"Intelligence from Dmitri's people." His eyes flick past me intothe room. I don't bother pretending Celeste isn't there. He's not stupid, and I'm not interested in deception. Not about this. "You're going to want to see this. Both of you. Conference room in twenty minutes."
"That bad?"
"Worse."
He leaves without elaborating. That's unlike him, which means whatever he's learned has shaken him. Marcellus doesn't shake easily. In two centuries, I've seen him rattled exactly four times. Whatever this is, it's joining that list.
I close the door and turn to find Celeste already out of bed, gathering her scattered clothes from the floor. The sight of her moving naked through my room does things to my concentration that are entirely unhelpful given the circumstances.
"I need to go to my room," she says. "I can't show up to an emergency meeting in yesterday's blood-stained clothes."
"There's a shower through there." I nod toward the bathroom. "And I can have fresh clothes brought."
She pauses, considering. "That would require someone knowing I'm here."
"Celeste." I cross to her, take her hands. "Everyone already knows. Marcellus certainly does. Probably the entire inner circle. Vampires have excellent hearing, and we weren't exactly quiet."
"Oh god." She covers her face with her hands.
"I'm not interested in hiding what we are. I spent too long hiding from it myself." I bring her hands to my lips, kiss her knuckles. "Whatever happens when we walk into that room, we walk in together. As partners."
Something softens in her expression. The embarrassment fades, replaced by something fiercer. "And what are we? Officially, I mean. What do I call this?"
"Together." The word feels inadequate for the enormity ofwhat I feel, but it's the only one I have. "Whatever else happens, we're together now."
"I can work with that."
"Good." I kiss her once, quick but thorough. "Now shower. I'll handle the clothes."
Twenty-three minutes later, we walk into the conference room side by side.
The inner circle is already assembled. Marcellus at the head of the table, maps and documents spread before him. Julian and Nadia flanking him, their postures tense. Ethan near the door, arms crossed, face unreadable. Elena is there too, which is unusual; she rarely attends tactical meetings, preferring to focus on the donor coordination that keeps the network running.
Every eye in the room tracks our entrance.
I don't touch Celeste as we walk in. Don't need to. The way she takes the seat beside mine without hesitation, as if she's been sitting there for years. The way I angle my body toward hers without conscious thought, a gravitational pull I've stopped trying to resist.
Nadia's eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly. Her gaze moves from me to Celeste and back again, cataloging details. The faint mark on Celeste's neck that hasn't quite faded. The way my hand rests on the table between us, close enough to touch her if I choose to. The general air of two people who've recently been very thoroughly naked together.
Julian's expression remains neutral, but there's a knowing glint in his eyes.
Ethan shifts slightly by the door. His face stays blank, but I catch the subtle tension in his shoulders. Celeste is new here, still proving herself. Some will wonder if she's earned this position.
Elena simply smiles. Small, warm, genuinely pleased. She'salways had a soft heart, even after working with vampires for eight years.
Marcellus doesn't react at all, which is its own form of commentary. He knew before any of them. He's had time to process. And ultimately, Marcellus cares about one thing: what's best for the network. If I'm more effective with Celeste at my side, he'll support it. If I'm not, he'll tell me so directly, and I'll listen.
No one says anything about our obvious intimacy. Wise of them.
"Report," I say.
Marcellus slides a tablet across the table. "Dmitri's people intercepted communications between Konstantin and someone inside the city. Someone with access to information they shouldn't have."
I scan the intercepted messages. Most are coded, but Dmitri's cryptographers have cracked enough to paint a disturbing picture. Logistics. Timing. Target acquisition. The language of war, dressed up in euphemism.
"He's not targeting the compound again," I say slowly, pieces clicking into place. "He's targeting the blood supply directly."
"The central distribution hub," Marcellus confirms. "Where we process and store clean blood for the entire network. If he takes that out, we don't just lose supply, we lose the infrastructure to rebuild."
