The side door of the massive dining hall clicked shut, sealing the heavy silence back inside the mansion. The old doctor's footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving behind only the rhythmic, steady hum of the automated cooling patches attached to Malcolm's broad, blood-stained chest.
Dahmer stood entirely frozen beside the ruined dining table. His silver eyes were locked onto the limp, unmoving frame of the corporate king. The dark silver fluid that had been pulsing dangerously beneath Malcolm's skin had finally slowed down under the influence of the drugs, but the towering Alpha looked terrifyingly frail, caught in a deep, medically induced sleep.
