CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KAELEN

My first call was to Marius, a vampire merchant with a network that stretched across the West Coast. He dealt in information, rare artifacts, and anything else that could be bartered for power. He owed me a significant debt.

"Marius," I said, my voice low and laced with a threat he wouldn't miss. "I need information. New bloods in the city. Any whispers of a rogue faction, anything out of the ordinary."

He didn't hesitate. "Kaelen. Always a pleasure, though I sense this is not a social call. New bloods… there have been rumors. Unsubstantiated, but persistent. They seem… disorganized. Brutal. Not the type to play the long game."

"Brutal how?" I pressed, my grip tightening on the phone.

"Disturbing the balance. Killing without discretion, leaving a mess. They haven't made themselves known to the established covens, which is either incredibly stupid or… audacious."

"Where are they operating?"

"Mostly in the Old Quarter, along the coast. I'll send you what I have. Names, locations, potential contacts. Consider it a down payment on that favor."

"Consider it a stay of execution, Marius," I growled, and hung up.

Meanwhile, deep beneath the city, Dimitri navigated the labyrinthine tunnels that housed the more… eccentric members of our kind. The tunnels were a haven for the forgotten, the outcasts, the creatures too dangerous or too strange for polite society.

He was one of them, a brutal and fiercely loyal ally. He knew the tunnels better than he knew his own face, and he knew how to extract information from even the most tight-lipped inhabitants.

My phone buzzed in my hand, a lifeline in this storm of panic. I scrolled through my contacts, a Rolodex of the damned, the indebted, and the generally… connected. First, Silas. He ran a fencing operation downtown, knew every back alley and shady deal.

"Silas," I growled into the phone. "I need information. Fast. New players in town, aggressive, dangerous. They took something of mine."

His voice, a gravelly whisper, crackled through the speaker. "Kaelen? What kind of information? And what kind of payment are we talking?"

"I need names, affiliations, anything you can get your hands on. And the payment? Let's just say I'll make sure you can breathe easy for a good long while." Translation: I'd keep the other predators off his back, for now.

Next, Anya. A beautiful, ruthless information broker who frequented the human nightclubs, feeding off their secrets and their blood. Anya was more expensive, but she was usually worth it.

"Anya, darling," I said, softening my tone, though the edge remained. "Got a little puzzle for you. Looking for newcomers. Vampires, freshly turned, or just new to the area. I need to know who they are, what they want, and who they're working with."

Her laugh was a silken caress. "And what am I getting out of this, Kaelen? Information doesn't come cheap, you know."

"Consider it an investment in our future. I'll owe you one. A big one."

I made a few more calls, each conversation a dance of veiled threats and promises, trying to keep my simmer of rage just below the boiling point. After each call I felt somewhat better.

I glanced toward the door, imagining Dimitri down in the tunnels, wading through the shadows and the whispers of the underworld. He had a knack for extracting information, a gentle touch masked by a brutal efficiency.

I was about to make another call when Seraphine came bursting through the door, her face a mask of frantic energy. I looked at Seraphine anxiously.

"Got something!" she stated.

I immediately hung up the phone. Whatever Sera found was more important than a call right now. We both rushed to security to see what she discovered.

The room was a dim cave, illuminated by the flickering glow of the monitor screens. Seraphine was already at the controls, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Look," she said, pointing to a grainy black and white video. The footage showed the alley behind the club, a place usually occupied by Dumpsters and reckless humans looking for a quick fix. But on this recording, it was occupied by something far more sinister.

A tall, bald vampire, covered in tattoos, was carrying Ellie, limp and unmoving, through the alley. He tossed her unceremoniously into the back of a black car. Seraphine zoomed in, her eyes narrowed in concentration. The image sharpened, revealing the license plate: JQZ 482.

Relief and a terrifying surge of rage washed over me in equal measure. Relief that we had something, something concrete to chase. Rage that anyone dared to touch what was mine, to profane the sanctuary I had built. I grabbed Seraphine in a tight hug, lifting her slightly off the ground.

"You did it, Sera! You actually did it!" I said, squeezing her a little too tightly. She may have only been turned twenty years ago, still a babe in vampire terms, but she was sharp. My only child, my creation.

