Chapter 18 Through Blood
THROUGH BLOOD
VIKTOR
I'd been tracking leads for three weeks. Following the trail of bodies and money and encrypted communications that led nowhere. Every time I thought I had something solid, it dissolved into smoke. Into nothing.
Someone was very good at covering their tracks.
Someone with resources. With connections. With access to the palace itself.
My encrypted comm device buzzed. The holographic screen flickered to life, and Adrian's face appeared. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes. The kind of expression that said he was tired of waiting for results.
“Report,” he said. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just straight to business the way he always was when he was worried.
I kept my tone level. Professional. “Multiple dead ends. Whoever is funding the cell has palace access. Inside knowledge of security protocols. Movements. Schedules.”
“That narrows it down to about two hundred people.”
“Yes.”
“So you have nothing.”
“I have patterns. I have suspicions. I have—”
“You have dead bodies and no names.” Adrian leaned forward, and I saw the frustration there. The fear underneath. “I sent you there to protect the prince. Not to play detective while someone picks off witnesses.”
“The witnesses are already dead. That is the problem. Someone is cleaning up before we can reach them.”
“Then you already know what I'm going to say.” His jaw tightened. “No more witnesses. I want a name. I want the person behind this. And I want them before they make another move on your prince.”
My prince. Like Sebastian belonged to me. Like I had any claim beyond the contract I'd signed and the lines I'd crossed.
Except I did. And Adrian knew it.
“You should tell him about the informant,” Sebastian's voice came from behind me.
I hadn't heard him enter. Hadn't heard the door open or close. He moved too quietly for someone who wasn't trained.
Or maybe I'd just been too focused on Adrian to notice.
Adrian's eyes shifted past me. Took in Sebastian standing in the shadows, still wearing the formal uniform from tonight's state dinner. Dark jacket. Perfect posture. Looking every inch the prince.
Except for the knife strapped to his thigh under the jacket. Except for the way his eyes tracked movement like a predator. Except for the fact that he was here at all when he should've been in his own quarters, safe behind locked doors.
“Your Highness,” Adrian said. Voice careful. Controlled. “I didn't realize you were present.”
“I'm present a lot these days.” Sebastian stepped into the light. “Viktor and I have been working together. Sharing intelligence. Following leads.”
“I see.” Adrian's expression didn't change, but I saw the calculation happening behind his eyes. “And what lead would that be?”
“Two nights ago, we intercepted a courier in Belmont,” I said. “He was carrying encrypted communications between cells. We... persuaded him to decode them.”
“Persuaded.” Adrian's tone made it clear he knew exactly what that meant.
“He gave us a location before he died,” Sebastian added. “Old rail yard outside London. Black market weapons exchange happening tonight. Members of the cell that attacked the motorcade will be there. Payment drop for completed contracts.”
“And you verified this information how?”
“I had my people watch the location yesterday,” I said. “Confirmed activity. Armed men. Military-grade equipment being moved. This is real, Adrian. This is our best chance to get names.”
Adrian was quiet for a moment. His fingers drummed on the desk. Then, “Finish it, Volkov. Whatever it takes. I want answers.”
The call ended. Static filled the silence, then nothing.
I turned to face Sebastian. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable in my quarters. Like he belonged here. Like this was normal instead of dangerous.
“You should not be here,” I said.
“You keep saying that.” His mouth curved. Small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I keep showing up anyway.”
“If someone sees—”
“Nobody sees. I used the servant passages. The ones only I know about.” He pushed off the wall, moved closer. “Besides, you were going to leave without me. Don't deny it.”
I couldn't. Because he was right.
“This is not your fight,” I tried.
“Everything involving my family is my fight.” He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Could see the faint shadows under his eyes from too many late nights. “And everything involving you is my fight now too. Whether you like it or not.”
“Sebastian—”
“Are we doing this or not?” He gestured to the door. “Because if we're going hunting, we should leave now. Rail yards are busiest between one and three in the morning. After that, they shut down until dawn.”
He was right. And arguing would waste time we didn't have.
I grabbed my coat from the chair. Heavy leather, lined with Kevlar panels. Not enough to stop a rifle round, but better than nothing. “Where is your gear?”
“Already in the garage. I moved it earlier.”
