Chapter 182 Chapter 182

Chapter 182 Chapter 182
Merrick
The stench of fear hangs over Haven's Crest like heavy fog. 
For a moment, I regret the fact that Jo outdated us to the world. If no one ever found out about us, none of this would have happened.
Usually, the town smells of mountain air. fresh pine, woodsmoke, and the damp soil of the valley. Today, as Julian and I crouch in the shadows of an abandoned lumber barn on the edge of the town line, the scent is sour - corrupted ozone, burnt diesel, and the sharp, metallic tang of human panic.
The town is dead silent.
It’s just past midday, but the main street is completely deserted. Storefronts are boarded up with thick plywood, neon signs are dark, and every residential window is covered in heavy curtains. 
Parked at the main intersection, right outside the brick municipal building, are three dark gray armoured transport vehicles bearing the silver sigil of the Cabal’s human proxy militia.
"Charming," Julian purrs beside me, pulling his dark velvet cloak tighter around his shoulders to block out the freezing mist. "It has all the ambiance of a plague pit. Really, the Cabal has zero sense of decorum."
"Keep your voice down," I rumble, as I quietly track two militia guards patrolling the sidewalk.
“They’re just humans, Merrick,” Julian says under his voice. “They can’t hear us.”
It is true enough. They aren't High Fae, and they aren't wolves. They’re human mercenaries wearing heavy black tactical gear, armed with military-grade assault rifles and wearing silver dampener collars around their necks - protection against werewolves maybe, but not a Lycan king and a vampire lord. 
The mercs look jumpy, their boots crunching against the frosted asphalt, their eyes darting nervously toward the dark tree line every time the wind howls.
Who do they fear the most, I wonder. Their own people, or us.
"Look at the streetlights," I whisper, pointing toward the heavy metal poles lining the main strip.
Mounted every fifty yards are black rectangular boxes with thick cabling running straight into the municipal power grid. Signal jammers. They aren't just blocking cell service, they're emitting a high-frequency acoustic hum designed to scramble digital transmissions and cause constant, low grade headaches in baser level supernaturals.
The wolves won’t make it down here, and the constant squee noise will drive the elementals insane.
There is something else. Something I can’t pick up, but it sets Julian’s teeth on edge. “What is it?” I ask.
“Those things-” he cocks his head at the boxes -“it’s meant for the humans, not us. That frequency is designed to evoke fear.”
“Fear?”
Julian nods. “Primal fear. It triggers their… lizard brain.”
“Like that feeling you get when someone’s looking at you,” I observe.
"Yes. It’s no wonder the town is silent," Julian murmurs, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. "The humans are locked inside their little wooden boxes, suffocating in a digital blackout while these dullards parade around in cheap leather."
“Why doesn’t it affect them? “I wonder aloud.
“It does. Look how jittery they are.”
Before I can respond, the front doors of the local bakery, a small shop near the corner, creaks open.
An elderly human man in a stained apron steps out onto the sidewalk, holding a galvanised metal trash can. He isn't trying to cause trouble, he’s just trying to empty his morning flour sacks.
"HALT!"
The shout echoes sharply down the empty street. The two militia guards spin around, raising their rifles instantly, their boots heavy against the pavement as they march toward the old man.
"Curfew is in effect, old man,” the lead guard barks, stepping directly into the baker's personal space and shoving his rifle barrel against the man's chest. "Get your ass back inside before we haul you down to the processing center!"
"I- I- I’m just puh- puh- putting out the trash, son," the old man stammers, his hands trembling as he drops the metal lid, raising his palms in the air. "I've been running this bakery for forty years, I'm not-"
The guard doesn't let him finish. He swings the butt of his rifle, striking the old man hard across the jaw.
The baker lets out a sharp cry, collapsing onto his hip in the frozen slush, blood instantly pooling from his lip onto his white apron.
Enoch doesn't just growl, he roars.
The scorched-earth heat of my aura spikes so fast that the frost on the barn wall behind us melts into trickling water in a fraction of a second. These are my valley's people. They might be humans, they might be weak, but they live under the shadow of my mountain.
"Merrick," Julian warns softly, placing a pale hand on my forearm, though his own fangs are fully extended past his lower lip. "Remember your rule. We are here for intel, not a riot."
"I am the King of the North," I snarl under my breath, my claws extending as I step out of the shadows. "And that human lives in my territory."
“He does not,” Julian says, “This is human land.”
“But it doesn’t matter. The truth stopped mattering when the Cabal turned on the humans - humans who care about my Queen.
I don't shift. I don't need to.
I cross the fifty yards of open street in three silent, terrifying strides.
The lead guard doesn't even hear me coming until my frame blocks out the pale gray sunlight above him. He starts to turn, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated terror as he looks up into my blazing eyes. I catch his throat in my massive claw before he can pull the trigger.
I lift his two hundred pound, armour-clad body clear off the ground with one hand, squeezing his throat until his rifle drops uselessly onto the pavement.
"Wh- who..." the second guard stammers, scrambling backward, his hands shaking so violently he drops his ammunition clip into the mud.
"You're in my backyard," I rumble, my voice dropping into a frequency so deep it shatters the glass windows of the bakery behind us.
I slam the lead guard face-first into the hood of the nearest armored truck, the metal crumpling like tin foil under the impact, knocking him instantly unconscious.
Behind me, Julian glides out of the dark like a nightmare. Before the second guard can even scream, the vampire is behind him, one hand cupping the guard's jaw, his fangs sinking clean and deep into the man's exposed neck. 
The guard instantly goes limp as Julian drains him, the vampire letting out a soft, contented sigh as the warm, fresh blood hits his tongue.
"Ah," Julian purrs, pulling back and wiping a tiny drop of crimson from his lower lip with his thumb. "A bit heavy on the nicotine, but infinitely better than salted beef."
I ignore the vampire, leaning down to scoop the terrified old baker off the cold pavement by his armpits, setting him gently on his feet.
The old man stares at me, his jaw trembling, his eyes wide as he takes me in, registering the sheer size of me under the coat. "You... you're the Lycan King. From the news."
"Go inside," I tell him softly, my aura dialing back to a low, warm heat to keep him from shivering. "Lock your doors."
"They... they said you were dead," the baker whispers, looking toward the dark mountains towering over the town. "They said the Wolf Queen was dead."
"My Queen is alive," I rumble, looking straight down the main street toward the municipal building where dozens of armed militia members are now spilling out onto the steps, alerted by the shattered glass. "Spread the word. We are taking this town back."