Pain.
That was the first thing Emily registered. A dull, throbbing pain in her side, sharp and hot.
The second was the smell. This was... perfume. Heavy, and sweet, and old.
The third was the light. It was too bright.
Emily's eyes snapped open.
She wasn't in the lab. She wasn't in the hospital.
She was in a massive, opulent bedroom. The walls were covered in red silk, the ceiling was painted with angels, and the bed she was lying on was a four-poster monster of dark, carved wood.
It was the ugliest room she had ever seen.
She tried to sit up and gasped. A fresh, sharp pain from her side. She looked down. Her wound... it had been professionally, almost perfectly, bandaged.
She was tied. Thick, silk ropes bound her wrists to the headboard.
The door opened.
A man in a black suit, with a face like a fist, walked in. He was holding a small, sharp knife.
"Get up," he grunted.
"I'm tied, you idiot," Emily spat, her voice a hoarse croak.
The man just walked over, and with one, practiced slice, he cut the ropes on her wrists. He didn't offer a hand. He just gestured with the knife. "The boss wishes to see you. Now. Don't try anything. You're still wounded. And I'm a lot faster than you." Emily's hands were free, but her guns were gone. Her body ached. She slowly, painfully, swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Where am I?" "You talk when he says you can talk," the man said, shoving her toward the door.
He took her down a huge hall. It was a palace, but it felt cold. The marble floors echoed with their steps. There were gold statues everywhere, but their eyes looked dead. This was a fortress, just like her father's.
The guard pushed her through a set of massive, 20-foot-tall doors.
They were in a dining room. It was vast, and empty, save for a single, long, black table. It was set for two.
At the far end of the table, a man sat, his back to a roaring fireplace.
"Lady Emily," he said, his voice high-pitched and reedy. "Please. Sit."
The guard shoved Emily into the chair opposite him. He tied her hands to the arms of the chair and then left, closing the doors with a heavy, final thud.
They were alone.
Emily stared at the man. He was... small. Almost "goblin-like," as she'd read in her fantasy books. He was older, with a thin, sharp face, and eyes that were too large for his head. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, but he was covered in gold. Thick gold rings on every finger. A heavy gold watch chain. Gold cufflinks. He looked... rich. And he looked... like a freaking goblin. He smiled, a wide, thin-lipped expression that didn't touch his eyes. "How are you, Lady Emily? I heard you had... a difficult night. I do apologize for my man's roughness. He was under strict orders to bring you in alive. He seems to have... succeeded. Barely." Emily's face was a mask of cold fury. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Me? Oh, dear. Your father didn't tell you about his old friend? His partner? Tsk, tsk. No worries. I suppose I get the chance to introduce myself. I... am Silas Rook."
"Rook," Emily repeated, the name tasting like ash. "The Syndicate."
"The founder of the Syndicate, my dear," he corrected. "A pleasure to finally meet the 'Princess' of St. Swithin's."
"Why am I here?" Emily demanded. "If this is about the attack..."
"This is not about an attack," Rook said, waving his hand. "This is about... a loan. A debt. You are here to repay your father's loan."
Emily was confused. "What loan? My father doesn't... borrow money. He is the money."
Rook laughed again, this time a high-pitched, shrieking sound that hurt Emily's ears. "Oh, my dear girl! Your father! He is a master of secrets, isn't he? A 'businessman'!"
He leaned forward, his golden rings glinting in the firelight. "Let me ask you a question, my dear. Where do you think your father got so rich from?"
"What do you mean? He's a businessman. He built his empire. He earned his riches..."
"WRONG!" Rook slammed his tiny fist on the table, his rings clattering. "Wrong, wrong, wrong! He earned nothing! He stole it! Years ago, your father and I... we had a deal. I was going to give him the money he wanted. And he was going to give me an... 'army.' I provided him with the funds he needed to build his little empire. Millions. And in return... he would provide me with his... 'talents.' His... 'soldiers.' But midway through, he decided he didn't need me anymore. He had my money, and he had his power. So he betrayed me. He vanished. He built that fortress, your school, and hid his precious... treasure... inside it."
Emily stared at him. "These are... these are lies. My father is an honest man!"
