It's been centuries since anyone impressed me in combat.
She fights like poetry written in violence. Like someone taught her body to speak a language most people never learn. I want to watch her fight forever. I want to see what she becomes with proper training.
I want things I haven't allowed myself to want in three hundred years.
The alarm shatters the moment.
A high-pitched wail that cuts through the entire compound, followed by automated announcements: "Security breach. East wing. Multiple hostiles."
I'm moving before the announcement finishes, Celeste right behind me.
"Stay close," I command. "Do exactly as I say."
"What's happening?"
"We're under attack."
We reach the security center in seconds. Marcellus is already there, monitoring multiple screens showing different angles of the compound.
"Eight hostiles," he reports. "Vampires. They breached the eastwall using explosives. Moving toward the donor coordination offices."
Not the blood storage. Not my private quarters. The donor offices, where we keep records.
"They're after the network," I say, understanding immediately. "They want to know who our donors are."
"Konstantin," Marcellus says grimly.
Of course. My rival wouldn't attack my supplies directly, too obvious, too crude. But if he could identify our donors, he could compromise them. Turn them. Kill them. Destroy the entire network from the inside.
Strategic. Intelligent. Exactly what I would do.
"Lock down the donor wing," I order. "Move all personnel to the safe room."
Marcellus is already on his comm unit, issuing rapid commands to security teams. "Donor wing sealed. Personnel evacuating to safe room. I'm with you."
"I'm coming too," Celeste says.
"No. You're staying here where…"
"I can fight. You just saw that. You need numbers, and I'm offering."
I want to refuse. Want to lock her somewhere safe. But she's right, I need numbers, and she's capable.
"Fine. But you follow my lead. No heroics."
We move toward the east wing at vampire speed, Marcellus flanking my left, Celeste on my right. I can hear the intruders ahead, breaking doors, moving through rooms with efficient precision.
Professional. Trained. Not random thugs but soldiers.
We round a corner, and there they are, eight vampires in tactical gear, working in coordinated pairs. One of them sees us and shouts a warning.
Then it's chaos.
I take the first two myself, moving faster than they can track. Six hundred years of experience against their comparative youth. I don't intend to kill them. I need them conscious for interrogation.
Marcellus engages three more, his fighting style brutal and direct.
That leaves three for Celeste.
