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Valtu takes a single step forward, and the tension snaps like a bowstring.

27

LENA

The first blow comes from Valtu.

One moment he’s standing in the doorway, dark and imposing like some gothic aristocrat. The next, he’s across the room, his fist connecting with Konstantin’s jaw with a sickening crack that sends the vampire crashing through a nearby table.

The club erupts into chaos.

Tatiana’s dagger slips from Callahan’s ribs as her attention diverts. I seize the opportunity, grabbing her wrist and twisting sharply away. The blue blade clatters to the floor, and I kick it away before she can recover. Callahan is already on his feet, squaring off against one of the vampires who rushes toward us.

All around us, the elegant facade of the Crimson Clover disintegrates into violent mayhem. Vampires clash with preternatural speed and strength, their movements blurring as they tear into one another. The humans still conscious enough to register the danger scramble for the exits, screaming in terror. Those chained to the feeding alcoves remain unaware, their drugged minds unable to process the nightmare unfolding.

Katya lunges at me, her face transformed by rage into something inhuman and terrible. Her glamour drops completely now, revealing her true form—skin like alabaster, veins visible beneath like dark rivers, eyes glowing with unholy hunger.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” she hisses, fangs fully extended.

I meet her attack head-on, centuries of instinct taking over. We collide with enough force to shatter the table between us, our bodies crashing to the floor amid splinters of wood and broken glass. Her hands go for my throat, nails suddenly elongated into talons that tear at my skin.

I buck upward, throwing her off balance, then roll to pin her beneath me. My own fangs descend, a growl rising from deep in my chest. This isn’t the controlled, civilized vampire I present to the world—this is a pure predator.

And I won’t back down.

Katya slashes at my face, her nails leaving burning tracks across my cheek. I retaliate with a punch to her sternum that would kill a human instantly. She merely gasps, momentarily winded, before returning with a flurry of blows too fast for human eyes to track.

From the corner of my eye, I see Callahan grappling with a vampire. He fights with remarkable precision, his movements controlled and effective. The training of his human life merges seamlessly with his vampiric strength, creating a lethal combination.

But I can’t focus on him—Katya demands my full attention, her attack relentless and vicious. She fights like someone with centuries of experience, each movement calculated to exploit weakness. I’m holding my own, but barely.

Across the club, my allies are engaged in their own battles. Abe faces off against a vampire I don’t recognize, his usually gentle demeanor replaced by cold efficiency as he tears out histhroat. Ezra and Adonis work in tandem, their skill evident in how they anticipate each other’s moves as they take on multiple opponents.

And Valtu—Valtu is Dracula. With terrifying grace, he tears through the Ivan’s’ forces, his face a mask of focused fury. Blood spatters his clothing, none of it his own. Then again, I’ve seen him chop thugs up and put them in my freezer, so it shouldn’t surprise me.

A crash from behind me signals new danger. I throw Katya aside and whirl to find another vampire advancing, holding the blue blade. He tries to stab me with it and I block his strike, the impact making my arm shake, throwing me off balance.

Before he can strike again, Callahan is there, intercepting the blow meant for me. He grunts as the knife cuts along his forearm, but pushes through the pain to drive his fist into the vampire’s throat with crushing force.

“Thanks,” I gasp, regaining my footing.

Callahan nods, already turning to face the next threat. We stand back to back, creating a unified defense as more of the Ivanovs’ followers converge on us. Fighting alongside him feels natural, instinctive—as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. I can’t help but flash him a smile.

He smiles back, fangs and all.

My momentary distraction costs us. Konstantin flies at Callahan, while Katya reappears, her talons slashing across my back, tearing fabric and flesh alike. I cry out, stumbling forward as pain blazes along my spine. She follows, relentless, leaping onto my back and driving me to the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she hisses into my ear, her weight pinning me down. “You belong to us now.”

Her fangs pierce my neck before I can respond, the pain sharp and immediate. The sensation of being fed upon isviolating, intimate in all the wrong ways. I thrash beneath her, trying to dislodge her as my strength begins to ebb.

Then, suddenly, her weight is gone. Callahan has torn her away, flinging her bodily across the room. His eyes are wild, red pupils expanded until only a thin ring of blue remains visible, fangs fully descended.

“Don’t touch her,” he growls, the sound barely human.

Katya rises from the wreckage of a shattered bar, blood—my blood—staining her lips crimson. “Protective, aren’t we?” she taunts. “How sweet. Father will enjoy breaking that bond.”

Before Callahan can respond, Tatiana appears behind him, her blue dagger raised. I shout a warning, but it’s lost in the cacophony of battle. The blade descends toward his back?—