Accidentally Mated To Four Alphas-Chapter 285: _ The Battle

"What if there’s something we can do about it?" the demon core asks, its voice not a sound so much as a pressure behind Morgan’s eyes.

Morgan does not answer immediately because he doesn’t need to.

The thought settles into him with disturbing ease, sliding past his resistance as if it had always lived there. It doesn’t feel like a suggestion. It feels like recalling something he once knew and deliberately forgot.

Yes, he thinks, lips peeling back from his teeth as another vampire barrels toward Grayson with lethal intent. There is something I can do. About all of it.

The forest around them has devolved into chaos. Branches snap under the weight of bodies colliding at inhuman speeds. The ground is slick with blood, wolf and vampire alike, and the air reeks of iron, burned ozone, and rot so thick it coats the tongue. Morgan’s senses are stretched wide open now, pulled by the demon core embedded inside him, every heartbeat in the clearing thudding loudly in his skull.

He moves toward Grayson, not the vampire.

The decision is so quick, so instinctive, that it does not even register as a betrayal in Morgan’s mind. It feels more like a course correction. Like nudging a piece on a board where it was always meant to fall.

He does not cast anything obvious. No visible spell. No flare of power that Darien could sense or Heidi could feel. Morgan is smarter than that. He bleeds the magic outward in a controlled trickle, threading it low and subtle, slipping it beneath Grayson’s wolf like slick oil beneath paws, dedicated to weakening it even further than it already is.

The effect is immediate but quiet.

Grayson’s footing falters by an atom of a second. His muscles hesitate where they should have snapped tight. His reaction time dulls, just enough that when he lunges for the vampire’s throat, he is too slow. The vampire’s claws rake across Grayson’s side instead.

Blood sprays dark and hot against the bark of a nearby tree, and Grayson’s howl rips through the clearing, raw with pain and shock.

"Ahhhhh!"

YES! YES! YES! Morgan roars in his head, relishing in his brother’s cry of pain. He feels it surge through him like electricity. There it is.

That beautiful, terrible moment where chaos opens its mouth wide enough to swallow someone whole. Where the wild can claim a body and no one would ever be able to say for certain how it happened.

Grayson staggers, his wolf limping now, blood matting his fur. The vampire in front of him rears back, fangs dripping with wolf blood, and eyes bright with hunger as it prepares to strike again—this time aiming cleanly for Grayson’s exposed throat.

Morgan watches in delicious anticipation. For half a heartbeat, he simply watches. It would be so easy, he thinks. So clean.

And then, a blur of white and silver slams into the vampire with catastrophic force. The impact is not just physical. It is celestial. The ground cracks beneath the blow, a shockwave rippling outward that flattens undergrowth and sends loose debris flying. The vampire does not even have time to scream before its body disintegrates under the sheer violence of the strike, reduced to ash and fragments that scatter uselessly across the forest floor.

It’s... Heidi?

NO! Morgan’s fists clenches. She shouldn’t have. He’s doing this for both of them.

Her wolf stands over Grayson now, massive and luminous, fur glowing faintly as if lit from within. Celestial energy coils around her like a living storm, snapping and flaring with each furious breath she takes. Her snarl is deep and resonant, layered with something far older than instinct.

It is not merely a warning. It is judgment, rage that her mate was this... This close to death.

Morgan’s chest tightens painfully. She should not be able to do that. Not like this. Not while carrying so much strain already. Not without burning herself out or tearing something vital apart inside her.

And yet she does it again.

Another vampire lunges toward them, emboldened by numbers and desperation. Heidi meets it head-on, tearing into it with claws that glow as they strike. Energy detonates with every movement she makes, scorching the earth, shattering bone, and reducing ancient predators to nothing more than smoke and ruin.

She is not fighting like a wolf. She is fighting like a natural disaster. The demon core stirs uneasily inside Morgan.

She burns brighter than you, it observes, not just mockingly, but with something like fascination.

The admission should make Morgan furious. Instead, it makes something twist low and hot in his gut. That’s my girl, he thinks with a smile.

Around them, the fight escalates into pure carnage.

Darien plows through the vampires relentlessly, his massive form a blur of red-brown fur and snapping jaws. He fights like an Alpha who has accepted the burden of leadership down to his bones. He does not waste energy on hesitation. He just kills and kills.

Morgan hates him for how natural it looks. Hates how right he seems in the center of it all. Morgan, by contrast, fights like a creature unleashed.

He rips through vampires with savage delight, the demon core flooding his veins with power so intoxicating it nearly makes him laugh. Pain barely registers. Fatigue does not exist. He tears throats open with his teeth, snaps spines with brutal twists of his body, and when claws sink into his flesh, he welcomes the sting like proof that he is alive.

Blood slicks his fur, soaking it heavy and dark. His vision sharpens until the world feels edged, every movement slow enough to savor.

This, he thinks, lunging for another vampire and slamming it headfirst into a tree hard enough to splinter bark, this is who I was meant to be.

The demon core hums in agreement. "Yes, Morgan. Now watch yourself shine brighter after taking the life of your fake twin."

Yes, you’re right. I’m meant to burn brighter than this—Morgan agrees.

His hands itch so badly... for Grayson’s blood.