Chapter 59: His Pound Of Flesh II

Adrian did not waste the courtesy of a second warning.

The pack closed as soon as Conrad’s last word left his mouth, and Adrian met them like a man who had already decided that bleeding was preferable to being collected. He moved first—straight at the nearest wolf on his left, not at Conrad—because the Alpha was expecting the prideful charge and Adrian had not survived three and a half centuries by offering people exactly what they wanted.

Bone cracked under his fist and the wolf dropped. A second came in low; Adrian caught the shifting jaw, twisted, and used the body as a shield against the third. Claws raked his shoulder through the coat. He ignored the heat of it, drove his knee up into a half-changed ribcage, and felt something give with a wet sound.

They had numbers and had preparation, but they did not have his speed.

For the first minute, it almost looked like enough.

Adrian tore through the outer ring with the particular efficiency of a Vampire Lord who had stopped pretending this was a negotiation. He did not try to kill every wolf he touched, there were too many, and pure slaughter would only slow him, but he disabled with ruthless precision. A wolf in mid-shift slammed into him from behind and drove him into the dirt; Adrian rolled, came up with a stolen blade from someone’s belt, and put it through a thigh that would not hold weight for days.

Conrad still had not fully entered the fight. He watched, golden eyes bright, as if evaluating a performance he had paid for in advance.

"You always did like an audience," Conrad called, almost conversational, while his pack absorbed the casualties and tightened again. "Does the human know how messy you get when you’re cornered? Or does he only see the charming version?"

Adrian’s head snapped toward him for half a second too long, the distraction earned him a blow. A heavy body hit him from the blind side, and another pair of claws found the already-torn shoulder and ripped wider. Adrian snarled, pure and animal, and threw the attacker hard enough to crack the earth. He was breathing faster now, the silvered edges on some of the pack’s weapons were doing their work. Small cuts were accumulating, and it was slowly poisoning hum.

"This isn’t about the human?" Adrian asked, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Conrad’s smile pulled the old scar tight. "Everything your brother does is about the human lately. He walked into my stronghold for him, killed for him, and threatened me for him." The Alpha finally stepped forward, and the pack adjusted around the movement like water around a rock. "So when I take you apart, Marcel will understand the message. He’ll understand why things are never taken from Conrad without permission. I’ll be collecting the human too, Marcel will have your head."

So there it was—the hint beneath the debt. Not only Adrian as payment, but also as a lesson aimed at both brothers and the human.

Adrian laughed, short and sharp and entirely without humor. "You’re still bitter he walked out of your house with the boy."

"I don’t do bitter," Conrad said. "And I’m done talking."

The next wave came harder. Conrad hit like a landslide, and Adrian met him cleanly, claws and fists and the brutal shorthand of two predators who had shared a bed decades ago and now shared only the memory of where to hurt each other. Conrad’s strength was greater than it had been in their history; whatever resources and alliances the Alpha had built were not cosmetic. Adrian scored a deep line across Conrad’s ribs and took a matching blow to the ribs in return that sent him sliding across the road on his back.

He rolled up, barely, and wolves poured into the gap. A silvered chain wrapped his forearm and burned like acid. Another took his ankle and yanked. Adrian killed the chain-holder—there was no more time for restraint—and still went down under the third and fourth bodies.

He thought of Marcel and Asher. He didn’t know why he had a feeling that they were in trouble, but he genuinely hoped he was wrong. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be making it to the human palace anytime soon.

A boot found the side of his head, and the world tilted. He drove an elbow back into a knee and heard the scream, but his limbs were slower now, silver was working through his system in a dozen shallow gifts from the pack’s weapons. Conrad’s hand closed around his throat and forced his head back against the blood-slick road.

"There," Conrad murmured, almost affectionate. "That’s the look I was waiting for."

Adrian tried to speak. What came out was a bloodied rasp that might have been a threat and might have been a promise. Conrad’s grip tightened a fraction, then released enough for air.

"Bind him," the Alpha ordered. "Silver on the wrists and the throat. If he opens his mouth again without permission, remind him why that was a mistake."

The chains were already moving.

Adrian strained once more and the silver answered with a white flare of pain that took the strength out of the attempt. They hauled him up between two large wolves in partial shift. Blood ran freely down his arm and dripped from his chin onto the road where his car still sat, door open, abandoned mid-intention.

Conrad leaned in close enough that only Adrian would hear the next words.

"When Marcel comes looking, I’ll make sure he knows I kept his favorite brother intact long enough to be useful. Whether you’re still intact after that depends on how polite the great Vampire Lord decides to be." A pause. "And if he’s willing to give up the fortune teller for your sake"

Adrian’s eyes, dark and burning, locked on Conrad’s.

He wanted to make a snarky remark, or curse the Alpha at least. But the silver at his throat cinched tight, and the pack began to move him toward the treeline, away from the capital, and away from the palace where the wrongness in his gut still screamed that Marcel and Asher were in trouble.