Chapter 18
The auction rolled on, but my attention stayed fixed on Cerise and the quiet spaces between lots.
She leaned back in her chair, elegant and composed, as relics and rare tomes exchanged hands. Now and then her gaze drifted toward the stage, never for long, as if she already knew nothing before the final item truly mattered.
Valerian’s presence sat like a cold weight against my spine. Not crushing, not loud, simply there. Watching. Waiting.
The host returned to the podium after Item Nine, smoothing his jacket and allowing a practiced pause to stretch over the room. The murmur of voices dimmed. Even the enhanced guards at the walls seemed to focus.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, voice rich with satisfaction, “you have seen curiosities. You have purchased power. You have invested in your futures.”
A soft rumble of indulgent agreement drifted through the seats.
He smiled, slow and pleased. “Now you have the opportunity to change them.”
The lights lowered another fraction. Not dark enough to obscure faces, but enough to deepen the shadows, to frame the stage in something approaching reverence.
“Final lot of the evening,” he continued. “Exclusive. Singular. No replicas. No copies. Proprietary formula and complete process included. Field tested. Proven.”
He nodded toward the side curtain.
Two assistants emerged.
Between them, they carried a long, reinforced case. Not decorative. Efficient. Matte black, with multiple locking points and a sheen that told me it had been treated against magical tampering.
The air shifted.
Con’s posture behind my shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly.
Conversations faded completely as the case reached the center of the stage. The assistants set it on a raised stand that had not been used for any other item.
The host rested his hands lightly on either end of the case, like a priest about to open a reliquary.
“In a world that adores soldiers,” he said, “power often rests in numbers. But the future belongs to those who can elevate the individual unit.”
His gaze traveled the crowd, lingering briefly on certain faces. Criminals. Military contractors. Witches with mercenary eyes.
“Item Ten,” he said. “A complete enhancement protocol. Chemical base, vector, stabilizing agent, delivery system. Designed to create superlative human operatives.”
He spoke the next words carefully.
“Each subject becomes faster, stronger, more resilient, more obedient. Resistant to pain. Capable of operating against empowered opponents.”
His smile turned knife thin. “Effective even against vampires.”
A hush fell. Real, heavy, charged.
No one laughed this time.
He undid three locks in quick succession, then opened the lid.
Inside, nestled in foam, sat eight vials of pale, opalescent fluid. Each vial was capped in metal, sigils etched along the rim. Beside them lay a data drive and a slim stack of documents, bound by a metal clasp.
The energy that rose from the case made my skin crawl. Not magic. Something adjacent. Warped. Twisted.
The scent that wafted out was light, but it carried the same wrong note I remembered from the enhanced humans in the graveyard. Synthetic, pungent, almost metallic.
The host did not offer a closer look. He let the crowd stare for a few seconds, let the hunger climb behind their eyes, then closed the lid.
“The process is complex,” he said. “The results are not. One injection, one transformation. Side effects manageable.”
He did not specify what that meant.
No one in the room cared.
Cerise sat forward, her eyes on the case now. Alert. Interested. For the first time tonight, she looked fully engaged.
Con leaned down slightly, voice barely more than breath. “We cannot let that leave this room.”
“I know,” I murmured.
“You cannot own it,” he added. “Not here. Not like this. Whoever loses will come for you.”
“They were always going to come for me.”
“Cass.”
“I hear you,” I said. “But if I can get close enough to see details, we increase our chances of finding and destroying every copy.”
He went silent, the kind of silence that meant he hated my logic and saw no better option.
The host lifted his hand. “Bidding will begin at five million.”
No nervous laughter now. No testing bids. The number fit the room, and everyone knew it.
Cerise’s hand rose at once. “Ten.”
She did not waste time.
Gasps scattered through the crowd. The host’s eyebrows lifted.
“Ten million,” he echoed. “An enthusiastic opening.”
Another buyer, a heavyset man with a gold ring on every finger, raised his voice. “Eleven.”
He looked like a man accustomed to private armies. This was a business expense.
A third voice, smooth and accented, followed. “Thirteen.”
I let them move once more before I entered.
“Fifteen,” I said.
Every gaze nearby shifted toward me.
Cerise turned her head, eyes narrowing slightly. A hint of amusement touched her mouth. “You enjoy paying high prices for things you clearly do not understand.”
I smiled. “I understand perfectly. I have seen the prototypes in action.”
Her lashes lowered, thoughtful. “Then you know they work.”
