Elena Ward dragged her familiar silver moon blade across the ice, its edge scraping weakly as she stumbled forward.
She had no idea where she was going anymore.
Her face was deathly pale, lips stained purple by the cold. The black combat uniform that once fit her perfectly now hung in shredded strips, soaked stiff with frozen blood. There was barely a patch of skin left uninjured.
For three days, she had fought alone.
Three days of cutting down wave after wave of undead, of forcing her body to move when it begged to collapse. Hundreds of zombies had fallen by her blade.
Her will had carried her this far.
Her body had not.
When the undead wolf burst from the drifting snow, green eyes glowing with hunger, Elena could only watch it charge.
She had nothing left.
No strength to raise her blade. No breath to run.
Adrian Cross never came.
For three endless days, she had stared at the horizon until her eyes burned, until hope wore thin and brittle. He never appeared.
The thought struck her suddenly, sharply—almost absurd.
What did I ever like about Adrian Cross?
Was it his coldness?
His cruelty?
Or his selfish calm when it came time to abandon her?
Her mind drifted back to those eighty-nine votes.
The same teammates she had protected again and again. People she had dragged out of danger with her own bleeding hands.
When death came close, loyalty meant nothing.
Her faith finally shattered.
The silver blade slipped from her fingers and clanged onto the ice. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the frozen plain.
Her clear, water-bright eyes stayed open, frost coating her lashes as they trembled weakly. In her fading vision, the reflection of the green-eyed undead wolf grew larger and larger.
Elena closed her eyes.
She never saw the sudden pillar of flame that roared down from above and reduced the wolf to ash in an instant.
Julian Crowe snapped his fingers, the fire in his palm vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
He strode forward.
Maya Ash and Drake hurried after him. When Drake saw the blood-soaked figure lying in the snow, his steps faltered.
"It really is Elena Ward?" he muttered. "What's she doing out here alone?"
Julian crouched beside her and slid an arm beneath her curled body. With surprising gentleness, he brushed the tangled hair away from her face and tapped her cheek lightly.
"Elena?"
No response.
Maya knelt and quickly checked her wounds. Her expression darkened with every second.
"She's been bitten who knows how many times," she said quietly. "Her blood is nearly frozen."
She checked for a pulse. Then pressed a hand over Elena's heart.
After a moment, she shook her head.
"In this condition… she won't last."
Elena had never awakened any superpower. Her body was no different from an ordinary human's. The fact that she had survived this long was nothing short of madness fueled by willpower.
Drake swallowed as he stared at the green-black flesh creeping up Elena's left arm.
"She's infected with R-Type Mutant venom," he said uneasily. "Once she stops breathing… won't she turn? That's dangerous, right?"
Julian didn't answer.
He stood and lifted Elena into his arms without hesitation.
"Move," he ordered.
Maya and Drake exchanged a glance.
They had followed Julian Crowe for years. He was always smiling—whether amused, furious, or even while killing. Danger thrilled him. Nothing ever seemed serious.
But now…
His lips were pressed into a thin line. His flawless face was dark, storm-heavy, as if something inside him was cracking.
They didn't dare ask questions.
The SUV roared back to life and tore across the snowfield.
In the wide back seat, Julian held Elena tightly. His immaculate white suit—once spotless and pristine—was soaked through with her blood. Red. Black. Green.
Julian loved white.
White shirts. White suits.
He hated filth more than anything.
Yet now, stained from head to toe, he didn't react at all.
The feeling in his chest was unfamiliar.
Not quite pain.
More like a hand slowly tightening around his throat.
How could she be dying?
Only days ago, she had sworn she would kill him if she ever caught him again.
Julian couldn't understand it.
He smoothed her frozen hair back, brushing frost from the strands with careful fingers.
"Elena…"
His voice was low.
"If you dare die," he murmured, smiling faintly, "I'll wipe out everyone in North Sector District Thirteen that you protect."
His eyes reddened slightly as his lips curved.
"Oh, right," he added lazily. "And Adrian Cross…"
"Don't you like him?" Julian's smile sharpened. "Wouldn't you love to see him beg for death under torture?"
He lifted her chin gently, his fingers resting against her pale, slender neck.
For a long moment, his hand stayed there.
Then it fell.
Julian leaned back, staring at the roof of the vehicle. His abyss-dark eyes were empty, as though the last trace of light had been extinguished.
The black SUV raced east through the storm.
Inside, Julian stopped her bleeding and held her close, using his own body heat to warm her. He said nothing.
Only when her breathing grew dangerously faint did he speak again.
"How much longer?" he asked, impatience tightly reined.
Maya's hands were slick with sweat on the wheel.
"We're already at top speed," she said. "Almost there."
Drake manned the machine gun mounted on the roof, firing nonstop as zombies swarmed from all sides. When the wave finally thinned, he climbed back inside, panting.
"Damn," he muttered. "This area's packed. Looks like it used to be downtown—no one's scavenged it yet. We should come back with a full crew."
He stopped mid-sentence.
The silence inside the car felt wrong.
Maya shot him a warning look and motioned for him to shut up.
Drake clapped a hand over his mouth.
Outside, the howling snowstorm softened into icy drizzle. Corpses littered the cracked road. Zombie groans drifted through the fog, the air heavy and ghostly.
Julian stared down at Elena's face.
Seeing her life slipping away, a desperate thought crossed his mind.
He didn't hesitate.
Julian slipped a hand behind her head, tilted her chin up, and pressed his mouth to hers.
Her lips were cold—but soft.
He bit his own tongue open, forced her teeth apart, and pushed the blood into her mouth.
The metallic taste spread instantly.
Unconscious, Elena still gave a faint, instinctive sound.
"Mmph…"
Weak. Soft.
A small, pained moan.
Drake heard it and glanced into the rear-view mirror.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Silently, he tapped Maya's arm.
Annoyed, she followed his frantic pointing and lifted her gaze.
She froze.
In the center of the back seat, Julian held the blood-covered woman tightly, his kiss fierce and consuming. A thin line of blood slipped from their joined lips, tracing down Elena's pale cheek and into her dark hair.
His brows were drawn tight, fingers locked under her jaw, his throat moving slowly as he swallowed.
The sight was dangerously intimate.
Then Julian lifted his eyes.
Through the mirror, his gaze met Maya's.
Cold.
Savage.
Like a beast guarding its prey.
Maya snapped her eyes away and slammed a button.
A thick metal partition rose, sealing the front seats from the back.
Drake whispered, stunned, "So… the boss couldn't have her alive, and now that she's dying, he just goes for it?"
Maya didn't answer.
As absurd as it sounded, with Julian Crowe, it wasn't impossible.
Drake clicked his tongue. "Never thought the boss was that kind of guy…"
He frowned, confused. "Why all the trouble? He could've dragged her home ages ago."
"He caught her plenty of times," Drake continued, "played cat and mouse, let her escape… even let her run off with supplies."
Maya rolled her eyes.
"One more word," she said flatly, "and your lifespan shortens by ten years."
"…"
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