My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 465 JACK DRAVEN THE ENEMY

JACK’S POV

The television in my quarters at Silverpine exploded against the wall with enough force to send sparks scattering through the room.

Glass fragments rained down onto the floor. One of the rogues near the door flinched and averted his gaze before I could redirect my fury toward him.

On the screen—before its destruction—Seraphina Blackthorne stood bathed in light beside Kieran, as if she perfectly belonged there.

Poised.

Composed.

Unattainable.

‘This is your final opportunity, Jack. Cease hiding behind innocent rogues and accept responsibility for your crimes.’

My jaw tightened with a painful clench.

I snatched the nearest chair and flung it across the space. It collided with a metal shelving unit, the impact strong enough to leave a dent in the steel.

“I should have eliminated that witch when I had the chance,” I growled.

Silence answered me.

No one was foolish enough to speak.

The rooms my father had relegated me to in Silverpine’s lower compound were thick with the odors of oil, rust, damp concrete, and apprehension.

This subterranean section of the pack’s territory had once served as military storage many decades ago, before Marcus repurposed sections of it for clandestine operations.

Now, it was my sanctuary from the world.

How utterly fitting.

Men moved with caution around me, feigning focus on weapons inventories and transport manifests while studiously avoiding direct eye contact.

Cowards.

Every last one of them had begun to act like cornered prey from the moment Kieran issued his announcement.

I could detect it emanating from them—anxiety, uncertainty, that nauseating instinct for self-preservation that compels abandonment at the first sign of mounting pressure.

The most galling aspect was Seraphina’s masterful execution.

That wretched woman had seized the narrative right from my grasp.

Prior to her press conference, fear had driven people to lash out indiscriminately.

Rogues were enraged. Packs were furious. Humans seethed. The entire world teetered on the brink of chaos.

Chaos was a useful tool.

Chaos obscured trails and muddied evidence.

But then she appeared before the cameras and drew such a clear line that now, any rogue with a modicum of sense was beginning to distance themselves from me rather than rally to my side.

Jack Draven, the trafficker.

Jack Draven, the terrorist.

Jack Draven, the adversary.

I slammed my fist into the wall. Concrete fractured under the force of the impact.

“That manipulative viper,” I spat.

A low voice, delivered with extreme caution, came from behind me. “The northern routes are becoming unstable.”

I turned slowly.

The rogue messenger seemed to nearly choke on his own tongue.

“Elaborate.”

“Our border contacts are withdrawing,” he stated rapidly. “Some are already incinerating records to prevent allied forces from seizing them. Several safe houses were evacuated overnight.”

Because they were terrified.

Because Kieran Blackthorne had finally stepped into the public eye, abandoning covert struggles and hidden retributions.

Because Seraphina had made it politically expedient for individuals to sever ties with me.

And they had the audacity to issue me a damn ultimatum.

Three days…

Rage surged with even greater intensity in my chest.

I truly should have murdered her when the opportunity presented itself.

It would have been remarkably simple, too.

She had been so fragile, so exposed, so easily broken before she transformed into this formidable entity standing beside Nightfang as if born a queen destined for conflict.

I should have ended her life swiftly before Kieran ever had the chance to elevate her into a symbol.

The thought had barely registered when the doors at the far end of the underground chamber swung open.

The rogues assembled around me instantly tensed.

Marcus entered first.

My father exuded an aura of silence with the same weight and finality that Kieran commanded authority. It was heavy. Absolute. Oppressive.

Two Silverpine wolves followed him, both part of his personal retinue, but they halted near the entrance, refraining from advancing directly.

Marcus displayed no overt anger—which was precisely the problem.

My father’s anger followed a predictable and manageable pattern.

But when his expression turned cold and impassive, I was never certain what consequence would follow.

“Your temper displays have always come at a considerable cost,” he remarked calmly, his gaze flicking toward the ruined television.

I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “You’re concerned about a blasted television at a time like this?”

“I am concerned about your distinct lack of competence.”

The room became utterly silent.

My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin. Losing composure in my father’s presence was perilous, yet my fury rendered me indifferent to the risk.

“You witnessed the press conference,” I retorted. “You saw their actions.”

“Indeed.”

“They’re crippling our supply lines, freezing our assets, raiding our storage facilities—”

“And?”

That single word struck me like a physical blow. My hands clenched into tight fists.

“And?” I repeated, the disbelief evident in my voice. “That is your sole response?”

Marcus regarded me for a prolonged moment, and in that instant, I felt the vulnerability of my fourteen-year-old self.

Wounded. Bruised. Standing before him after my inaugural failed mission, while he calmly explained the fatal consequences of weakness in wolves.

Why I was destined to perish.

“Your fundamental error,” he stated with chilling evenness, “is your persistent confusion of mere clamor with genuine power.”

Approaching him, I observed one of the guards tense, but I paid him no mind. My wolf was a raging storm within, ready to unleash chaos upon my father's fragile domain at the slightest hint of danger, far beyond a mere broken television.

"Deploy troops," I commanded, my voice ringing with urgency. "A significant force, prepared for swift action. I will rally the remaining loyal rogues and dismantle Nightfang before they solidify their hold."

Marcus regarded me with an expression of profound disappointment.

"You suggest open warfare at this juncture?"

"War has already begun."

"No," he stated, his tone chillingly dismissive. "This is strategic maneuvering."

My pulse throbbed erratically.

"Maneuvering?" I retorted, my voice rising. "Kieran is systematically destroying everything we've established!"

"Not entirely."

His unnerving composure was a catalyst, making me want to obliterate the entire room.

"He's swaying public opinion against us," I growled, frustration mounting. "Even our own rogues are succumbing to panic."

Marcus remained unyielding.

"Public perception is fleeting."

