Men scrambled for the exits, chairs screeching against the floor, tankards clattering to the ground. Glass shattered, metal cups bounced, anddishes smashed as patrons shoved and trampled over each other in their desperate flight.
The Hammer & Cross was a wasteland of overturned tables, broken mugs, and scattered belongings within minutes.
The only ones left were the ones who mattered.
Costa.
Balthazar.
Tristan.
Marcellious.
Me.
Six of Costa’s men stepped out from the shadows like wolves emerging from a thicket, eyes keen and predatory.
A sickly silence descended.
The kind that came before the strike of a snake.
I raised my hands in a placating gesture, turning to Costa. “Let’s be smart about this,” I said evenly. “Balthazar is the one you should destroy. He’s the true source of evil here.”
Who was I kidding? Costa was just as depraved, just not as powerful.
Or was he?
Balthazar chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Oh, no, Raul. Don’t let them fool you any more than they already have.” He pointed a long, accusing finger at Marcellious and me.
“They’re the ones you want,” Balthazar said, his voice as smooth as silk but dripping with venom. “Cunning, deceitful tricksters of the worst kind. You and I, Raul, have always been allies in the war against the Timebornes.”
Costa didn’t move. He didn’t acknowledge him. His calculating gaze flickered between us, weighing his next move.
Balthazar’s patience snapped.
In a blur, he disappeared—then reappeared in front of Marcellious.
Before Marcellious could react, Balthazar’s hand snapped around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
Marcellious kicked wildly, his fingers clawing at Balthazar’s iron grip. His face turned bright red, veins bulging, his body jerking as he fought for breath.
“You motherfucker,” Balthazar growled, his eyes burning an eerie, hellish red. “How dare you betray me? Where is my dagger? Where’s my daughter?”
My pulse slammed against my ribs.
His daughter?
A cold weight settled in my stomach.
Please tell me he didn’t mean Olivia.
My feet felt rooted to the floor, my body caught in the chokehold of indecision. But I forced my voice to work.
“Who is your daughter?” I demanded.
Balthazar sneered, still gripping Marcellious like a ragdoll. “Oh, you didn’t tell him?” He let out a cruel laugh. “I’m shocked you haven’t shared that little secret yet. Tell him,” he commanded before dropping Marcellious like discarded trash.
Marcellious hit the ground hard, stumbling backward, barely staying on his feet. His face was a storm of fury, but something else reflected in his expression when he looked at me.
