Chapter 24 Marcus
MARCUS
“Ialways found spectators cowardly.” My voice is cold as steel covered in ice as I snarl up at the balcony.
The balcony juts out above us, a wide slab of stone framed by iron railings.
The metal curls in decorative twists, but up close it looks more like bars than art.
Two thick pillars hold up the ledge, their surfaces cracked with age and neglect.
Flickering lanterns hang on either side, throwing off more shadows than light.
I dare not squint. I will not show any weakness.
Maximillian leans against the railing like it’s a throne, one hand draped lazily over the iron, the other tucked behind his back.
The shadows catch half his face, making his smile look sharper than it should, his eyes gleaming red in the low light.
He looks calm, composed, completely in control.
Like a man watching from the safest seat in the house, daring us to challenge him.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my knife. It glints in the torchlight but is nowhere near as sharp as my tone. “The easiest thing in the world is to stand by and watch others fight for you. Come down here. Face me one-on-one. Just you and me, fighting for what’s right.”
Maximillian throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing off the stone and crawling under my skin. It’s mockery, scathing and smug, like he knows he owns the room. It only makes me more determined to put up my toughest fight.
“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus,” he says, dragging my name out like a taunt. “That kind of appeal to ego? That’s what gets people killed. Do you think I care about contests of pride?”
His eyes catch the light. It irks me how steady he looks.
No hesitation. No crack in his armor I can drive my knife into.
He isn’t bluffing. I know it in my bones.
This isn’t a power-hungry speech meant to scare us.
He believes every word. And worse, he’s already decided how the story ends.
Lucky for me, I prefer to write my own endings.
“I’m here for results,” he continues, voice steady, almost casual, like he’s talking about the weather instead of murder.
His hand trails lazily along the balcony rail, tapping in time with his words.
“And mine are simple: erase both your families. Leave the world choking on the vacuum. Let them turn on each other. Rival against rival. No trust. Just blood in the streets.”
He pushes off the railing with fluid ease, pacing the narrow strip of stone like it’s his personal stage. His smile never wavers. “That’s my legacy.”
The words hit like a blade to the gut. He’s not ranting or raging.
This plan of his has been brewing in his gut for a while.
Possibly centuries. That’s what makes it worse.
He wants us gone, not for revenge or honor, but because he likes the idea of watching the world rip itself apart.
And he’s proud of it. Proud enough to call it his legacy.
My stomach knots, and I grind my teeth, fists clenching at my sides, nails biting into my palms until I’m sure I’ll draw blood.
Every muscle in my body tightens, ready to spring, but I force myself to stay rooted.
If I move now, I’ll do something reckless.
He talks about it like it’s a game, like burning the world down is just another move in a plan he’s already won.
“If only you believed the bullshit you’re spewing,” Esmerelda snaps, her voice cutting through the chamber like a blade.
Every head turns, even mine, because if there’s one thing Esme has never cared for, it’s politics.
She always let her family handle that side of things.
Yet here she is, stepping forward, chin raised, fire in her eyes.
“You’re not doing this to create chaos,” Esmerelda cuts in, her voice ringing out clear. “You’re doing this because your fragile ego couldn’t take it.”
Maximillian’s eyes snap to her, but she doesn’t flinch. She squares her shoulders, chin high, her glare cutting sharper than any blade.
“You can’t stand being the lesser son—the one destined to fetch and carry for your sister.
Did she choose you to come rescue her when she was in danger because she trusted you, or because Dorian was more important and she couldn’t risk anything happening to him?
She did call you to rescue her from the sun, correct?
How humiliating must that be? How sad to be disposable.
” She waves her hand. “Besides that, most vampire covens fall over themselves to worship their sons, and even then, your father trusted your sister over you.” Her lip curls in open contempt.
