“You’re here because ferals are killing humans near your territory and the news is calling them animal attacks.”
Erik puts down his glass.
“The last feral my people put down,” he says, “looked like a kid. Couldn’t have been more than a year or two past college age when someone turned him.” A pause. “My trackers found him half a mile from a middle school.”
He’s quiet for a second. His eyes go back to Maximus.
“Six confirmed incidents on Iron Claw territory in one month. Two of them in locations my wolves use for family gatherings. This isn’t bleed-over. Someone is placing them. This is targeted.” Maximus’s palm flattens against the wood.
“Konstantin is testing the alliance,” Maximus says.
“He’s testing whether there is one.” Erik’s voice stays level. “Pick us off separately and nobody has to fight him directly. My wolves bleed out on ferals. Your vampires deal with whatever he’s doing on your end.” He takes a drink. “He doesn’t need to beat us. He needs to make sure we never sit in the same room.”
He folds his arms. “I don’t trust vampires. I want to be clear about that.”
“I know,” Maximus says.
“I trust patterns. The pattern says whatever’s coming is bigger than species pride.” His attention shifts to me. “She’s right about the news. That’s the reason I’m here.”
His eyes move between us when he says it. Quick. Assessing.
“The territory recognition,” I say. “The northern buffer. What does Konstantin know about it?”
Erik’s expression sharpens slightly. “It’s disputed because the records show it as contested. Anyone who knows your political landscape knows it.”
“So he knows it’s a sticking point between you.”
Erik inclines his head. A single tilt.
“Then settling it now isn’t about territory. It’s about making sure Konstantin can’t hide behind the confusion anymore.”
Erik puts down his glass. Looks at me without blinking for one full second.
Maximus takes my hand under the table. One brief press. I don’t look at him.
“She does that,” Erik says.
“Does what?” Maximus asks.
“Sees the whole board.” He picks up his glass. “Good to have on your side.”
Maximus nods once. “I know.”
Erik pours a second measure of the amber liquid. Sets the bottle down. Reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded map.
He spreads it on the table.
Atlanta and the surrounding territories. Hand-drawn overlays on a printed base. Topography, highway corridors, dark green forested areas to the north where Iron Claw territory sits. Twelve points marked in red.
“Every confirmed incident. Every location my trackers documented.” He lets us look.
The twelve points aren’t scattered. They radiate outward from three central points, like spokes from three separate hubs. Spreading in directions that would eventually converge.
Oh.
“The three source points,” Maximus says.
“Not a natural spread,” Erik says. “Not a vampire who went feral and started wandering. These are placed. My best tracker mapped every approach vector.” He taps each point. “Abandoned warehouse complex off I-285. Drainage infrastructure junction in DeKalb County.” He taps the third, north of the city. “That one is in the buffer zone.”