Rook looked at her with pure disbelief. "An honest man? Your father... Akuma Cronus... is the most dangerous man I have ever known! He currently holds so much money that he could buy this entire town, ten times over, and still have enough left for his next two generations to survive. And it is my money, girl! My investment!"
He stood up, his small frame vibrating with rage. "For all this time, I wanted it back. I sent him notes. He ignored me. So, I decided I would make him pay. Every. Penny."
"The assassin..." Emily whispered.
"Yes!" Rook cackled. "I decided to kill you. To threaten him. To hurt him in the one place I knew he was weak. His... family."
He walked around the table, circling her like a shark.
"But now... now that I see you... I have a new plan. A better plan. I don't just want my money back. I want it back... with interest."
Emily looked up at him, her eyes full of hatred. "What do you mean?"
Silas Rook stopped in front of her. He reached out one of his ring-covered fingers and stroked her cheek. Emily flinched, disgusted.
"I mean," Rook whispered, his goblin-like face inches from hers, "I'm going to make you my wife."
The sun was a dying ember, bleeding red and purple into the clouds. Evening. The wind was a knife, sharp and cold, whipping across the flat, exposed rooftop.
Below them, the large, gothic-style church was a block of pure shadow, its stained-glass windows dark and blind. It was no longer a place of worship. It was a fortress.
Liam and Noah.
Liam was in a sharp, all-black suit. No tie. His collar was unbuttoned. He looked like a professional killer attending a gala, his form rigid against the wind.
Noah was next to him, his own suit jacket just a little too big in the shoulders, his red tie pulled crooked. He looked like a kid who had been forced to dress up, and he was visibly shivering.
"It's a fortress," Liam said, his voice low, his breath a white plume in the air. He was looking through a pair of binoculars. "I count fifteen on the perimeter. All armed. Sidearms, some rifles. They're professionals, not street thugs. They patrol in pairs. That means at least thirty more inside, probably guarding choke points."
"So... forty-five guys," Noah whispered, his voice cracking. "Against us... three."
"The odds are bad," Liam said, his voice flat. "But not impossible. They're confident. Overconfident. Their perimeter is lazy."
A soft sound behind them. Not a footstep. Not a scuff of leather on gravel. Just... a presence. A shift in the air. They both turned. Eiden was standing there, not three feet away. He must have come up the fire escape. He'd made no sound. He was well-dressed too. A crisp, white, button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His left hand was fine, but his right was a mass of thick, white bandages. Black formal pants. Black formal shoes. He looked like he was dressed for a funeral. Or to cause one. "What's the plan?" Eiden asked, his voice calm, as if he were asking for the time.
Liam didn't flinch. He handed the binoculars to Eiden. "I was just getting to that. The building is stone. One main entrance, two side doors, and an entrance in the back. They've barricaded the side doors from the inside. I can see the bars. The back door is welded shut. That leaves the front." "They're forcing a bottleneck," Eiden said, scanning the guards. "They want us to come through the front. They're inviting it." "Exactly," Liam said. "Which is why we don't. We go in silent. Through the roof. The bell tower. It's the only spot they're not watching. We move like Wolves. Slit throats. No noise. We take them out one by one, floor by floor, until we find her."
Eiden lowered the binoculars. "No."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "No? It's the only logical plan. It's our plan. It's what we were trained for."
"It's too slow," Eiden said. "Forty-five guards. Professionals. We take out one pair, another pair is due for a check-in. They miss one check-in, the alarm is sounded. The whole place locks down, and they kill her before we're halfway down the stairs. We're not ghosts, Liam. We can't be that silent." Liam scowled. "So what's your plan, 'Devil'? Walk in the front door and ask nicely?" "Yes," Eiden said. Liam and Noah just stared at him. "We go in hard. We go in fast. We create chaos. We move faster than they can react. We bring a storm with us. They won't have time to kill her. They'll be too busy just trying to survive."
"That's not a plan," Liam snapped. "That's a brawl. That's a massacre. Ours. Three of us against forty-five, in their own house? We're Wolves, not gods. They'll gun us down before we take two steps."
