Chapter 12 #2
I tell myself I'm still considering. That I haven't decided anything yet. That when I call the briefing tomorrow, I'll present it as one option among many and let the inner circle weigh in.
But I already know what I'm going to do. I've known since the idea first surfaced.
And I hate myself for it.
When she finds the danger I’m putting her in, she'll never trust me again. Whatever fragile thing is building between us will shatter, and she'll look at me the way everyone eventually does. As a monster. As someone who uses people and discards them when they're no longer useful.
Perhaps that's for the best. Easier to kill something before it takes root than to watch it die slowly.
The intelligence briefing confirms what I already suspected.
Ethan presents his findings to the core group: me, Marcellus, Nadia, and Julian. Celeste is conspicuously absent. I assigned her to shadow Elena in donor coordination, a legitimate task that also keeps her away while we discuss what I've been contemplating.
"Konstantin hit another operation last night," Ethan says, pulling up surveillance footage on the conference room screen. "Small donor collective in Decatur. Non-affiliated, but they'd been negotiating with us for protection."
"Casualties?" Nadia asks.
"Two vampires dead. Three donors hospitalized. The rest scattered." Ethan switches to a map showing attack patterns. "He's working inward. Started at the periphery, now moving toward our core territories. At this rate, he'll be testing our borders within days."
"He's trying to isolate us," Julian observes. "Cut off potential allies before the main assault."
"And it's working," Marcellus adds grimly. "I've had three inquiries today from smaller operations asking if we can guarantee their safety. I couldn't."
I study the map, tracking the pattern of attacks. Surgical. Strategic. Konstantin isn't trying to destroy, not yet. He's trying to destabilize. Create fear. Make vampires choose sides before they're forced to.
"What about his interest in Celeste?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
"Still active," Ethan confirms. "His people are watching. Asking questions."
The room is very quiet.
"Then we use that," I say.
Marcellus's head comes up sharply. "Use it how?"
"If Konstantin believes Celeste is a vulnerability, he'll try to exploit her. Target her specifically. We can use that. Set a trap. Let him think he's found an opening, then close it around him."
"You want to use her as bait," Nadia says flatly.
"She's not helpless bait. She's a skilled fighter with forty-three wins in underground combat, and she's adapted to vampire abilities faster than anyone I've trained in decades. If Konstantin's people underestimate her, that's their mistake."
I stand, moving to the map. "The neutral territory near Midtown. We have a donor meet scheduled for tomorrow. Low priority, routine. If Celeste handles it alone, with minimal visible backup..."
"Konstantin's people will see an opportunity," Julian finishes. "The gatekeeper's new protégé, exposed. Vulnerable."
"Exactly. We position teams nearby, out of sight. When they move on her, we take them."
The plan is tactically sound. Strategically elegant. Konstantin wants to find our weaknesses, so we give him a false one and make him pay for taking it.
But Nadia is watching me. "Does she know?"
"Not yet."
"Are you going to tell her?"
The honest answer is no. If she knows it's a trap, her behavior might change. She might be too cautious, too prepared. The deception needs to be complete.
"She'll be briefed on the mission parameters," I say carefully. "Routine donor meet."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know what you asked. The tactical advantage of her not knowing outweighs the alternative."
"And if something goes wrong? If we're wrong about their numbers, or their timing?"
"Then I'll get her out myself."
Nadia holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. Whatever she's thinking, she keeps it to herself.
"The plan proceeds," I say. "Marcellus, coordinate with Julian on team positioning. Nadia, I want intelligence on likely approach vectors. Ethan, keep monitoring Konstantin's communications."
They file out. Marcellus lingers.
"You know this could go wrong," he says quietly.
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"It's the right tactical decision."
"Is it?" He moves closer, lowering his voice. "Or are you trying to prove something to yourself? That you can still make the cold calculation? That she hasn't changed anything?"
I don't have an answer for that.
"Just make sure the teams are in position," I say. "I want zero margin for error."
Marcellus nods slowly. "And if she finds out? If she realizes you used her as bait without telling her?"
I think about her face in the firelight. The trust in her eyes when she shared her secrets. The way she leaned into my touch.
"I'll deal with it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I brief Celeste the next evening, keeping my voice neutral and professional.
"You'll be vetting a potential donor tomorrow night. She works at a restaurant in Midtown. Meet her at the location, assess her suitability, and report back."
Celeste nods, absorbing the details. She's been cooler since our conversation in the training room. Not cold, but careful. The easy rapport we'd been building has hardened into something more guarded.
I did that. And now I'm compounding it by sending her into danger she doesn't know is coming.
"Questions?" I ask.
"What's my backup if something goes wrong?"
"Julian will have a team positioned nearby. You'll check in every fifteen minutes, and if anything feels off, you get out immediately."
"Understood."
She turns to leave, and I should let her go. I should let her walk out without adding to the deception.
"Celeste."
She pauses at the door.
I want to tell her the truth. I want to warn her, to call off the operation, to find another way. But the part of my mind that's kept me alive for six centuries won't allow it. This is the right tactical play, even if everything else in me knows it's a betrayal.
"Be careful," I say.
Something flickers across her face. "I always am."
She leaves, and I stand there staring at the empty doorway longer than I should.
The tactical plan is sound. The teams are in position. Every variable has been accounted for. But as I return to my study to monitor communications, I can't escape the feeling that I've set something in motion I won't be able to control.
I'm sending her into an ambush because strategy demands it, and because I'm trying to prove to myself that she hasn't changed anything.
But she has. I know it in the way my hands won't stay still while I watch the communications feed.
I know it in the way every minute stretches into an hour even though she hasn't reached the location yet.
I've sent dozens of operatives into dangerous situations over the centuries, and I've never once had to fight the urge to abandon the plan and follow them myself.
Controlling everything doesn't keep them alive. It just keeps them alone.
She was right. I've been alone for so long that I forgot it was a choice. Somewhere along the way, the walls I built to protect myself became a prison, and I stopped noticing the difference between surviving and living.
After tonight, she'll know what I did. She'll understand that I used her as bait without telling her, and whatever fragile trust existed between us will shatter.
Part of me thinks that's for the best. Safe.
Uncomplicated. Back to the way things were before she stumbled into that alley and looked at me like I was just a man.
The communications feed crackles. She's approaching the meeting point.
I watch the tracker move across the screen, and I wait.
Strange, how quickly safety has started to feel like a cage.