"Perhaps," I conceded sharply, "but the fear he's cultivating is not. That poison breeds and transforms, and once it gains unstoppable momentum, I will be finished."

A subtle, almost imperceptible sharpening occurred in his gaze – a flicker of annoyance.

I seized the opening, pressing my advantage.

"Grant me the necessary forces to strike first," I urged. "We will cripple their supply lines, disrupt their communications, and overwhelm their forward patrols. Let the allied packs suffer before they can fully mobilize."

Marcus's voice deepened, a low rumble in the tense air. "And your objective thereafter?"

Baring my teeth, I declared, "We will tear Kieran Blackthorne limb from limb, with Seraphina forced to bear witness."

A heavy silence descended.

Finally, Marcus let out a sigh.

"Your emotional volatility is quite considerable," he remarked.

"I am responding rationally to an existential threat."

"You're reacting like a cornered animal."

The barb struck true, igniting a furious lunge from my wolf deep within.

The nearby lights flickered erratically as a wave of raw power surged from me.

"Do you deem me weak?" I snarled, the pressure building.

"I find you lacking in patience."

"Patience be damned when Seraphina Blackthorne is actively turning the entire continent against us!"

Her name alone reignited a venomous fury within me.

A searing, white-hot hatred.

I loathed her resilience.

I despised how she always emerged stronger from every attempt to break her.

I detested the reverence in the eyes of those who looked upon her now.

They saw her as a paragon. Something truly noble.

Spitting onto the floor, I spat, "I should have personally ripped out her heart."

"And yet, you never found it within you to complete the act."

A new voice, smooth and unnervingly calm, cut through the tension in the room.

Lucian.

His entrance had been utterly silent; I hadn't heard a thing.

He stood by the far passage, clad entirely in black, his features obscured by the dim, industrial glow of our underground base.

My irritation intensified.

Something was amiss with him; he was different from the last time we'd met.

A profound restraint emanated from him.

A chilling emptiness lurking beneath his composed exterior.

Even his movements seemed unnaturally subdued, as if invisible fetters bound his very being.

His gaze drifted towards me, steady and unperturbed.

"You gravely underestimate Sera and Kieran if you believe a mere band of rogues can breach their stronghold and emerge victorious."

A harsh, barking laugh escaped me. "You seem remarkably partial to her."

A fleeting expression, too quick for most to register, crossed his face.

But I caught it.

Intriguing.

Marcus's attention diverted momentarily to Lucian before returning to me.

"You will not advance on Nightfang," Marcus decreed firmly. "Your sole directive is to remain here and await my explicit orders."

My temper finally fractured.

"Do not presume to command me!" I bellowed, unleashing the full force of my wolf's power, the pressure causing the metal shelves to vibrate once more.

Several rogues instinctively recoiled. One even lost his footing.

A grim satisfaction.

Fear was a preferable sensation to perceived weakness.

"We are hemorrhaging vital resources while you dither aimlessly!" I raged. "You and Catherine chatter endlessly about your clandestine schemes while Kieran continues to amass allies daily!"

Marcus's eyes darkened ominously. "You speak as if you possess a complete understanding of the unfolding situation."

"My understanding is more than sufficient!"

"No," he stated, his voice dangerously soft. "It is not."

A crimson haze began to cloud my vision, and I felt the familiar sting as my fingernails began to pierce through my skin. "Then compel me—"

I halted abruptly as an icy dread slithered down my spine.

My wolf recoiled violently within me.

Wheeling around sharply—

Lucian now stood closer, his eyes fixed on mine with a disquieting intensity.

"Jack," he said, his voice a low murmur.

Every instinct screamed danger. I moved instantly, launching myself toward him—

An explosive pain erupted in my skull, my vision fracturing into a thousand shards. The room began to spin around me.

"What—"

My knees buckled, striking the floor with a force that seemed to crack the very concrete beneath. Rage surged anew.

"You—"

The subsequent wave struck with even greater ferocity.

My thoughts became a muddled mess. The edges of the room blurred.

I struggled to push my wolf forward, but an icy, constricting force seized my mind, dragging it downwards.

It was suppressing. Binding. Relentlessly.

Lucian's expression remained terrifyingly serene.

"Did I not caution you about acting outside of your designated bounds?" he inquired gently.

'....Whether you can maintain your composure and avoid becoming a problem once more. Please, feel free to disregard my instructions; it will be my distinct pleasure to bring you back into line.'

I let out a guttural snarl and attempted to rise.

The ground seemed to heave beneath my weight, forcing me back to my knees. My extremities felt impossibly heavy, as if weights had been attached.

“Get... out... of... me...” I choked out the words, my speech thick and slurred.

The oppressive force within my head escalated, akin to being submerged in a suffocating, inky abyss.

Amidst the swirling confusion, the sound of Marcus moving reached me.

The distinct crunch of boots on concrete.

Measured. Unhurried.

He paused near me, yet my ability to focus on him was rapidly diminishing.

“You are wanting in discipline,” he stated. “But you are the burden I am fated to carry.”

A guttural growl was all the reply I could manage.

Hatred for him surged within me.

In that very instant, my loathing for my father was absolute.

“Leave him be,” he commanded. “Allow him to rest. Our departure is imminent. Catherine awaits you.”

“For what purpose?” Lucian inquired, his voice soft.

Marcus replied, “The experiment's culmination is at hand.”

A sliver of chilling apprehension pierced the drugged stupor that was consuming my consciousness.

I attempted once more to push myself into an upright position, but my body refused to cooperate.

The final sensation before darkness claimed me entirely was the sound of footsteps receding further into the depths of Silverpine’s subterranean facility.

And my father's hushed words to Lucian resonated: “The moment for your genuine contribution has finally arrived.”