"I... I have a plan!" Noah said suddenly, his hand shooting up.
Eiden and Liam both turned, annoyed.
"What?" Liam sighed.
"Okay, so... we get a really big truck," Noah said, his eyes wide with excitement. "And we fill it with... badgers. Like, hundreds of angry badgers. And then Liam dresses up as a milkman... and I'll be... I'll be a nun! And we knock on the front door and say, 'Special delivery of... milk... and... prayer... badgers?' And when they open the door... psshhh! Badgers everywhere! They'll be so confused! And then Eiden can just walk in."
There was a long, dead silence. The wind howled. Eiden and Liam just stared at him. Noah's smile faltered. "Or... or maybe squirrels? Angry squirrels are... also very..." Eiden turned back to Liam, completely ignoring Noah. "Your plan is too slow…" "So, what's the plan, genius?" Liam growled. Eiden looked at the church. He saw the guards. He saw the main door. He saw the dark, unwatched walls. "We do what Noah said." Noah lits up his eyes with excitement. "Really?" Noah asks. Liam Confused." What do you mean?" Eiden looks at Liam and says, "We get a truck, a really big Truck."
Emily was back in the red silk room. The one she'd woken up in. The guard had cut the ropes from the dining chair, only to tie her again, this time to the heavy, carved bed frame.
She was a prisoner.
Her side throbbed, a dull, hot pain. The "perfect" bandage Rook had given her was a mockery. She strained against the silk ropes. They were too tight, cutting into her wrists, but she didn't stop. This was a cage. She just had to find the weak bar.
Think, Emily. Think.
The windows were high, maybe twenty feet. No escape there.
The door was heavy oak. Two guards outside. She'd heard them change shifts.
She was helpless.
She hated this feeling.
She thought of Rook's thin, goblin-like face. His reedy voice.
"I'll make you my wife."
A shiver of pure disgust ran through her.
She wished, more than anything in the world, that she had her guns. She would have killed that man right when he opened his filthy mouth. She would have shot him in his smiling, golden-ringed face.
But his words... they echoed in her mind.
"Your father and I... we had a deal. I provided him with money... he would provide me with an army."
It was a lie. It had to be. Her father was a businessman. A recluse. Not... not a warlord.
But... a fortress for a school? An army of his own men? A seed of doubt, cold and terrifying, began to sprout in her mind. Was it possible he wasn't lying? Was there really some... treasure?
No. Stop it. Get your head in the game, Emily.
She had to escape.
Where was her father? He had to know by now. He would be coming. He would bring his army. He would tear this place to the ground.
She waited. She listened to the guards' footsteps in the hall.
And then, a new, unwelcome thought.
Eiden.
Was he... okay?
She hated herself for thinking it. He was a spy. A liar. He had used her.
But he was also the boy who had faced down a monster in Bletchworth. The one who had saved her in the alley. The one whose hand had been sizzling on that shotgun barrel. Was he alive? Was he hurt? Or had he just... left? Gone back to his home? She didn't know which thought was worse.
In a dark room, deep in the church's tower, Silas Rook stared into a fireplace.
He was not alone. The fist-faced guard, his captain, stood at attention.
"Sir," the captain said, his voice a low grunt. "The perimeter is set. The girl is secure. But... I must ask. Why... marry her? You wanted her dead just a few days ago. Why the change?"
Rook turned, a slow, reptilian movement. He smiled.
"That," he said, his reedy voice calm, "was before I saw her. Before I saw... what she is."
"She's a girl, boss."
"She's a key, Captain," Rook whispered, his eyes gleaming. "She is the key to my dreams." The captain looked confused. Rook laughed, a high, cold, greedy sound. "You have no idea what I can do if I can control her. My dream... my real dream... it might finally come true."
He cackled, a dry, horrible sound. "My own army... with a Cronus at the head of it!"
The truck, a massive, stolen 3-ton military transport, hit the church's iron gates at forty miles per hour.
It wasn't filled with badgers. It was filled with two Wolves.
The sound was a catastrophic explosion of metal and stone. The ancient gates ripped from their hinges. The truck, its front end caved in, steamed and died in the middle of the courtyard, right in front of the main doors.