“So tell me, Maximillian—are you just the mama’s boy destined for nothing, or did you screw up so badly your father saw straight through you? ”
Silence drops like a stone. Maximillian stiffens, mask cracking, and for the first time I see a flicker of real anger. She’s hit something raw.
I’m left staring at Esme, stunned. From what I knew of her, she’s always avoided politics, hated the games of power and maneuvering. Yet here she is, slicing through Maximillian with a truth no one else would dare say out loud.
Maximillian’s mask slips. His smile falters, eyes flashing with rage.
“You little—” His voice cracks. He spins on his army. “What are you waiting for? Kill them all!”
The wolves and vampires surge forward.
“Stop!”
Serafina’s voice booms, the single word expanding and contracting like a pulse that thrums through the chamber walls and straight into my chest. Power vibrates in it, something older than all of us.
She starts speaking in Choctaw, the cadence strange and haunting, rising and falling like a lullaby. Each syllable rolls through the air with a weight that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
Her feet leave the floor. Slowly, impossibly, her body lifts, robes fluttering as though caught in an unseen current. Static zips through the air, sharp enough to leave a trail of goosebumps all over my body. My wolf stirs uneasily under my skin, claws itching, caught between awe and fear.
Lantern flames flicker as if the room itself recognizes what’s happening. Every word out of her mouth builds, louder, fiercer, until it feels less like chanting and more like a force dragging the god she calls straight into the room with us.
Belvedere gasps theatrically. “She’s summoning her god—Hvshi Atahli!”
Nothing happens at first. The crowd presses closer, uncertain. Belvedere waves his arms wildly. “Her nation’s sun god! Look!”
Light explodes from Serafina’s body, searing bright. I raise an arm against the blinding glare, retinas burning. She glows hotter, brighter, until arrows of blazing gold shoot from her like meteors, embedding in stone and wood.
The vampires break instantly, shrieking, scattering in blind panic. They scramble to escape the one thing they fear most: the sun itself.
Cowards. But after what happened with the Mephistus coven, I can’t blame them for fearing that kind of death.
That leaves only the wolves.
Marcus, Leonard, and I shift as one and pounce while they are distracted.
Minerva is a storm in motion, her whip cracking like thunder as it lashes flesh.
Every strike lands clean, the sound cutting through the chaos.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, and a wild laugh bursts out of her as another body drops.
It’s a side to her I haven’t seen till now, but I’m not hating it.
Leonard is raw muscle and teeth, holding strong against two at once.
He takes hits and doesn’t even flinch, driving forward like a battering ram, jaws snapping, claws raking.
Blood sprays through the air, spattering across his fur, but he doesn’t yield an inch.
One of the shifters slams a fist into his ribs.
Leonard snarls, shoving the bastard back so hard the stone cracks under the impact.
The other tries to circle to his blind side, but Leonard whirls, eyes glowing, lips peeled back in a feral grin.
He looks like he’s enjoying it, like the fight itself feeds him, makes him stronger with every blow.
I don’t fight like that. I can’t. If I give my wolf that much rein, there’s no telling how far I’ll go or what would be left standing when I’m done.
Leonard thrives in the chaos. I survive by keeping things chained tight.
Still, watching him tear into them, unstoppable, I can’t deny part of me envies the freedom.
Belvedere works his illusions like a maestro, the chamber fracturing into a dozen versions of itself. Enemies spin in circles, striking at shadows that vanish before contact. His grin is smug, wicked, like he’s playing a game only he knows the rules to, even as sweat slides down his temple.
Serafina doesn’t move from her spot, calm at the storm’s center. Her bow hums with every pull, each arrow glowing, burning, before it finds its mark. Throat, lung, knee—every shot perfect, efficient, merciless.
And Esmerelda? She tears through the chaos, claws flashing, teeth bared, every strike calculated.
Efficient. Brutal. Necessary. Like me, when she fights, she doesn’t waste a movement.
We move in synchronized ease. I don’t let myself lose control, but the wildness is there, just under my skin, pressing harder with every heartbeat.