I released her and cupped her face in my hands. "Get on tracing that license plate, now. Find out who it's registered to, where that car is now. Leave no stone unturned."

She nodded, her eyes bright with a mix of pride and determination, and I knew she would.

I left her to her work and walked back into the club. The music was off, the lights dimmed, the dance floor empty. The vibrant energy that usually pulsed through these walls had been replaced by a heavy, suffocating emptiness. It mirrored the hollowness inside me.

Lucian was sitting at the bar, as still as a gargoyle. His presence was a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm brewing within me. I went and sat next to him, needing his silent strength, wanting to be swallowed by his unwavering stillness.

Hours passed. The silence was a thick blanket, heavy and strangely soothing. My thoughts raged, scenarios unfolding in my mind, all ending with me tearing the culprit limb from limb.

Finally, the spell was broken. Dimitri sauntered back in, reeking of the tunnels that snaked beneath the city. He moved with a predator's grace, but his face was grim.

"It's a new coven," he announced, heading behind the bar for a bottle of vodka. He poured himself a generous measure and downed it in one gulp. "They came from Louisiana. Call themselves 'Saints'." He spat the word out like venom.

Lucian, stirred from his trance-like state, finally spoke. "These 'Saints'… Do you know how old they happen to be?" His voice was low and gravelly, laced with a subtle menace.

"From what I gathered, they're still pretty young. The oldest being a little over 150, the youngest just a few years." Dimitri refilled his glass, his eyes narrowed.

"That explains why they were stupid enough to come in here and challenge us!" I said, the rage bubbling up again.

Lucian nodded slowly. "They are relatively young and cocky."

Dimitri slammed his fist on the bar. "Let's shred their throats and teach them some respect!"

My fist clenched. Respect. They would learn respect. They would learn fear. They would learn what happens when you cross Kaelen. A blur of movement at the edge of my vision pulled me back slightly from the boiling point. Seraphine stood there, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. The paper she'd been born to find.

She approached, her eyes shining with a mixture of triumph and nervousness. She knew my moods, knew the beast that stirred within me. She extended the paper to me, her fingers brushing mine.

"Here," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The information you asked for."

I snatched the paper from her, my eyes scanning the words printed on it.

"BRENT CALHOON. 300 MARKET PLACE."

"That's the business district right on the edge of town," Lucian said, his voice regaining its usual calm, calculating tone.

Brent. We knew he was dead, thanks to Seraphine's excellent skills with her mouth. But why was this human important to the Saint coven? Why had they come into my territory and snatched him? The questions buzzed in my head like angry wasps.

"What are we waiting for?" Dimitri slammed the vodka bottle down, the glass rattling. "Let's go!"

"We can't just rush in there, Dimitri," Lucian said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. Dimitri's face fell into a disappointed pout. "Besides, the sun will be down soon enough. Then we can go and scout it out. There may be more there. We need to know what we are up against."

"Their ages are rather… young," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "That won't be a problem. Sera, you are to stay here."

"But..." she started, her protest barely formed before I cut her off, raising my hand to silence her.

"Don't argue!" My voice was sharp, laced with the ancient power that coursed through my veins. "You are too young, not strong enough. These vampires may be young compared to us three, but to you, they are dangerous. And I will not lose you. Do you understand?" It wasn't a question. It was a command.

"Yes, Father, I understand," she replied, her voice subdued. She knew when not to push. The word Father hung heavy in the air, unspoken but understood. It was a bond, a responsibility. Seraphine was my only 'child'. I had only changed her sixty years ago.

"Good. Then it's settled. Seraphine can stay here and open the club as usual. Silas will be here to protect her, and I will call a few of our other friends to keep watch over Crimson." Lucian said, ever the strategist, his mind already piecing together the necessary precautions.

He knew how I felt about Seraphine. He knew the possessive rage that burned within me. He would help me channel it, control it. But tonight, control was going to be difficult.

Tonight, the Saints were going to learn just how dangerous an old vampire could be when his family was threatened.