For a single, shocked second, there was silence.
Then, all forty-five guards were on alert.
"CONTACT! FRONT GATE!" a man screamed from the roof.
The truck's doors burst open.
Liam and Noah stepped out, suits and all.
"Well," Noah said, cracking his knuckles and grinning. "That was loud."
"Showtime," Liam growled.
The fifteen guards on the perimeter opened fire. The air was ripped apart by the sound of rifles and pistols.
"BADGERS!" Noah roared, and he charged.
He wasn't a man. He was a bull. He moved with a speed that defied his size. The guards' bullets seemed to miss him, or he was just too fast. He grabbed the first guard and, using him as a shield, charged the next two, his fists like small cannons.
Liam was the opposite. He was a dancer. He moved with his axe, a blur of black steel in the dim light. He wasn't just killing. He was dismembering. Every swing was a final, terrible blow. He was a whirlwind of precise, beautiful violence.
The chaos was absolute.
At the exact moment the truck hit the gates, Eiden was already moving.
He had scaled the back wall, his bandaged hand a screaming agony he simply ignored. He was at the high, stained-glass window of the main hall.
He didn't pick the lock. He didn't break the glass.
He used Charlotte's knife and, with the precision of a surgeon, cut the lead lining around a single, large pane.
He pushed it. The glass fell inward, landing on a thick carpet below with a soft thud.
He slipped inside, a ghost.
The chaos from the front was deafening. Shouts. Gunfire. Screams.
He saw it all. The main hall was a warzone. Guards from the upper floors were pouring down the grand staircase, their guns aimed at the front door, at the two Wolves who were holding an impossible line.
His plan had worked. Every eye was on them.
No one saw him.
He started moving along the high-rafter walkways, a shadow above the battle, his eyes scanning for Emily.
Down below, the fight was turning.
"Reloading!" Liam yelled, ducking behind the dead truck as bullets sparked off the metal.
"I've got you!" Noah yelled. He grabbed a stone bench and threw it at a machine gun nest that was setting up.
A sniper on the roof, seeing Noah's impossible strength, took aim.
CRACK.
Noah stopped. He looked down. A red, wet circle was spreading on his suit jacket, right over his stomach.
"Oh," Noah said, his voice confused. "That's... not good."
He fell to his knees.
"NOAH!" Liam roared, his rage breaking his focus. He saw the sniper. He saw his friend.
He ran to Noah, dragging him behind the truck.
"You're okay," Liam said, his voice shaking. "You're fine. It's just... it's just a..."
"It hurts, Liam," Noah whispered, his face pale.
Liam was trapped. He could hear more guards coming. He had to choose.
"Eiden..." Liam whispered, his voice a prayer. "Where are you..."
Eiden saw it all from the rafters. He saw Noah fall. He saw Liam trapped. He dropped. He fell twenty feet, landing like a cat on the top of the grand staircase, right behind the five guards who were about to execute Liam. They didn't even have time to turn. Eiden, with his bare, bandaged hands broke a few necks. He crushed a windpipe. He disarmed one man and used his own pistol to shoot the other two. It took four seconds. Liam, below, saw the bodies fall. He saw Eiden at the top of the stairs, a phantom in a white shirt. "GO!" Eiden roared over the gunfire. "GET HIM OUT! NOW!" Liam was hesitant. "Eiden, I can't leave you!" "HE'S DYING!" Eiden screamed. "GO! I'LL HANDLE THIS!" Liam looked at Noah, who was pale and shivering. He made the choice. He ripped the axe from his belt. "EIDEN! CATCH!" He threw it. The heavy, balanced axe spun end-over-end, a silver blur. Eiden caught it by the haft, his good hand fitting perfectly into the worn leather grip. "Go," Eiden said, his voice calm again. Liam nodded. He scooped Noah into his arms and ran, disappearing into the dark, foggy night.
"The girl! The boss wants the girl!"
A guard's voice.
In her room, Emily heard it. The door was unlocked. A guard burst in. "Come on, lady. You're..."
Emily was already moving. She had been working on the ropes. They were loose.
She hit the guard, a full-force palm-strike to the nose. He howled, staggering back.
