Chapter 17
Dax sat at the long oak table in the center of the main room with his elbows spread and a faint smear of blood drying across his fingers.
He had carried Veya’s empty bag downstairs without noticing that the opened seal had leaked against his hand, leaving dark residue in the creases of his knuckles.
He had not yet bothered to wash it away.
Cole stood beside the hearth with one boot braced against the stone ledge, staring into the fire as though it might offer answers if he watched long enough.
His knuckles were bruised, swollen, and split in several places.
The heavy bag in the training center had absorbed most of the punishment, although the damage to Cole’s hands suggested it had offered little relief.
Malakai remained near the window, half concealed by shadow, with the line of his shoulders held rigidly.
He had been quiet for most of the evening, even by his own standards.
His stillness carried the sense that he was already considering three possible futures while the others continued choking on the present.
Measured footsteps approached along the corridor.
Rhen entered without speaking.
His coat remained damp from the rain, and his dark hair was disordered where the hood had rested against it. He moved as though he had forgotten every unnecessary aspect of appearing human.
He acknowledged neither the room nor the tension waiting inside it. Instead, he crossed to the table and sat opposite Dax without looking directly at him.
Silence gathered around the four males until Cole finally broke it.
“Word is spreading.”
Dax raised his head.
“About what?”
“Leena.” Cole did not soften her name. “The civilians know she is dead. Some are calling it medical failure, while others are claiming sabotage. The details change depending on who tells the story, but the result is the same. Her death is no longer contained inside these walls.”
Malakai turned from the window and signed, The heretics already know. They have ears throughout the city.
Cole faced him.
“Then the threat is closer than we thought.”
Dax looked down at the blood marking his fingers before leaning forward and pressing them briefly against his temple.
“The prophecy.”
The word seemed to alter the room.
Dax shifted enough for Malakai to see his hands and signed the essential points as he spoke.
“Norse is alive, and if the prophecy is right, he can sire an entire line of purebloods. They could be stronger than us and perhaps stronger than Sule.”
Malakai’s expression hardened.
The heretics will not allow that line to begin if they believe killing the child will end it.
“It isn’t only the bloodline,” Cole said. “It is the throne, the clan’s future, and the balance of power.”
They all understood what that meant.
Leena had been the human queen who never sought a crown yet somehow became the emotional center of the stronghold. Sule had ruled with her heart influencing every decision, even when neither of them acknowledged it openly.
Now Leena was dead, Sule had withdrawn from public view, and Rhen was carrying grief in the only manner he knew how: by turning it into silence sharp enough to cut anyone who approached.
Norse remained alive upstairs, small and vulnerable, his cries reminding the compound of everything that had been taken and everything their enemies might still attempt to steal.
Veya had become another pressure point inside the fractured house. She was tethered to a male who could barely look at her without turning the responsibility into another private war.
Malakai faced Dax.
Do you believe they will attack the stronghold directly?
Dax met his gaze.
“Before tonight, I would have said they wouldn’t dare.”
Cole continued staring into the flames.
“They have dared worse.”
Malakai nodded before signing again.
X remains missing. We cannot separate that from the rest of this.
Something tightened across Dax’s face.
“You think he turned against us?”
“No,” Cole answered too quickly. “X wouldn’t betray Sule after everything Sule did for him.”
“But you think something happened.”
Malakai answered before Cole could.
X was conducting reconnaissance near the edge of heretic territory. We have heard nothing from him in weeks. He may be dead, or he may have been taken.
Dax’s jaw flexed.
“He could still be returning with information. That may be the reason for the silence.”
“Or they have broken him,” Cole said, his gaze remaining fixed on the fire, “and he is the reason they know how vulnerable the stronghold has become.”
The possibility settled heavily over the room.
None of them wanted to believe X had betrayed the clan, but belief had become less useful than preparation. Leena’s blood had barely been cleaned from the chamber above them, the heir remained vulnerable, and the damaged wards had already announced weakness across the city.
Dax sat back.
“I went to Bar X during patrol.”
Cole’s attention shifted immediately.
Malakai moved closer to the table so he could follow Dax’s hands as well as his face.
“The club is tense,” Dax continued, speaking while signing the core of the report. “The head of security is holding it together in X’s absence. He has seen unfamiliar vampires entering alone or in pairs, watching rather than feeding.”
“What are they watching?” Cole asked.
“The exits, the staff, and anyone talking about the stronghold. Questions are being asked about the heir, and someone is deliberately shaping the rumors around Leena’s death.”
Malakai’s eyes narrowed.
Which means the conversations are not random.
“No. Security also heard Marcella’s name used as a warning.”
Cole pushed away from the hearth.
“That is not coincidence.”
“It is a net tightening,” Dax said. “X’s disappearance, the questions about Norse, and the rumors about Sule withdrawing are being used together.”
Malakai’s hands moved more slowly.
We are not ready for war.
Dax looked directly at him.
“Then we prepare before readiness becomes irrelevant. Norse is the child named in the prophecy, and anyone who wants him dead will have to come through the entire brotherhood first.”
For the first time since entering, Rhen moved.
The shift was slight, consisting only of a slow adjustment of his shoulders and a small lift of his chin, yet it reminded every male in the room that he had been listening.
Firelight sharpened his profile.
“You reached all of that,” Rhen said, “from a conversation with a security guard.”
Dax met his gaze without flinching.
“I confirmed that the stronghold is being watched, the story of Leena’s death is being shaped, Marcella’s name is circulating, and X’s absence is being exploited. I do not need a signed confession to understand what that means.”
Cole turned toward Rhen.
“What are you doing about it?”
Rhen’s gaze shifted to him.
“I am listening.”
Cole gave a harsh laugh.
“Then listen harder. The rest of us are trying to keep this house standing.”
The room cooled beneath the force of Rhen’s restraint.
His jaw tightened once, but he did not shout or rise. The violence remained contained inside him, already considered and rejected only by discipline.
Malakai stepped between the lines of their sight and signed, Fighting each other will not protect Norse.
Cole looked away first.
Before he could answer, a controlled but urgent knock sounded against the door.
Rhen showed no surprise.
He rose, and the chair legs scraped quietly across the stone. The room seemed to contract around his movement, as though his presence had been holding the walls apart.
Dax watched him cross toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
Rhen did not hurry or look back.
He paused with one hand against the handle.
“Continue talking,” he said. “Try not to fall apart while I am gone.”
Then he opened the door and disappeared into the corridor, leaving the brothers with the threat gathering outside the stronghold and the fractures widening within it.