Marcus and I exchange a worried stare.
The doors explode open.
At least twentyshifters and vampires pour in, snarls filling the air, claws scraping stone as they rush into the room. Intimidation leeches from their pores. Bloodlust thickens the chamber, every escape swallowed in the rush of bodies.
We tighten into a circle, back-to-back, weapons raised. My wolf snarls, teeth aching for release. My heart pounds like it might burst free of my ribs.
This isn’t good.
Leonard exhales. “Well… shit. That’s a lot of teeth.”
Minerva cracks her whip, lips curling. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you? Twenty against six is bad math.”
Belvedere actually laughs, smooth and unbothered as he adjusts his cuffs. “I’ve seen worse odds. Granted, I was drunk and hallucinating at the time, but still.”
“Fantastic,” I mutter. “We’re about to die and you’re reminiscing about your drinking days.”
Serafina raises her bow, her calm unnerving in its steadiness. “Twenty. That’s all? I thought they’d at least try to make it a fair fight. I almost feel sorry for them.”
Marcus growls low in his chest, the sound vibrating through my spine where it presses against his back. “Let them come. I was getting bored anyway.”
Leonard grins, showing teeth. “If we’re all going to die, can we at least agree I get the prettiest one?”
Minerva doesn’t even glance his way. “Focus, Romeo, or you’ll be the first one down.”
Despite the situation, warmth floods my chest, and I’m proud of us. We might be facing our death, but we’re not going down like sniveling babies. We’re going down fighting.
24
MARCUS
“Ialways found spectators cowardly.” My voice is cold as steel covered in ice as I snarl up at the balcony.
The balcony juts out above us, a wide slab of stone framed by iron railings. The metal curls in decorative twists, but up close it looks more like bars than art. Two thick pillars hold up the ledge, their surfaces cracked with age and neglect. Flickering lanterns hang on either side, throwing off more shadows than light. I dare not squint. I will not show any weakness.
Maximillian leans against the railing like it’s a throne, one hand draped lazily over the iron, the other tucked behind his back. The shadows catch half his face, making his smile look sharper than it should, his eyes gleaming red in the low light. He looks calm, composed, completely in control. Like a man watching from the safest seat in the house, daring us to challenge him.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my knife. It glints in the torchlight but is nowhere near as sharp as my tone. “The easiest thing in the world is to stand by and watch others fightfor you. Come down here. Face me one-on-one. Just you and me, fighting for what’s right.”
Maximillian throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing off the stone and crawling under my skin. It’s mockery, scathing and smug, like he knows he owns the room. It only makes me more determined to put up my toughest fight.
“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus,” he says, dragging my name out like a taunt. “That kind of appeal to ego? That’s what gets people killed. Do you think I care about contests of pride?”
His eyes catch the light. It irks me how steady he looks. No hesitation. No crack in his armor I can drive my knife into. He isn’t bluffing. I know it in my bones. This isn’t a power-hungry speech meant to scare us. He believes every word. And worse, he’s already decided how the story ends. Lucky for me, I prefer to write my own endings.
“I’m here for results,” he continues, voice steady, almost casual, like he’s talking about the weather instead of murder. His hand trails lazily along the balcony rail, tapping in time with his words. “And mine are simple: erase both your families. Leave the world choking on the vacuum. Let them turn on each other. Rival against rival. No trust. Just blood in the streets.”
He pushes off the railing with fluid ease, pacing the narrow strip of stone like it’s his personal stage. His smile never wavers. “That’s my legacy.”
The words hit like a blade to the gut. He’s not ranting or raging. This plan of his has been brewing in his gut for a while. Possibly centuries. That’s what makes it worse. He wants us gone, not for revenge or honor, but because he likes the idea of watching the world rip itself apart. And he’s proud of it. Proud enough to call it his legacy.
My stomach knots, and I grind my teeth, fists clenching at my sides, nails biting into my palms until I’m sure I’ll draw blood. Every muscle in my body tightens, ready to spring, but I forcemyself to stay rooted. If I move now, I’ll do something reckless. He talks about it like it’s a game, like burning the world down is just another move in a plan he’s already won.
“If only you believed the bullshit you’re spewing,” Esmerelda snaps, her voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. Every head turns, even mine, because if there’s one thing Esme has never cared for, it’s politics. She always let her family handle that side of things. Yet here she is, stepping forward, chin raised, fire in her eyes.
“You’re not doing this to create chaos,” Esmerelda cuts in, her voice ringing out clear. “You’re doing this because your fragile ego couldn’t take it.”
Maximillian’s eyes snap to her, but she doesn’t flinch. She squares her shoulders, chin high, her glare cutting sharper than any blade.