When my growl rips loose, I know it’s not just me.
It’s the wolf, the rage, the need to end this.
We’re outnumbered, but we’re holding. We’re not prey. Not tonight.
We move like the elements of a storm. Fierce and precise. Balanced on a knife’s edge. It’s beautiful, controlled, bloody chaos. Each blow feels vindicating. Each strike a retaliation. Blood thrums through my veins in a powerful rush.
When the last wolf falls, silence descends. The chamber is littered with bodies, groans, smoke. The reek of blood is thick in the air. We all shift back into human forms and look out over the destruction.
Serafina drops to the ground, sweat slicking her brow, breath coming hard.
Belvedere rushes to her side. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m not used to holding a spell like that for so long. Thanks for the save.”
Smirking, Belvedere tosses his curls back. “Pleasure. Ye old sun god trick. Works every time.”
I freeze, realization dawning. The blazing light, the arrows, the sun’s sear—it was all an illusion.
Belvedere’s magic. And yet, the vampires believed it.
Because they knew Serafina was a vessel, they just didn’t know which god she belonged to.
Which meant they’d done their research. Which meant they knew about the petrified bear shifter on the council.
“Holy crapballs, I can’t believe we fought off over twenty werewolves and vamps,” Min says.
Belvedere’s tone hardens. “They’ll figure out the ruse soon enough. We need to move. Now.”
We simultaneously look up to the balcony to find Maximillian has vanished.
“Fucking cowardly piece of shit.”
“You’re not wrong,” Minerva agrees.
“So, what now?” Leonard asks.
“I think we should go back to my place,” Belvedere says. “I need to grab more potions and we need to come up with the next part of the plan.”
I look around the carnage. So many bodies. So much loss. When is this nightmare going to end? But I don’t say anything. I hold out a hand to Esmerelda, ignoring the knowing looks pointed in our direction. “Let’s go.”
We’re bone-weary by the time we arrive back at Belvedere’s place, so we all go our separate ways to get some shut-eye. We still need to get to the Mephistus coven to warn them, but for now, we need to recoup. No one is even interested in food, all of us too exhausted to consider chewing.
Esmerelda and I head to the room we slept in last time, and the moment we enter, I spin her around and press her against the door, kissing her with a fervor born from sheer relief that she’s safe.
She’s okay. Gods, the relief that she’s okay hits me so hard it nearly brings me to my knees.
At first she stands there, shocked by my aggression, but it only takes a heartbeat before her hands fly to my hair.
Pulling away, I stare into her eyes, seeing my relief mirrored there.
I kiss her eyelids, cheeks, lips, chin—branding every part of her bruised face to memory.
With each gentle swipe over her skin, murderous rage surges through me.
Those fuckers had dared to lay hands on her.
The anger vibrates in me like a physical entity, alive and clawing.
I need to know she’s okay, so I take a step back. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “You?”
I don’t answer her with words. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
The only thing I feel right now is the desperate need to have Esmerelda beneath me, to examine every inch of her and make sure she really is okay.
And gods, I want to erase this evening from her mind, even just for a little while—because I wish I could erase it from mine.
I grip her thighs and hoist her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, her body pressing perfectly against mine. She takes full advantage, grinding against me.
Fuck.
I walk us to the bed and drop her none too gently, leaning over her as I rip the black shirt covering her torso to shreds in one swift move.
She gasps, heat flaring in her eyes as she scoots up the bed, giving me room to cover her.
I stare down at her, another wave of relief crashing over me so hard it nearly breaks me. We’re alive. Somehow.
Esmerelda looks up at me, eyes bright with adrenaline and exhaustion. Our mouths meet before words can form, and I clutch her like she’s the only anchor I have left.
This isn’t love. It can’t be. I tell myself it’s just battle lust, the high of survival. But when her nails dig into my back, when her wolf rises to meet mine, I stop caring what label I give it.