“How did you—” I stopped. Shook my head. “Never mind. I do not want to know.”
“Probably for the best.”
We moved through the palace using routes I'd memorized during my first week. Servant corridors. Back stairs. Places where guards didn't patrol and cameras had convenient blind spots.
Places where princes and their bodyguards could disappear without questions.
The hidden garage was three levels below ground, accessible only through a maintenance tunnel that officially didn't exist.
Sebastian's gear was laid out on the workbench. Tactical clothing. Hood. Bow case. The obsidian-tipped arrows he'd crafted himself.
He changed quickly, efficiently, while I checked weapons. Two pistols. Spare magazines. Knife. Everything I'd need if things went sideways.
When things went sideways.
“Ready?” Sebastian asked.
I looked at him. Really looked. He wore death the way other people wore suits. Natural. Comfortable. Like he'd been born to this instead of crowns and cameras.
“You know what happens if we get caught,” I said. “If anyone finds out what we are doing—”
“Then we don't get caught.” He slung his bow across his back. “Simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple.”
“No.” He moved closer. Put his hand on my chest. Over my heart. “But it's necessary. And I trust you to keep us both alive.”
“I will try,” I said.
“That's all I ask.”
We took the bike. Easier to maneuver. Harder to track. I drove while Sebastian held on behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, body pressed against my back.
It should've felt wrong. Should've been distracting. Instead, it felt right. Like this was where he belonged. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
London disappeared behind us as we rode east. Streetlights gave way to darkness. Buildings to empty fields. The city's glow ended at the fog line, and beyond it lay nothing but ruin and rain and the kind of darkness that swallowed everything.
Perfect weather for hunting.
Through a broken window, I counted six figures. Maybe seven. Hard to tell with all the crates blocking sightlines. They were armed. Moving with military precision. Loading something into trucks.
Weapons, probably. Or worse.
I found a position behind a stack of crates near the entrance. Drew my weapon. Waited for Sebastian to get into place.
Thirty seconds. Sixty. Then I saw him on the catwalk above, bow drawn, arrow nocked. Moonlight caught the obsidian tip. Made it gleam like a promise. He caught my eye. Nodded once.
I stepped into the light. “Nobody move.”
The first man turned, reaching for his rifle. I put two rounds through his head before his fingers touched metal. He dropped like his strings had been cut. Blood and brain matter spraying across the crates behind him.
Sebastian's arrow took another through the throat. The man went down gurgling, hands scrabbling at the shaft, blood fountaining between his fingers. He hit the ground still trying to scream.
Gunfire erupted. Full automatic. Muzzle flashes like lightning in the dark. Bullets sparked off metal beams and concrete. I dropped behind cover as rounds chewed through the air where I'd been standing, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
“Three on the left!” Sebastian shouted.
I pivoted. Saw them trying to flank. The first one was fast, already raising his weapon. I put him down with a headshot. The second took two rounds to the chest, center mass, dropped like a stone. The third made it to cover behind a forklift.
More gunfire from above. Someone on the opposite catwalk had Sebastian pinned.
I watched as Sebastian rolled sideways, arrow already nocked.
He came up in a crouch, drew, and released in one fluid motion.
The arrow punched through the shooter's eye.
The man's head snapped back. He tumbled over the railing, hitting the ground with a wet crunch that echoed through the warehouse.
Movement to my right. A man with a shotgun, coming around the crates.
Too close for my pistol. I dropped low as he fired.
Buckshot tore through the space where my head had been.
I swept his legs. He went down hard. I was on him before he could recover, knee on his chest, knife to his throat.
One quick slash. Blood sprayed hot across my hands.
“Viktor, Behind!”
Sebastian's warning came too late. Something slammed into my back. A boot. I went down, weapon skittering across concrete. A man twice my size loomed over me, crowbar raised.
Sebastian dropped from the catwalk.
No rope. No ladder. Just dropped fifteen feet, landed on the man's shoulders, used the momentum to drive him face-first into the ground. I heard vertebrae crack. The man went limp.
Sebastian rolled off, came up firing. His arrow caught another attacker in the chest. The man staggered back, clawing at the shaft, but Sebastian was already nocking another. Put it through his skull before he hit the ground.