Destined {𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾}

Chapter Seventy-Four

Jisung pressed his chin against his threaded hands, eyebrows furrowed almost painfully. He felt at a loss – completely useless. All he could do until Seungmin and Hyunjin got back and the Allied Packs came to meet him here was sit around and think, ponder every little possibility that could potentially occur.

A subtle throb blossomed at his temples. He exhaled and shook his head; maybe he should go find Minho. They had... a lot to talk about. He still didn't know where they stood, what they were – and it was only going to get harder to talk about it the closer to war they got.

He ran a hand along his face until it combed through the messy hair atop his head. He nodded once to himself and pushed himself from his seat, clutching his desk, suddenly lightheaded. He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, sucking n a deep breath and shaking his head.

He was really getting tired of being human. How much longer would he have to endure this, he wondered?

Ignoring his swimming vision he stumbled away from his desk before he straightened, pulling open the door. Several of his packmates travelled the halls in front of his office, and though some bowed their heads in respect, most simply ignored him.

His fists clenched at his sides as he headed towards the packhouse exit; his father would have exuded much more respect. No, he would have demanded it. But... he'd also earned it. What had Jisung done? Failed in killing the Vampire King, taken a vampire as his Mate, gotten his packmates killed, trusted all the wrong people?

Shaking his head, he clenched his jaw. He did not know how he'd ever even managed to convince a few of them that he was worthy. He was probably the worst Alpha they'd ever had. His vision clouded over, and he walked, as though on auto-pilot, until the cool night air caressed his face.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; his thoughts cleared, just like that. It was strange, however, to not be able to smell the myriad of different scents lingering in the wind. He felt defenseless, standing there. Not in his entire life had he ever felt so defenseless, so hopeless.

And yet he felt as though he deserved this defenselessness.

Maybe this was how everyone felt as he failed them one by one – failing to protect them, failing to be the defense they needed. His heart ached and he clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply through his nose.

His eyes snapped open, a sudden chill racing down his spine. His eyes narrowed, though his vision was incredibly limited now in the dark. He squinted; was that a silhouette? The longer he stared, the more he realized that it was, indeed, the shape of a person – headed right for him at incredible speeds.

His eyes widened, his body jumping into rapid, practiced motions. Except, this time, there was no surge of power and heat as he morphed into his wolf. Even as he raised his arms to shield his neck, the most exposed part of his body, he was too slow.

He knew without a doubt – without so much as needing his usual instincts – that he was dealing with a vampire. Too slow. TOO SLOW. His mind was dozens of seconds ahead of his body, which seemed sluggish, unable to follow.

The impact that hit him was strong enough to send him flying backwards, his back slamming into a nearby tree. His limbs locked up, his body tensing, his vision swimming. Ah, he thought, blinking slowly, a warm, thick liquid travelling down the back of his head, trickling into his shirt.

It was uncomfortable, but he hardly registered the sensation as the figure slowed and came into focus. Or, rather, as in focus as it could become with the dimness of his eyes. He blinked slowly once, twice, and by the time he blinked thrice, he vaguely registered the flash of fangs as moonlight caught them.