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I move to a boarded window, peering through a gap in the planks. What I see makes my heart stop.

Lena hangs from chains in the center of snuffed out candles, her naked body suspended above a concrete floor stained darkwith blood. She’s barely conscious, head lolling forward, hair matted with sweat and blood.

God, the blood.

She’s covered in blood.

Around her, three figures in red robes and strange masks move with ritualistic precision, arranging objects on a small table.

The rage I’ve been containing explodes through every restraint. A roar builds in my chest, primal and unstoppable. The plan, the stealth, the careful approach—all of it evaporates in the inferno of my fury.

I rip the boards from the window with my bare hands, glass shattering as I launch myself through the opening. I land in a crouch inside the warehouse, a growl tearing from my throat that sounds barely human.

“Dmitri!” I roar, fangs fully extended, vision washing crimson. “Get the fuck away from her!”

The figures in red robes spin toward me, momentarily frozen in surprise. I use that moment to cross the distance between us, moving faster than I ever have before. The first robed figure—the one in the wolf mask—raises his hands in defense, but he’s too slow. My fist connects with his chest, sending him flying backward into a stack of crates.

Chaos erupts as the others burst through various entrances. Adonis and Ezra through the front door, Valtu from somewhere in the shadowy rafters above, descending like a bat. The warehouse fills with snarls and shouts as the Ivanovs’ guards emerge from hiding places, converging on the intrusion.

I ignore them all, focused solely on reaching Lena. The skull-masked figure—Dmitri—steps between us, arms raised in an arcane gesture.

“Victor,” he intones, his voice resonating with unnatural power. “Stop.”

The compulsion slams into me like a freighter, trying to seize control of my limbs, my will. For a moment, I falter, the flood of vampire instinct to obey my sire crashing against the barriers Abe’s potion has created in my mind.

“You are my son,” Dmitri continues, pressing his advantage. “My blood flows in your veins. You will obey.”

I stagger forward another step, fighting through the compulsion with gritted teeth. “I’m. Not. Your. Puppet.”

Around us, battle rages. Adonis has cornered the sun-masked figure—Katya—driving her back with relentless attacks. She’s quick, dodging most of his strikes, but he’s stronger, each blow that lands sending her reeling. Valtu moves through the shadows, appearing and disappearing, cutting down Ivanov guards with vicious efficiency. Abe and Ezra work in tandem, centuries of partnership evident in their coordinated movements as they fight toward Lena.

Dmitri’s attention divides, sensing his forces falling around him. I seize the moment, lunging forward with vampire speed. My shoulder connects with his midsection, driving him back. We crash into the table of ritual implements, sending them scattering across the floor.

“You defy your own blood?” he snarls, recovering his balance with inhuman grace. “Your heritage? Your destiny?”

“I make my own destiny,” I growl, circling him warily.

A bestial roar shakes the rafters, sending dust cascading down from above. Marco crashes through a skylight, landing in the center of the battle like some nightmarish gargoyle come to life. His wings spread wide, yellow eyes scanning the chaos until they lock onto me.

“Perfect timing,” Dmitri laughs, the sound hollow behind his skull mask. “Kill him,” he commands Marco, pointing at me.

Marco charges, moving with the same terrifying speed as before. I brace for impact, but Valtu intercepts him, driving ashoulder into the feral vampire’s side. They roll across the floor in a tangle of limbs and snarls, crashing into the base of the candlelit circle.

“Get Lena!” Valtu shouts to me between blows. “I’ll handle this abomination!”

I turn back to Dmitri, only to find him advancing on Abe and Ezra, who have reached Lena’s suspended form. With a gesture, he sends Ezra flying back, crashing into a support column. Abe stands his ground.

“This ends now, Dmitri,” Abe declares, interposing himself between the Ivanov patriarch and Lena.

“You’re right, Abraham,” Dmitri agrees, his voice chillingly calm. “It does end. With the opening of the gateway.” He turns toward me, arms spread wide. “Victor. Come to your father. Help me complete what we began with the Black Dahlia.”

The compulsion rolls over me again, stronger this time. I feel my body responding against my will, taking a step toward him, then another. The vampire side of me recognizes his authority, yearns to submit, to please the sire whose blood flows in my veins.

“Fight it, Callahan!” Abe shouts, engaged in his own struggle with Dmitri. “You are not defined by his blood!”

Across the warehouse, a scream cuts through the chaos. I turn to see Adonis standing over Katya’s kneeling form, her sun mask knocked aside to reveal her beautiful, terrified face. With one swift motion, he seizes her head between his massive hands and twists. The crack echoes like a gunshot, followed by a wet tearing sound as her head separates completely from her body.

Adonis lifts the severed head, regarding it dispassionately for a moment before drop-kicking it across the warehouse like a macabre football. It bounces once, twice, then rolls to a stop at Dmitri’s feet.