“There’s still a shard of the original inside with the Dread and Ashmouth,” I continued, “but it’s buried deep beneath blood magic, torment, and chains of obedience. Their pain is both physical and existential, like screaming inside your own mind with no voice. The Dread, I found it nibbling wilted clover once. Not eating. Just remembering.”
The room had gone completely silent, all eyes fixed on me.
“They’re not mindless,” I said. “The White Dread avoids people as much as it can. I’ve seen Ashmouth clawing at his own ribs like he’s trying to dig something out. She bound them, yeah, but they feel it. Every second.”
Seri looked stricken, her hand reaching for Casimir’s. I didn’t blame her. It was the kind of barbaric cruelty that made even hardened guys like me recoil.
“The White Dread,” Casimir prompted as he patted her hand. “You said it was once something else. What?”
“Unicorn.”
Seri made a wounded sound that had all three dhampirs lunging for her.
“What about the others?” Koa asked as he tucked her face into his stomach.
“Ashmouth was a forest spirit. A leshy. And Splitter was always a construct, some relic of a mage-smith’s forge, but she corrupted it with necromantic enhancements and a demon core. Unstable as hell, too.”
“So three distinct threats, each requiring a different approach.” Casimir was already calculating, I could see it in his eyes. Assessing threat levels, creating scenarios, figuring out how to take each one down.
“If you had to take them on one-on-one,” Seri asked, pulling away from Koa’s hug, “who would you pit against each Gravewrought, Simmy?”
Simmy? I nearly choked trying to keep my face neutral. Casimir “I will make you rue the day you were born” Cimmerian was her Simmy? FuckingSimmy? The most feared of the brothers, the one who I once witnessed decapitate six vampires in under ten seconds, reduced to a cutesy nickname that sounded like something you’d call a fucking stuffed bear?
And he let her do it!Hell, from the slight softening around his eyes when she said it, he actuallylikedit.
It was enough to make a lone wolf question everything he thought he knew about power dynamics.
“Koa versus Splitter,” he said, which let us all know he’d already planned this scenario.Of coursehe did. He was Casimir fucking Cimmerian. “Splitter being the most brutal and viscerally disturbing of the three demands someone equally grounded and relentless. Koa’s stability and physical force meet that challenge.”
I nodded my agreement. That made perfect sense. It would be the immovable object against the nightmare made flesh. Koa had a stillness about him, a solid presence that seemed unshakable. I’d seen him during training sessions with his brothers. He didn’t dodge or weave much. He took the hit, absorbed it, then struck back with twice the force. Against something like Splitter, with its multiple limbs and unpredictable attack patterns, you needed someone who could weather the storm and strike at the exact right moment.
“Zane versus Ashmouth,” Cas went on as though discussing chess moves rather than life-or-death combat. “Ashmouth feels chaotic, almost viral. The kind of horror that adapts mid-fight, breaks the rules, and keeps mutating. Zane thrives in chaos. He’s feral, fast, improvisational. Roach-coded.”
Made sense, too. Zane would figure out a way to survive and win against a creature that refused to die the same way twice, because that’s who he was at his core. Adaptable to the point of absurdity.
“Roach-coded?” Seri wrinkled her nose and looked insulted on Zane’s behalf.
“He meant it as a compliment,” I chuckled. “Z could survive anything, just like a roach. He always crawls out.”
“Damn right I do.” Boy’s smirk was smug as hell.
“Plus, it’s just karma to give Z the most unpredictable enemy,” Koa added, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let him out-crazy the thing.”
“And why do you want the White Dread, Simmy?”
“I can answer that, little witch,” I interjected before Cas could speak. “Because the Dread is cold, calculated, and commands fear and silence. Cas is all quiet horror in return. He’s the scalpel. He matches dread with discipline.”
In my mind, I could almost see it. Cas versus the Dread wouldn’t be loud or brutal; it would be almost still. A chess game played with steel. Two beings moving with lethal grace, each step calculated, each attack measured. The White Dread might be anightmare, but Casimir was something a little more terrifying: A man who had weaponized control itself.
“So we have our targets,” Koa said. “But first we need to find a way into her compound, locate the hearts, and coordinate simultaneous attacks.”
“And figure out how to protect Seri while we do it,” Zane added, his usual flippancy gone. “Because Harrow bitch will be gunning for her, not us.”
“Won’t be easy,” I warned.
“Nothing worth doing ever is,” Seri said with a little shrug.
#
