Chapter Twenty-Three
Kayden
Forest might be their domain. But an office building, fluorescent-lit, wrapped in concrete? It's no sanctuary. It's a slaughterhouse waiting for me to step in.
Tonight, I won't hold back. No more diplomacy. No more playing nice.
That was never me. Never will be.
I stalk toward the building under cover of night, quiet as death. The streets are empty, the moon sharp above. But the building still breathes—light spilling from the upper floors, where their little paper-pushing forest bastards burn the midnight oil like Wall Street wannabes.
It almost makes me laugh. Instead, I break the front door.
Full speed. No stealth, no mercy. Just impact. Glass shatters, alarms scream, and suddenly the building knows a predator has come.
The first one I see is a gift. Johnny. Fresh stack of papers in hand, smelling of ink and toner. His heartbeat spikes as he turns toward the noise.
Wrong direction.
"Hey Johnny," I say, my voice sweet as poison.
He snaps to face me, pupils blown wide. The papers fall from his hands. And then I'm on him.
My hand drives into his gut, fingers slicing through soft meat and muscle. I push deep, until I feel the give of something vital, and shove through. Warm, twitching entrails spill around my wrist like ropes of dying silk.
"Remember me?" I hiss, grinning at him. "Back in that container, I bet you didn't think it'd end like this."
I rip my hand free and let him fall.
He hits the floor hard, gurgling, eyes wide in pure shock. It's not a clean death. It's a slow, wheezing collapse, the kind that won't heal.
"But… truce," he mouths, mouth wet with blood.
I scoff. "I don't dance by your goat-boss's rules, boy."
Then I sink my fangs into his neck. I bite hard enough to tear, not just feed. Flesh, blood, pain—all mine to take. I pull back with a grunt, his neck shredded wide, arterial spray painting the concrete tiles like a Jackson Pollock fever dream.
He twitches. Then stills. Done.
"You bastard," comes a voice behind me.
Accented. Familiar.
I turn, licking the blood from my lips. "Well, well. Look who it is. What a delightful reunion."
The leshy. The smug one who'd burned my flesh, cutting through my armband. Konstantin's eyes burn with fury.
Perfect.
He pulls a gun. I move faster.
It clatters across the floor. Sirens wail in the distance, but this moment is mine. This is what I was made for.
He howls, "You killed my brothers."
"Yeah," I say, rolling my shoulders. "And you're next."
He lunges with a knife. It slams into my side.
I grunt, but grin. Gods, it feels good to let it all out.
I grab his hand still clutching the knife and help him pull it out. Then I twist his wrist with a savage jerk and ram the same blade upward into his throat, splitting through cartilage and flesh with ease.
He gurgles once.
Twice.
And then he's just another corpse on the office floor.
"Say hi to your brothers for me," I murmur, watching the light fade from his eyes.
Boots thunder on the stairs.
An elevator dings. They're coming for me.
I pivot toward the stairwell and sprint up. Fast, ruthless. Two men are descending. I don't slow. The knife in my hand glints once before it carves through the first man's chest like butter. He falls. The second barely has time to scream before my teeth tear open his throat.
Human. Could be one of Darius's mercs. Could be some poor bastard who picked the wrong night for overtime.
I don't care.
I climb higher, blood on my boots, screams echoing behind me. Someone fires a shot. It misses. There's not enough of them, not enough bullets to stop me.
The top floor door explodes as I crash through it, the metal flying off its hinges and knocking someone clean unconscious. I step over the body, scanning the office like a beast unleashed.
I want him.
But instead…
Her.
Blades drawn, eyes sharp.
"Vampire," she hisses.
"Tree hag," I say, baring my teeth in a bloodstained grin. "How generous of you to come to me."
Darlene narrows her eyes. "Try me."
"Oh, I will," I snarl. "No trees to hide behind now. No little forest friends to do your dirty work. They're bleeding out below, by the way. Might still be twitching."
She doesn't flinch, but her stance shifts to defensive.
Cautious.
Smart.
"Careful now, huh?" I taunt. "You were bold enough to ambush me. Drain my blood. Sell it like fine wine. But face the real predator, and suddenly you're second-guessing your every step."
"You talk too much," she snaps, and lunges.
Blades slash toward me. I dodge one, but the second kisses my arm. Shallow cut. In return, I crash into her, slamming her into the back wall hard enough to rattle the windowpanes. One of her blades clatters to the floor.
I'm about to finish it.
Then—
"Stop."
His voice cuts through the chaos.
I turn.
Darius Hawthorn stands in the doorway, untouched by the wreckage and the blood. Like he's about to offer me a glass of brandy and a fucking seat at the negotiation table.
"You're here for me, aren't you?" he says evenly.
"I am," I growl. "But I have some unfinished business first."
"You don't," he says, cool and flat. "If you want to speak with me, you'll come to my office. Otherwise, we're done here."
Then he turns to Darlene, who's staggering up with blood on her lip. "Clean up the mess. Get the authorities off our scent. I won't have complications."
She hesitates.
"Now," he snaps.
She glares at me, pure venom, then storms off, grabbing a radio from the receptionist's desk as she goes.
"Please," Darius says, holding the door open with that same patronizing elegance, "Mr. Darrow. Shall we?"
Fucking bastard.
But I step inside. Because whatever this is, it's not done until I say it is.