The dead rat appears at dawn, pinned to Dorian's door with a silver letter opener through its spine. The metal gleams against dark wood. Blood pools beneath it, still wet.
Jett finds it first. Calls us both down.
The note is written in rust-brown ink that smells like blood. The letters are precise. Elegant. Mocking.
The church. Midnight. Come alone or more people you love get hurt.
I reach for it but Dorian snatches it away. Crumples it in his fist. The paper disintegrates between his fingers.
"It's a trap."
My jaw sets.
"I know. But he'll kill June or my parents to prove a point."
Dorian rounds on me, voice rising for the first time in days.
"So you walk into an ambush? Give him exactly what he wants? He's counting on you being stupid enough to—"
"Then what's your plan? Wait until he follows through? Until June ends up like that rat?"
We argue in the hallway. Voices echoing off marble. Jett stands between us and the door, arms crossed, watching like he's seen this play before.
"You think I don't know what this is?" Dorian's voice cracks. "He wants you isolated. Vulnerable. The second you step through those doors alone, you're dead."
"Then come with me."
"He said alone."
"Since when do I follow Lucien's rules?" I step closer. "Since when do you?"
Dorian paces. Hands in his hair. Strategy warring with emotion. His footsteps wear grooves in the marble.
"If we go in force, he kills the priest before we clear the doors."
"If we don't go, he kills someone else. Someone I actually care about."
"There has to be another way."
"There isn't." My voice drops. "We both know there isn't."
Finally he stops. Looks at me. Something breaks behind his eyes.
His voice drops cold and precise.
"Then we go together. And we end this."
We bring Jett and two other enforcers Dorian trusts. Marcus and Kai. Both old. Both lethal. We load the car with weapons we hope we won't need and know we will. Stakes. Blades. A length of chain that clinks against the trunk.
The drive to the church is silent. Marcus drives. Kai rides shotgun. Jett sits beside me in the back. His hand rests on his knife.
"He'll have backup," Jett says.
"I know."
"More than four."
"Probably."
"You ready for that?"
I look out the window at the city sliding past. "No."
"Good. Means you're not stupid."
Midnight finds us standing outside the same building where this all started. The church looms against the dark sky. Gothic spires. Gargoyles leering from corners. The doors are open. No lights inside except candles flickering at the altar.
"Last chance to walk away," Dorian says.
"Not a chance."
"I had to try."
I go in first. Dorian follows three steps behind. Jett and the others fan out, covering exits. Marcus takes the left transept. Kai takes the right. Their footsteps are silent on stone.
The church smells like incense and old blood. The scent layers thick in the cold air. Wax and copper and something fouler underneath.
Father Mateo is tied to the altar. Wrists bound behind him with zip ties. Cassock torn and stained dark. His head lolls but he's breathing. Conscious enough to whimper when he sees us. One eye is swollen shut. Blood crusts his mouth.
Lucien steps from behind a pillar near the transept. Four vampires materialize from shadows at his signal. They move like smoke solidifying. Like nightmares taking shape.
He's cleaned up since the diner. Fresh clothes. Expensive. Hair combed back with product that catches candlelight. Confident smile back in place like he never lost it.
He looks at our group and laughs. The sound echoes off vaulted ceilings.
"I thought you'd bring more."
Dorian doesn't rise to it. Positions himself between Lucien and me. Calculating odds and angles. His shoulders are squared. Ready.
His voice carries calm authority.
"Let the priest go. This is between us."
Lucien tilts his head. Considering. The smile never wavers.
Then he shakes his head.
"No. I don't think so. See, I need leverage. And priests are surprisingly effective for that."
One of Lucien's vampires moves toward the altar. A woman with white-blonde hair cut sharp as a blade. She pulls a knife. Military grade. Serrated edge. Presses it to Father Mateo's throat.
The priest makes a sound between a prayer and a sob. His lips move around words we can't hear.
My hands curl into fists. Nails bite into palms.
Lucien's smile widens.
"Here's how this works. You give me Nora. I take her somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one will hear her scream. And maybe—maybe—I let all these other people walk out alive."
Dorian's laugh is dark and humorless.
"You're either suicidal or stupid. Possibly both."
"I prefer ambitious."
"You prefer dead. You just don't know it yet."
Lucien's expression hardens. The smile finally drops. He snaps his fingers.
The four vampires move as one. Spreading out. Boxing us in. The woman keeps her knife at the priest's throat. Blood wells where the blade touches skin. Two flank left and right. Cutting off the transepts. Marcus and Kai shift. Hands going to weapons. The fourth vampire moves to block the main doors. Slams them shut. The boom reverberates through stone.
We're sealed in.
Lucien stays center. Hands in his pockets. Picture of casual menace. But his eyes are sharp. Hunting.
"Last chance. Her for everyone else. Or I start cutting pieces off the holy man and work my way through her little human friend next."
I step forward before Dorian can stop me. His hand shoots out but I'm already moving. Already committed.
My voice rings clear through the vaulted space.
"You want me? Come take me yourself. Or are you still hiding behind other people?"
Lucien's mask cracks. Something feral shows through. Something hungry and raw. The centuries fall away. He's just a predator now. Nothing more.
He pulls his hands from his pockets. Claws extend. Fangs drop.
And the church erupts into violence.