Mated to the Mad Lord-Chapter 284: A Pretender

"Violet," a voice called, familiar and steady. "Open the door."

Her heart leaped. "Cain?"

Her voice trembled, a mix of relief and desperation. She scrambled to her feet, dashing instantly for the door lock. Her fingers fumbled with the lock before finally wrenching the door open without fear, confident that the voice could only belong to one person.

"Cain!" she gasped, relieved to see him standing there before her—tall, his sleeves rolled up, blond hair falling slightly over his forehead, and eyes that bore into hers. The blood splattered on his face seemed out of place, almost painted on, like an ill-fitting mask. Yet, despite the alarms and the madness, his presence calmed her, if only for a moment.

"You’re... You’re back so soon?" Violet stammered, her gaze flicking nervously behind him to the hallway a second before he slammed the door shut.

"What’s happening out there? The alarms—" Her words spilled out quickly, frantic.

"An attack," he replied smoothly, his voice firm but tempered. He stepped closer to her without once shifting his gaze away, his eyes briefly scanning the room before settling back on her. "I needed to check on you. I needed to make sure you were fine!"

Violet’s lashes flickered at the iciness she perceived in his tone, but she dismissed it as anger toward the attackers.

Her shoulders relaxed. If Cain was here, if he had returned to her, then maybe the attack had been mostly resolved. Maybe things hadn’t spiraled completely beyond control.

"Who was it?" she asked, curious to know who had chosen to attack them. "The werewolf lords? Or could it be the Vampire Lords? Are they here?" Her voice was shaky, but there was hope tangled in her fear. The idea that Cain could handle it, that he had faced worse, anchored her.

"Vampire Lords. They’re here," he confirmed, his gaze never leaving her face. His eyes glimmered with an unreadable intensity. "But I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry."

Violet’s eyes searched his face, her breathing steadying. She opened her mouth to respond, to ask more questions, but her words faltered. Her gaze dipped, fixed on his chest. The realization struck her like a slap.

The clothes he wore—a dark, unbuttoned shirt and fitted pants—were not the ones he had on earlier. Cain had left in a white, rumpled shirt that she would have been able to identify even with her eyes closed. It was a shirt that hung loosely on his frame, uncharacteristic and jarring compared to the ironed black one he currently wore.

It was a small, minute detail, but who had the time to change clothes during such an intense and panicked period? Her mind grasped for an explanation, but dread seeped in, cold and unrelenting. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Her heart began to pound again, this time louder and more frantic. The room suddenly felt too small, suffocating as she fixed her gaze on Cain’s eyes, which she noticed were both completely gold-colored.

Instinctively, she took a step back, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Cain... why did you change?" Her voice was barely a whisper, a tremor running through each syllable. "Your clothes... they’re different." She slowly pointed out, desperately hoping she was wrong.

A silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating.

The man before her smiled slowly, a twisted, knowing smirk that was nothing like Cain’s usual expressions. It was a grin that dripped with malice—amused, predatory.

The truth crashed into her, stealing her breath. Her pulse hammered in her ears. It wasn’t Cain. It had never been.

Her legs wobbled, the strength in them vanishing. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The realization made her blood run cold.

"Cain...?" she whispered, her voice trembling. She knew it wasn’t him, yet hope clung stubbornly, pathetically.

The imposter’s smile widened, even as his gold eyes slowly turned blood-red, fangs peeking out of his mouth, his red eyes glimmering with wicked delight.

"Hello, Violet," Vazer murmured, his voice a cruel mockery of Cain’s. "I’ve been looking forward to meeting you." He took a deliberate step toward her, his presence now looming, suffocating.

Violet stumbled back, her back hitting the wall. Panic coiled around her throat, choking her breath as her eyes widened in shock and fear, heart thumping in her chest at what she had just done.

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The mansion’s premises were a battlefield drenched in destruction. Shattered marble statues lay in pieces, portraits of ancient ancestors torn and scattered like discarded parchment. The air buzzed with hostile energy, an oppressive weight pressing on Cain’s chest.

