me in one long thrust that filled me so deep I cried out. My arms strained in the binding. My cheek was pressed to the desk. He held my hips in place and pounded into me with no mercy and no pause.

I came within seconds, screaming, clenching around him.

But he didn’t stop. Not after one. Not after two. He fucked me until my legs gave out and I could barely keep upright. He wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled just enough to keep my head angled back while he kept taking me, over and over.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “You’re not running from me.”

“I’m not,” I sobbed. “I’m not, I swear.”

He reached around, found my clit, and rubbed in hard circles until I screamed again. My third orgasm tore through me. Then a fourth.

When he came, it was with a deep, guttural sound, his body collapsing over mine, still pulsing inside me.

He stayed there a long time. Still buried. Still holding my wrists.

Eventually, he untied me and helped me up.

He didn’t speak. He just looked at me. Then left.

I curled on the floor and stayed there, ruined and raw, still wet between my legs, still wanting him back the second he was gone.

Maybe something really was wrong with me.