The sun had finally bled out of the sky, leaving a bruised twilight clinging to the horizon. Silas was already stationed behind the bar at Crimson, cool and collected as always. Lucian's "friends" – more like highly trained, lethal bodyguards – were strategically positioned around the club, a silent promise of security. They knew the rules of Crimson, the absolute prohibition of feeding within its walls. They'd already taken care of their…appetites.

Rage simmered beneath my skin, laced with a coiled anticipation. Tonight was the night. Lucian, Dimitri, and I piled into Lucian's SUV, leaving Seraphine back at the club, her displeasure palpable even from a distance. Good. Let her sulk. This wasn't a party.

The address led us to a desolate, brick monstrosity. A building squat and ugly, stranded between a sea of parking lots and the vast, indifferent ocean. The stench hit us a block away – the cloying, rotten-fruit sweetness that clung to vampires affiliated with the 'Saints' clan. Disgusting.

Lucian raised a hand, stopping us. "Dimitri," he commanded, "Scout around. Report what you find."

Dimitri was a powder keg of raw energy, barely contained. He practically vibrated with excitement. He lived for nights like these, for the thrill of the hunt, the promise of violence. He peeled away from us, a silent blur disappearing around the corner of the building.

"What's the plan, Lucian?" I asked, my voice tight. The questions was more for something to say. My mind was already running multiple scenarios, each ending with the Saints' blood painting the walls of whatever hellhole they called home.

"We wait for Dimitri," Lucian said, his gaze fixed on the building. "If it's just the four vampires from earlier, we handle them. If there's more, we switch to Plan B."

"And Plan B is…?"

Lucian remained silent, his expression unreadable. He was probably running through his own mental simulations, strategizing, calculating. It was his way. Me I was more of the run and gun type but I played along.

Fifteen minutes crawled by before Dimitri reappeared, jogging back to us. "There are five inside," he reported, his eyes bright with adrenaline. "The four from the club and some lanky-looking newborn."

Lucian's lips curved into a faint smile. "Plan A it is."

We moved, Lucian hanging back by the side of the building, presumably to cover our rear. Dimitri and I took the direct approach. We didn't bother with subtlety. We kicked the door in. The splintering wood was loud in the sudden silence.

The tall, bald vampire that had been in the club was gone. The other four were standing there, facing us, like they'd been expecting us. They must have caught our scent on the wind. The lanky newborn, reeking of inexperience and arrogance, spoke first.

"You dare trespass in the lair of the Saints?" he sneered.

Dimitri barked out a laugh. "Saints? What, are you boy scouts?"

A humourless chuckle escaped me. My eyes remained locked on the four of them, scanning, analyzing. Where was their leader? Dimitri had seen five.

"Are you the leader, then?" I asked the newborn, the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Griffin isn't here anymore," the lanky one said, puffing out his chest. "But he told us to deal with you."

"Where is the human girl?" Dimitri demanded, his voice a low growl. He was itching for a fight, for the release.

The other vampires remained silent, their faces blank. The lanky one laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "Not here."

That was it. My carefully controlled rage snapped. In a heartbeat, I closed the distance, my hand snaking around the newborn's throat, lifting him off the ground.

"I could crush you as easily as stepping on an ant,newborn!" I snarled, my grip tightening. Fear flickered in his eyes. "Where is the girl?"

"You'll never find her," he squeaked out, his face already turning an ugly shade of purple. "And if you do, you won't want her!"

That was the last thing he said. With a feral roar, I squeezed. My fingers didn't stop until they met each other. The lanky vampire's body went limp, his head lolling to the side. I dropped him to the floor, the sound of his head rolling across the room a sickening thud.

The other three attacked.

It was a whirlwind of claws, punches, growls, and the metallic reek of blood. Limbs tore, bones snapped. I was a vortex of controlled violence, Dimitri a whirlwind of barely contained fury. The air filled with the screams of the dying, the wet sound of flesh tearing.

When it was over, only Dimitri and I stood amidst the carnage. Blood covered everything, painting the walls a gruesome tapestry.

Lucian entered, his face impassive as he stepped over dismembered limbs. "She's not here," he stated, his voice flat.