She didn't wait. She ran. She ran out of the room, into the main hall.
She saw a war. Bodies. Smoke. Gunfire.
And in the middle of it all, a god.
Eiden.
He was standing on the grand staircase, his white shirt now stained red, Liam's axe in his hand. He was surrounded by a dozen guards.
He wasn't fighting. He was ending them.
He was a blur of motion. The axe was not a chopping tool. It was a part of him. It was a "River" of steel. He spun, he ducked, he moved with a speed that was impossible. He was cutting them down, one by one.
"EIDEN!" she screamed.
He heard her.
He turned, his eyes finding hers across the chaos. In that second, he saw her.
In that second, a guard who had been playing dead rose up behind Emily.
He swung the butt of his rifle, hard, against the back of her head.
Emily's eyes went wide. She crumpled to the ground.
Eiden saw it.
And the "Devil" broke.
His rage, his bloodlust... it was no longer cold. It was a white-hot, silent scream. He stopped fighting. The guards, seeing him pause, moved in. Eiden gripped the handle of the axe in his mouth, the weapon held in his teeth, a demonic, wolflike image.. The guards... slowed. What was he doing? He slowly, deliberately, began to roll up the sleeve on his left arm. Then, he rolled up his right sleeve, over the bloody bandage. He was like a demon in a formal, white shirt, his eyes flat, dead black holes. He took the axe from his mouth. And he vanished. He tore through the remaining guards. It wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter. Blood sprayed the walls. His white shirt was now a canvas of red. He didn't stop. He didn't pause. He moved through the bodies, his eyes locked on one man. The man who had hit Emily. The guard was trying to crawl away. Eiden stepped on his back. "No... please..." the man whimpered. Eiden raised the axe high above his head. He looked scary. He looked like... A terrifying god of war. He brought the axe down.
"Sir! He's... he's... through them! He's coming!"
Silas Rook dropped his glass of brandy. "What?! How?! There were forty men!"
"They're... gone, sir. He's... he's not human."
Rook's goblin-face went pale. "Get the girl. Get the girl! We're leaving! NOW!"
He ran from his office, down the hall, to where Emily lay. He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her unconscious body. "Get... up... you... bitch..."
Eiden walked into the room. He was covered in blood, breathing hard, the axe dripping.
He saw Rook. He saw him touching her.
"How dare you..." Eiden whispered, his voice a death-rattle. "...touch her?"
He killed the last two guards in the room, his movements a blur of red.
He stood, the last man, facing the goblin-king.
Rook fell to his knees. "Please... money! I'll give you money! Anything! Don't kill me! Please!"
CRACK!
A gunshot.
Eiden froze. Pain, sharp and electric, exploded in his back.
He looked down. A small, dark hole had appeared in his white, bloody shirt.
He turned, his movements slow, pained.
A lone guard was standing in the doorway. The last man. His hands were shaking.
CRACK! Emily, on the floor, was awake. She saw Eiden had been shot. She saw a gun on the floor that fell from a guards hand. She over and picked up the gun and CRACK! The guard in the doorway looked at the new hole in his forehead, then fell like a sack. "Eiden!" Emily screamed, crawling to him. Eiden fell to his knees. The axe clattered to the floor. He saw Rook, in the chaos, scramble out a side door. He didn't care. He looked at Emily. "You... shot him..." "He shot you!" she cried, her hands pressing against his back, trying to stop the bleeding.
Eiden just looked at her, his vision blurring. He smiled.
"Knew you had... a good aim..."
And he collapsed.
A black, armor-plated Bentley rolled to a silent stop in front of the St. Swithin's main hall. The rain and sleet had passed, leaving the night cold and clear.
Maverick was waiting on the steps, his uniform still damp.
The back door opened. Akuma Cronus stepped out. He was not dressed for travel. He was dressed, as always, in a perfect, three-piece suit. He looked like he had just stepped out of a boardroom, not a high-speed convoy.
"Father," Maverick said, his voice tight. "We have a potential location. The dummy corporation for the ambulance. It's an abandoned church on the south side."
Akuma's eyes, cold and dark, scanned the school. He saw the police cars, the broken gate.
