Chapter 6
Runa was still asleep when I slid out of bed.
Her hair, gold and wild against the pillow, spilled across the sheets like sunlight trying to fight its way into the dark. My fingers itched to touch her again, to trace that curve of her neck where my mark burned faintly against her skin.
I forced myself to look away. If I didn’t, I’d never leave the room.
Pulling on my black jeans and boots, I moved quietly, my body still humming from the bond that pulsed between us. Every step away from her felt wrong, unnatural, but there was work to be done.
By the time I made it downstairs, the mansion was alive with the sound of men. The scent of coffee and gun oil lingered in the air, and my brothers were already gathered in the war room, an old oak table buried under maps, files, and weapons.
Roman was at the head, his dark eyes focused on a spread of photos. Draugr leaned against the wall, rolling a knife between his fingers. Lucien was pacing, as usual, his restlessness filling the room. Viking sat half-sideways in a chair, his grin sharp enough to cut steel.
The women were upstairs with the children. The house felt different without them, quieter, but not calmer as quite a few of our men were here getting ready.
Roman looked up first. “Volken, you finally decided to join us?”
Lucien smirked. “Or maybe he’s recovering. You look like a man who’s been through a war, brother.”
Viking let out a low laugh. “War? More like a surrender. That’s the face of a man who’s been claimed.”
“Careful,” I said flatly, pouring myself a coffee. “You might live forever, but I can still make you bleed.” That only made them laugh harder.
Draugr clapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my bones. “Relax, brother. We’re happy for you. Didn’t think you’d ever let someone close enough to bite back.”
“What happened to your five steps ahead all the time brother? didn’t see this happening when you met your woman, did you?” Viking asked with a grin.
I grunted but couldn’t quite hide the corner of my mouth twitching as I lifted my hand showing him my middle finger. They were insufferable bastards, but they were my family.
“I have a whip I can give your mate,” Viking quips with a straight face, “just so she can keep you in the straight and narrow.”
“I don’t think Runa needs a whip, from what I saw she can slash him with her words alone.” Draugr stated as he inclined his head towards Volken.
Roman cleared his throat, bringing the mood down a notch. “All right, give him a break enough teasing. We have a bigger issue.”
He pointed to the photos on the table, grainy stills of Malakai’s known haunts, warehouses, and back channels.
“These are from our scouts. Malakai’s people are moving shipments through the docks again. But the problem isn’t just him.” He tapped another photo, a man in a tailored suit, caught leaving a meeting with one of the Irish contacts. “The demons aren’t acting alone. They’re being funded.”
Lucien leaned forward, his voice sharp. “And that means someone human is supplying them. We have to cut that supply, and we choke their reach.”
Roman nodded. “We’ve been tracking where the weapons are coming from. There’s a trail through Eastern Europe. We need to intercept the next shipment before it gets here.”
Viking arched a brow. “So, we’re back to storming docks and burning warehouses? Just like old times.”
Draugr’s teeth flashed. “You sound like you’re complaining.”
“I’m not,” Viking grinned. “Just want to make sure Volken doesn’t bring his little golden-haired spy along.”
I glared at him. “She’s not a spy.”
“Oh?” Lucien drawled. “Then what was she doing on a rooftop with binoculars and no backup?”
“She was looking for her father,” I snapped. “And she’s not going anywhere near this war.”
Roman’s gaze lifted, cool and assessing. “She won’t listen; you know that. Mates never do.”
“She’ll listen to me,” I said, more to convince myself than them.
Viking chuckled into his mug. “Sure, brother. Just like Layla listens to Roman, or Sorcha to Lucien. Maybe next you’ll tell me the sun rises because you told it to.”
Lucien’s smirk deepened. “You’ll learn. They don’t listen. They negotiate. Usually by ignoring half of what we say.”
Even Roman, the stoic one, cracked a faint grin. “It’s true. Welcome to the club, brother. You’ll lose every argument that matters.”
“I don’t lose,” I muttered, but they were all already laughing again.
For a moment, the tension in the room loosened, we are brothers, warriors, predators, but then Roman’s expression sharpened. “Back to business. We’ll move tomorrow night. Draugr, you’ll take the northern perimeter. Lucien, oversee the intel drop. Viking, handle the extraction route.”
He turned to me. “Volken, you’re with me. We take the docks. We find whoever’s supplying the demons and we end it.”
