Cole was already rising from the booth, muscles coiled and ready.
“That one of their guardians?”
“Soon see,” Dax muttered as he stood, fingers flexing once at his side. “Let’s check it out.”
* * *
Across the club, the two rogues near the bathrooms had already vanished, leaving the shaken mortal slumped against the wall.
The brothers cut through the crowd with practiced ease, mortals parting instinctively before they understood why. The male disappeared through the rear hallway, and Cole shoved the door open hard enough to splinter the wood against stone.
The corridor beyond was narrow and dimly lit, the air thick with damp concrete, iron, and wet asphalt seeping in beneath the rear door.
The male stood waiting at the far end, his jaw set, his eyes burning with a ferocity that matched the darkness.
“You boys took your time,” he said softly, his voice thick with gravel.
Malakai moved without hesitation, surging forward with feral speed to slam the stranger into the wall.
The impact cratered the brick.
The male laughed—a rough, primal sound. Black-red blood spilled from the corner of his mouth beneath the flickering fluorescent light.
“Oh,” he rasped mockingly, “there’s that famous bloodsucker hospitality.”
Cole approached slowly, every movement honed by predatory instinct.
“Who are you? Who’s controlling the rogues?”
The stranger’s smile sharpened.
“You think that’s what you should be asking?”
Dax grabbed him by the throat, his iron grip tightening until cartilage creaked beneath his palm.
“Wrong answer.”
The male tilted his head toward him, fangs flashing briefly.
Then the hallway lights exploded into shards of glass and darkness.
The stranger laughed through his bloodied smirk.
“You smell it yet?” he whispered.
Malakai froze.
Magic.
Ancient and rotten.
The stranger’s gaze drifted upward.
“She’s already coming,” he hissed.
A surge of dread tightened through Cole.
Dax increased the pressure around the stranger’s throat.