"Before that," Akuma said, his voice a low, calm rumble. "Where is the boy? Eiden Killian."
"The hospital, sir," Maverick said. "He was... badly injured in the fight. They took him an hour ago."
For the first time that night, Akuma's shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. The "complication" was contained.
"Good," Akuma said. "He is neutralized. Now... my study."
Akuma's study at the school was not like his London office. It was a bunker. The walls were reinforced steel, hidden behind oak paneling.
When he entered, sixty men, all dressed in black, tactical gear, snapped to silent attention. This was not the police. This was Akuma's private army.
"My daughter has been taken by Silas Rook," Akuma said, his voice filling the room. "He is holding her at an abandoned church. I want a five-block perimeter. I want snipers on every roof. I want a full, silent assault. We go in hard. We retrieve my daughter. We leave no one alive."
The men nodded. "Sir!"
They began to move, unrolling maps, checking weapons. It was a professional, terrifying machine.
"Father," Maverick said, "The police..."
"The police are a... distraction," Akuma said. "They will do as they are told."
Just as Akuma was pointing to a tactical map, Maverick's phone rang.
"One moment, sir." He answered. "Maverick Cronus."
He listened. His face went pale.
"What?" he hissed. "Are you... are you sure?"
He looked at his father, his eyes wide with a new panic.
"Father... that was... that was the police. A man just reported a new shootout. A massive one. At the same abandoned church we just located."
Akuma's head snapped up.
"The officer in charge... he said... he said a girl matching Emily's description is there. And... she's with an injured boy."
Maverick was confused. "But... Eiden is in the hospital. He..."
BRRRRRING.
Akuma's private red phone, the one on his desk, the one that never rang, suddenly shrieked.
Every man in the room froze.
Akuma stared at the phone. He slowly... slowly... picked it up.
"This is Cronus."
A voice, high-pitched, reedy, and absolutely, animalistically terrified, screamed on the other end.
"AKUMA! YOU'RE A SCAM! A CHEAT! A LIAR!"
"Rook," Akuma said, his voice pure ice. "Give me my daughter. Now."
"YOUR DAUGHTER?! KEEP HER! I DON'T WANT HER! I'm leaving! I'm... I'm gone! Just... just keep it away from me! Keep that Wolf away from me!" Akuma's blood turned to ice. "I... I can't believe you did it," Rook was sobbing now. "You... you hired a Wolf! You broke the rules! You... you're insane! I don't need the money! I don't need anything! Just... just keep that thing... that devil... away from me!"
The line went dead.
Akuma's hand, the one holding the phone, was shaking.
He slowly, mechanically, placed the receiver back in its cradle.
He didn't sit. He collapsed into his chair.
"Father?" Maverick said, his voice small. "Father, what is it?"
Akuma just stared at his desk. "So... my intuition... it was right. It was... them."
"Who, Father?! Who was that? What did he mean, 'Wolf'?"
Akuma looked up at his son, and for the first time in his life, Maverick saw something in his father's eyes he had never seen before.
Pure, abject terror.
"Maverick," Akuma whispered, his voice hoarse. "Do you know... do you have any idea... why I trained you? Why I trained Emily with guns, with knives, with combat? Why this... this fortress of a school? Why I have... an army?" He waved his hand at the armed soldiers in his room. "For the Syndicate, Father," Maverick said. "To protect us." "No," Akuma said, his voice a broken whisper. "The Syndicate are just... greedy children. Jackals. This... this is for the real predators."
"Who?!" Maverick demanded.
Akuma leaned forward, his face a pale, sweating mask.
"The Wolves."
Maverick was confused. Akuma hissed, his calm finally breaking, his voice rising to a strained shout. "They are killing machines! They are not human, Maverick! No army in the world, not the Germans, not the British, not mine, has ever fought the Wolves and lived to tell the tale! They are ghosts! They are shadows! They are unstoppable!" He looked at his son, his eyes wide with a terrible, new understanding. "And if that boy... Eiden Killian... is one of them... " Akuma's voice dropped. "Could it be, he is here for her?" "Who, father?" Maverick asks. "Evergreen."