Vampire speed through Midtown Atlanta is a different city. Streetlights stretch into amber lines. The sidewalk crowds register as heat and heartbeat and the faint salt of human skin, gone before the scent finishes forming. My feet hit pavement, then a fire escape railing, then the edge of a rooftop. Maximus is beside me. Matching my pace across the gap between buildings, the night air tearing past us and re-sealing behind us like water closing over a stone.
Three blocks. Four. Him steady at my left shoulder.
When we reach the hub, the wolves are already in position. Six along the south perimeter, low to the ground, ears flat, breath misting in the night air. Kael is in wolf form at the service entrance. Massive. His teeth catch the security lights when he lifts his head.
Marcellus is on comms. "Wolves in position. We're ready on your go."
One breath in. One out.
Bigger ring. Same rules. Don't get hit.
Maximus takes the west stairwell. I'm behind him. Julian behind me, covering our back. The fluorescent strips on each landing cast the kind of light that makes everything look like a crime scene.
Fourth floor. We go through the door together.
The air in the corridor is colder than the stairwell. The refrigeration units hum through the walls, a low vibration that sits in my molars. Under it, copper. Fresh blood. And somethingelse. Something acrid that coats the back of my throat and doesn't belong here.
What is that?
The corridor is a wreck. Two hub security guards on the floor. One face down in a pool of blood that's still spreading. The other propped against the wall, throat torn, eyes open. Neither of them moving. A third slumped near the emergency exit, her fingers still twitching against the baseboard, a handprint smeared along the wall where she dragged herself away from the fight. Smashed glass on the tile. Storage units along this corridor ripped open, bags of blood slashed and emptied across the floor.
They weren't just taking the hub. They were destroying the supply on their way to the core.
Two come at us from the far end. Fast. Faster than they should be.
The one on the left is mine. I sidestep and kick his knee. The joint folds with a wet pop and he pitches forward. I catch his head on the way down, redirect his momentum into the concrete wall. His skull hits the cinderblock. Plaster dust sprays from the impact. He slides down the wall.
He starts getting up.
The joint is already straightening. Vampire healing knitting it back together. He pushes off the wall with one hand, blood running from his hairline, and turns toward me.
I close the distance before the knee finishes setting. An elbow to his temple drops him to all fours. He reaches for my ankle. I stomp the back of his neck into the floor. He goes flat. I grab his head with both hands and twist until it separates. The sound is worse than the silence that follows.
Beside me, Maximus finishes his. One hand on the hostile's jaw, one on the back of his skull. A single motion. The head drops separate from the body.
Two down. Six left.
"South entrance sealed," Marcellus says through the earpiece. "Wolves have the ground floor. Nobody leaves this building."
Three more ahead. Two males and a female. The males rush. The female doesn't.
Maximus's shadows surge past us down the corridor. Black and silent. They hit the first male before he's within blade range. The darkness pours into his open mouth. His chest caves inward. He drops.
The second male swings for Maximus. Maximus catches the blade arm, snaps the elbow backward, takes the blade, and buries it in the hostile's chest. Through the heart. The body hits the floor before the echo of the elbow fades.
The female hasn't moved. Both her partners are down. She adjusts her grip on her blade. Balanced. Patient. Her weight shifts to the balls of her feet and her eyes track my hips, not my hands.
She's reading me.
She comes low and quick. I sprawl back. She's already moving with it. Her blade catches my left forearm, deep, and the pain is bright and immediate. Blood runs down to my wrist. She reverses the blade and drives for my throat. I catch her wrist. She headbutts me. My vision whites. She rips free and opens a second cut across my ribs before I can reset.
I throw a kick. She absorbs it on her hip and uses the momentum to circle behind me. Her blade comes down toward my shoulder. I get my forearm up to block. The impact jars my arm. I grab for her wrist and the blade catches my hand, opening it from knuckle to wrist.
Three cuts. She's landed three cuts in four seconds. None of the males lasted four seconds.
Adapt. She's better than you on the blade. So take the blade away.
My telekinesis catches her mid-thrust. The force rips the weapon from her grip and buries it in the ceiling tile above us. She doesn't freeze. She comes with her hands. An elbow strike that catches my jaw. I taste copper.