I nodded once, the humour gone. “And if Malakai shows up?”
Roman’s lips curved, sharp and cold. “Then we finish what he started.”
The table fell silent again, the air thick with purpose. I stood there, feeling the faint hum of Runa’s heartbeat through the bond steady, alive, somewhere above us. It was both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness.
Lucien glanced at me, his tone quieter. “Keep her close, brother. Once a mate enters our world, she becomes a target. You know that.”
“I know,” I said. And I meant it. But as I stared down at the map of the city, its veins of streets and alleyways drawn in shadow and blood, I couldn’t shake the thought that somehow, Runa was already tangled in this war, whether I liked it or not.
The phone in my pocket vibrated, cutting through my thoughts. I pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. Sergei, one of my men stationed downtown.
“Volken,” I answered, tone clipped.
“Sir,” came Sergei’s low voice, tension threaded through it. “You need to know, Caesar’s here.”
I straightened. “Where?”
“One of the clubs, the Red Veil. Walked in like he owned the place. He’s not hiding.”
Every muscle in my body locked. “You’re certain?”
“I saw him myself. Same smug bastard. He’s talking to one of the Irish, maybe setting something up. Want me to move in?”
“No,” I said, voice dropping into a growl. “Stay out of sight. Eyes only. If he’s back in town, I want to know who he’s meeting with and why.”
“Yes, sir.” The line went dead.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up. All four of my brothers were watching me now, Roman at the head of the table, Lucien half-turned from the wall, Draugr still pacing. Viking’s grin was gone, replaced by something sharper.
“What’s going on?” Roman asked, his tone low, dangerous.
“It’s Caesar,” I said flatly. “Sergei just saw him at the Red Veil. Talking to one of the Irish.”
The air in the room changed. Cold, the air heavy.
Roman’s jaw clenched so hard I could hear the crack of his teeth. “He’s in our city?”
“Apparently,” I said. “And not quietly. He’s making sure people know he’s here.”
Lucien’s knife stopped spinning. “That bastard has a death wish.”
Viking’s chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, fury rolling off him like heat from a fire. “He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t even fucking announce himself.”
Draugr stepped into his path as Viking’s fists slammed down onto the table, making the maps jump. “Brother…”
“Don’t ‘brother’ me,” Viking snapped, eyes burning bright with barely restrained rage. “He knows the rules. He knows Roman’s law. No one, no one, sets foot on our territory without clearance. Not even blood.”
“He’s not blood,” Lucien said coldly, voice like a sharp blade. “He gave that up the day he betrayed Father.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of that name hanging between us like a Specter.
Roman finally spoke, voice quiet but lethal. “He’s back for something. Caesar doesn’t move unless he wants power, or thinks he can steal it.”
Viking paced, his hands flexing like he wanted to break something. “Then why don’t we just go and rip his fucking throat out now?”
“Because we don’t know what he’s after yet,” Roman said evenly.
“Since when do we wait?” Viking growled, spinning to face him. “He’s in one of our clubs, Roman. Sitting there like he’s untouchable. If you’re not going to deal with him…”
Roman’s power hit the room like a thunderclap. “Enough.”
The word wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It vibrated through the air, through bone and blood, freezing Viking mid-step.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the lights overhead.
Roman’s gaze cut from one brother to the next. “We’ll handle Caesar. But we’ll do it my way. He’s cunning, not reckless. If he’s here, there’s a reason, and I want to know what it is before we make a move.”
Viking’s nostrils flared, his jaw tight enough to split, but he nodded once, sharp and angry. “You’d better be right about this, brother. Because if he’s working with the Irish, or the demons, I’ll burn the city down myself.”
Lucien’s mouth curved in a humourless smirk. “You’ll have to fight me for the match.”
Draugr grunted. “There won’t be anything left if you two start lighting fires again.”
That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Roman. “Not yet. For now, we watch. Volken, keep your men on him. The second he slips, I want to know.”
I nodded once. “He won’t leave my sight.”
As they went back to discussing plans, I caught the faint vibration of the bond through my chest…Runa, stirring upstairs. The sound of her heartbeat, steady and alive, cut through the noise in my head like a tether.
But as I looked around at my brothers, the sense of unease lingered.
Caesar Dragic wasn’t just a ghost from our past. He was poison. And if he was back now, it wasn’t by chance.
It meant the storm we’d been waiting for had finally come home.