“Yes,” I said. “Which is why I am here.”
The host let the exchange sit for a moment, enjoying the tension.
“Fifteen million,” he said. “Position Five.”
The man with the gold rings snorted softly. “Nineteen.”
He wanted to intimidate, not win. I recognized the tone.
Cerise’s fingers traced the side of her clutch. She lifted her hand again. “Twenty-five.”
The number dropped with command.
The host’s eyes gleamed. “Twenty-five.”
I let my jaw relax, kept my breathing even. This was theater. They were not the only ones who could play.
“Thirty,” I said.
Several people straightened.
Con’s fingers brushed the back of my chair. It was not a restraint, more of a grounding point.
The host looked delighted. “Thirty million, for the right to rewrite your forces.”
Whispers rose now. Some buyers exchanged glances. Others watched in silence, calculating, reassessing.
Cerise studied me openly. “Do you intend to drink it, little vampire, or simply deny it to everyone else?”
“Why limit myself?” I said.
Her smile turned wolfish. “Forty.”
The man with the rings stayed quiet now. This was beyond his comfort level. A witch in a dark-blue gown twitched, but did not speak. She knew when she was outmatched.
I considered.
Forty million.
We could pay it. We had resources. Old caches. Hidden accounts. The Shadow Bone coffers might not enjoy the hit, but they could take it.
The real cost would be invisibility.
No one in this room would forget the buyer who walked out with that case.
Con bent lower, voice a thread in my ear. “If you win, you become the primary target. Every mercenary, every military buyer, every criminal with ambition will track you.”
“If I lose,” I said, “Valerian gets control of it. I assumed he had funded the research, but now I’m not so sure.”
We both knew which option I would choose.
My fingers curled.
“Forty-five,” I said.
The host’s smile widened.
Cerise’s gaze cooled. For the first time, I saw genuine interest morph into something else. Assessment. Curiosity coiled with wariness.
“You are very eager to spend,” she said softly. “I wonder who you truly work for.”
“Someone with an aversion to slavery,” I replied.
Her eyes glittered. “You should cling to your ideals while you can. They will not protect you when these soldiers stand at your door.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps they will fall before they reach it.”
The host cleared his throat, asserting control again. “Forty-five million. Going once.”
The air in the room crackled.
Enhanced guards at the edges shifted almost imperceptibly. Not restless. Ready.
Valerian’s presence flared.
My skin prickled.
“Going twice,” the host continued.
I scanned the room in one swift sweep.
Guards near the main entrance had changed stance. Feet spread, hands hovering near weapons. Two near the rear wall had angled themselves toward the stage instead of the crowd.
The pattern was wrong.
“Con,” I whispered.
“I see them,” he said.
Cerise’s eyes flicked toward the guards as well. For a heartbeat, her brows drew together. She had not planned this.
Interesting.
“Sold,” the host said. “To Position Five.”
I did not hear the last word.
The world detonated.
The lights snapped off for a heartbeat, then red emergency strips blazed to life along the walls. Gunfire cracked through the air. The quick, clean bursts of practiced shooters who knew exactly where to aim.
The two guards by the rear wall moved first.
They drew weapons and fired directly at the host and his assistants.
The host jerked as impact hit, but a hidden shield flared around the podium, throwing sparks and deflecting the rounds. One assistant screamed, clutching a shoulder as blood bloomed through her sleeve. The other dove behind the stand.
Pandemonium surged.
Buyers shouted. Some dropped behind seats. Others scrambled for exits. A few reached for their own weapons, but the enhanced mercenaries were already moving.
Three more broke from positions along the walls, heading straight for the stage.
Not toward the host.
Toward the case.
Con was already moving.
He stepped in front of me, blocking me as a volley of bullets tore toward our row. My shield flared around us, thin and shimmering, catching the rounds. The impact rattled my teeth.
“Down,” he ordered.
I dropped, rolling to the side as another burst cut through the air where my head had been a moment earlier.
The hall was a storm of noise now. Screams. Gunfire. The crackle of breaking glass as display cases shattered. Magic flared as some buyers decided they were not dying quietly.
I pushed up to a knee and saw the stage clearly for one brief second.
One mercenary vaulted onto it, moving with inhuman speed. He snapped a guard’s neck without slowing, then grabbed the edge of the stand and kicked it aside.
The case slid.
Another mercenary, taller and heavier, reached out and caught it with one hand. He did not even glance at the host, who clutched his chest with wide eyes.
All their focus lay on the serum.