"Konstantin sends his regards."
They're all visible now. Six vampires spread in a loose circle around me, close enough to strike but far enough to make me work for any escape. They're dressed for combat, dark clothes and practical boots, and at least two of them are carrying weapons I can see. Which means the others are carrying weapons I can't.
I settle into a fighting stance without conscious thought, my body remembering thousands of hours of training. Underground rings. Maximus's brutal sessions. Every fight I've ever survived.
Forty-three wins. Zero losses.
But those were one-on-one matches against humans, or sparring sessions with rules and boundaries. This is six vampires with probably centuries of combined experience and every intention of killing me.
"You can come with us willingly," the bald one says. "Konstantin has questions. He's a civilized man. He'll make it quick once he has his answers."
"Or?"
"Or we take you in pieces. Your choice."
I think about Tessa inside the restaurant. About Julian's team, positioned nearby. About Maximus in his study, monitoring communications, trusting that his plan would work.
But where is my backup?
"I'll take option three," I say.
"There is no option three."
"There's always an option three."
I move.
The first rule of fighting multiple opponents is simple: don't. If you can run, run. If you can't run, make sure you're never surrounded. Keep moving, keep them in front of you, never let them coordinate.
I launch myself at the two on my left, the smallest gap in their circle. The bald one is already moving to intercept, but I'm faster than he expected. Eight months of vampire speed is still vampire speed, and I've been training with someone who doesn't believe in gentle learning curves.
My fist connects with the first one's throat, a strike that would have crushed a human's windpipe. He staggers, choking, and I'm already past him, spinning to put a parked car between me and the rest.
One down temporarily. Five are still coming.
They're fast. Faster than me, some of them. The bald one closes the distance in a blur, and I barely dodge the knife he's pulled from somewhere. The blade catches my arm, a line of fire that I ignore because I can't afford to acknowledge it.
I grab his wrist, twist, and use his momentum to throw him into the vampire coming up behind him. They go down in a tangle of limbs, and I have maybe two seconds before the others reach me.
Two seconds. I use them.
I vault over the hood of the car, putting more distance between us, and almost run directly into another attacker. Female, small but wiry, with eyes that have seen centuries of violence. She moves like water, slipping past my defenses, and her fist connects with my ribs hard enough that I feel something crack.
The pain is sharp, immediate, and I use it. Let the anger rise, the fighter's focus that turns pain into fuel. I catch her next strike, redirect it, and drive my elbow into her temple with everything I have.
She drops.
Two down. Four still standing. And I'm hurt now, my left side screaming with every breath, blood running down my arm from the knife wound.
The bald one is up again, circling with the others, that predator's smile still in place.
"Not bad," he says. "Konstantin was right about you. You've got fire."
I don't waste breath on a response. I'm calculating distances, angles, trying to find another gap in their formation. But they're learning now, adjusting. They won't let me break through again.
The next attack comes from two directions at once. I block one strike, take another to the shoulder, spin away from a third. Fighting on instinct, letting my body do what it's been trained to do while my mind races for solutions.
Julian's team should be here by now. The emergency signal should have triggered the moment I was surrounded. Where are they? Where is my backup?
