The look in their eyes said they were ready to take blood.
Behind them, Byron stood with his hands in his pockets, watching us pull up with an expression I couldn't read.
Jacob killed the engine, and we climbed out. Ethan hauled the duffel—Derek still inside—over his shoulder like it was luggage.
The man at the front stepped forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, massive, with the kind of presence that made you instinctively straighten your spine. His hair was dark, and his eyes swept over us with tactical precision.
"Levi," he said, extending a hand.
I shook it. His grip was firm, measured. "Yeah."
"Atlas Dane," he said. "We're your brothers. Charleston side."
Of course, they were.
The others stepped forward in turn.
"Silas." This one had sharp features, calculating eyes, and moved like a predator who'd learned patience.
"Marcus." He looked like a surfer model—blonde hair, easy grin—but his eyes were cold as ice.
"Ryker." Built like a tank, with scars on his knuckles and a face that said he didn't smile much.
"Elias." Lean, watchful, holding a laptop like it was an extension of his body.
"Noah." Quiet. Still. The kind of still that came right before an explosion.
"Charlie." The last one I recognized—the medic who'd met me when I first arrived. He nodded, and there was something softer in his expression. Like he remembered what it felt like to be the new guy walking into this.
The Charleston Danes.
My half-brothers.
I'd known they existed for mere hours, and now here they were, standing shoulder to shoulder with my Montana brothers like they'd been planning for war.
Maybe they had been.
Marcus nodded toward the duffel Ethan was holding. "Want me to make him comfortable?"
"Yeah," I said. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."
Marcus's grin sharpened. "My pleasure."
He took the bag from Ethan and disappeared into the house, whistling.
We walked inside, the rest of us trailing behind Dad as he led the way deeper into the mansion.
I'd thought I'd seen most of Dominion Hall by now. The parlor. The sunroom. The kitchen. The yacht.
I was wrong.
"What did you find out?" Dad asked, glancing back at me.
"It can wait," I said.
His jaw tightened. "Was it smart to bring the editor here?"
I stopped walking. The others kept moving for a second before realizing I wasn't with them. They turned, watching.