The six vampire lords circled him, their red eyes gleaming with hunger and contempt, even as their underlings fought Cain’s guards, each side struggling to survive and win.

Together, they moved closer to Cain with arrogant looks in their eyes, still calculating each step. Almost predatory, aware that a single mistake was all it would take for them to become the ’prey.’

Dravile moved first, a blur of motion that Cain barely caught. A fist almost crashed into Cain’s jaw, the force sending shockwaves through the air as Cain managed to avoid it. He turned his body to the side, only to meet Rasha’s claws that followed, slashing across his side with such agility that he had no time to catch his breath.

The pain seared hot and sharp, blood spilling from the fresh wound.

Cain retaliated, raising the blade in his hand and dashing forward, swiping down at her, hard and fast. But just before the blade could connect to her neck—his intended target—she was gone. Javi appeared behind him, a knee driving into his spine, forcing him to his knees. Before he could rise, Hayna’s boot collided with his ribs, a sickening crack resonating.

Cain’s breaths were ragged, each inhale a struggle. The weight of their attacks was relentless, a coordinated, unyielding assault. They were not just lords—they were masters of violence, honed through centuries of war.

Dravile’s voice taunted, dripping with scorn. "Is this it, Cain? The Mad Beast, brought to his knees so easily?"

Hayna laughed, her voice sharp and mocking. "Should we give him a moment? Maybe he wants to beg."

Cain’s vision wavered, blood streaming from cuts across his face and body. His mind screamed to resist, to fight, but their strength was overwhelming. Even as his instincts urged him to shift, to release the beast within, he hesitated.

His wounds were already healing extremely fast, but shifting meant a complete loss of control—one he wasn’t sure he could afford at that moment. Especially with the fear lingering deep in his mind that, once shifted, there was no guarantee he could return to his human form without problems.

Another blow struck his back, sending him sprawling across the ground. Glass crunched beneath his hands, and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. His body trembled, battered, and at that point, he no longer cared.

The six lords were strong, especially since Reds were extremely fast, and werewolves could only match their speed mainly in their beast form.

A roar built in his chest, a guttural, defiant cry. His bones began to shift, his muscles tearing and reweaving. His skin rippled, fur sprouting along his arms and shoulders. His face elongated, his fangs extending into lethal weapons. The pain of the transformation was a sharp agony, but it was liberating—a release of the beast that had always lurked beneath his surface.

Cain’s werewolf form stood tall, towering over them with ten times the size, a beast of rage and fury. His eyes glowed a fierce, golden hue, a predator’s gaze locked onto his enemies.

A brief trail of fear flashed in all their eyes collectively, even as Javi bit down on it and rushed forward. But Cain’s claws met his throat, a spray of blood marking the air, with him barely escaping decapitation.

Anger boiled within him afresh as he ducked to the side, even as Hayna leaped forward, taking his place with her daggers flashing. But Cain’s jaws snapped at her, forcing her to twist away. Rasha’s claws struck his furry black fur, leaving deep trails of blood, but Cain whipped around, teeth bared, a savage snarl rattling from his chest and a loud, domineering growl with enough force to blow her back onto the ground.

The tide had shifted, a primal force unleashed. Cain’s strength surged, his senses sharpened, every heartbeat of his enemies a drum echoing in his ears. The lords hesitated, their confidence wavered.

But there were six of them—coordinated, relentless. They didn’t believe they could lose, regardless of how huge the beast was.

They fought twice as hard as they ever had, with immense ferocity. Steel cut into his side, claws raked his arms, fangs snapped at his neck, but Cain’s healing speed was so fast that the wounds had barely appeared before they disappeared.

Dravile’s voice boomed, furious and unyielding. "Enough! Break him!"

Their attacks doubled, a storm of strikes and slashes, but no matter how much they attacked, it soon became very obvious that killing Cain was going to be impossible.