D. Reynolds: Aden

“Any news?” Aden asked Sebastien.

“The usual rumblings, Sire. Lots of gossip floating around about Magda and how she died, even though no one seems to have considered her a serious contender. My favorite rumor is that Lucas took her out to advance your cause.”

“As if she was in my way.”

“Exactly. I estimate half of those spreading that particular fantasy will be gone by morning.”

“By choice?”

“Some. But others will suffer a more permanent departure. The weaker challengers are trying to boost their confidence by killing each other off.”

“Fascinating. Anyone I need to worry about?”

“Not at that level. One moment, Sire.” Bastien strode ahead of him and pushed open the heavy door leading to the loading docks, where their limo should be waiting.

Some of the other contenders went for glitz, arriving and departing under the porte-cochère of the hotel like some sort of rock star. Word had gotten out—or more likely some fool had intentionally pushed it out—that there was a big vampire gathering at the hotel, and there were actual paparazzi waiting out front. Aden shook his head. The last thing he wanted was his picture splashed across a gossip magazine.

“We’re ready, Sire,” Bastien said and held the door open.

Aden proceeded through to the loading dock without pause, welcoming the blast of cold air after the stuffy heat of the hotel corridors. The dock was empty this time of night, or rather morning. It was nearly 3:00 A.M., midday for vampires, but dead of the night for most humans. In a couple of hours the dock would be bustling, but for now it was quiet and, more importantly, private.

One of Aden’s other children, Freddy, was driving the limo tonight. He’d just stepped out of the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door when two SUVs came roaring around the corner.

“Sire?” Bastien said, his voice urgent, but controlled as the SUVs moved to box them in.

“We fight,” Aden said calmly, already probing the arriving vampires, weighing their strength against his . . . and finding them sorely lacking. “There’s no one who can hurt us.”

Bastien flashed him a vicious grin, in part because he’d detected the disappointment in his Sire’s voice at what was bound to be an easy victory. But the other part of Bastien’s grin was because he was a bloody-minded warrior who loved a good fight. Or any fight, really.

Freddy reached into the limo and tossed Bastien a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun with one hand, even as he came up shooting with the other, his MP5 spitting death and destruction before the attacking vampires had managed to do more than raise their weapons. He rolled over the hood of the limo to reach Aden’s side, taking up a position in front of his Sire as he urged him into the protection of the limo’s armored body.

“I can’t believe they’re going with guns, my lord,” Freddy called, his joyous laugh piercing the gunfire, sounding like the cackle of a madman. Aden had a moment to ponder the fact that his two closest advisors were both what would have been called berserkers in the old country, but then the guns went silent, and the SUV’s door opened to reveal a familiar figure.

“Stig Lakanen,” Aden said, identifying the most powerful of this current batch of foes, although that wasn’t saying much. Stig’s presence explained the choice of weapons. Most vampires avoided using guns. They were noisy and drew the attention of human authorities. Of course, Stig’s presence also explained the sudden lack of gunfire. He wouldn’t want to risk getting killed by a stray bullet from one of his own. He’d probably hoped to catch Aden unawares by coming in guns blazing, hoped to weaken Aden by killing off his children with a surprise first strike.

Too bad that hadn’t worked out for him.

“This won’t take long,” Aden told his vampires, never taking his eyes off of Stig. “Deal with these others however you please, but make it quick. I have more important things to do tonight.”

Dual grins greeted his decision as Freddy and Bastien engaged their enemy with cheerful zeal, wading in with knives and fists, blood flying. Aden ignored their battle, confident in the abilities of his people to get the job done. He focused instead on the leader of this poorly-conceived ambush who was hiding back by one of the SUVs, looking more worried by the minute. Stig Lakanen was one of Lucas’s children. His usual haunt was Minneapolis where he was a rank and file warrior at best. He had no chance in hell against Aden in a stand-up fight, and his wary stance indicated he knew it. Unfortunately, once a challenge was issued, there was no taking it back.

Aden strode over to confront the challenger, more interested in getting this done than wasting time on posturing bullshit. The two of them faced off, both seeming oblivious to the bloodshed behind them.

“What the hell, Stig?” Aden asked, eyeing the vampire’s long, greasy hair. “Couldn’t even shower for the big gala?”

“Fuck you,” the blond vampire snarled. “Put up or shut up.”

“Are you so eager to die?”

“Fuck you twice.”

“You’re really not my type, and I have places to be.” Aden attacked without warning, using a slap of power to pin Stig to the SUV, letting a bare smile of satisfaction tilt his lips when Stig’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I don’t know who put you up to this, Stiggy,” he said, using a nickname the other vampire hated. “But I’ll find out. Tell me who it was, and I’ll make this easy.”

“Fu—”

Aden hit him with a second punch of power, slamming it into his chest with enough force to crush his ribcage. Stig gasped as he strained to draw breath with lungs that no longer worked. Aden could feel him struggling to gather his power, to fight back.

“One more chance, Stig. Save me some time, tell me who put you up to this, and I’ll make it easy.”

Stig’s eyes were wide with disbelief, bloody with broken capillaries as he slowly suffocated. He stared at Aden, and Aden saw the first signs of pleading enter his expression. But Aden had no pity. Stig had known what the game was before he joined it. Or, he should have.

“The name, Stig.”

The other vampire’s mouth opened, his lips moving as they tried to form a word. Talking was difficult with no breath to drawn upon, but his teeth finally clenched around a hiss of air that was a name. “Silas.”

Aden nodded, unsurprised. Stig clamped his fist around Aden’s cuff in a last bid for mercy, but Aden had none to give. He’d promised to make it easy. He would do that much, but no more. Extending his right hand, he slammed his fist directly into Stig’s chest and grasped his heart. The organ thumped once against his palm, and Aden smiled absently at the sensation before closing his fist and squeezing until muscle and blood slithered between his fingers.

Stig’s final cry sang in his ears as he focused his power once more, and the heart burst into flame, becoming nothing more than ash snowing down to join the pile of clothes and dust that had been Stig Lakanen.

Aden brushed his hands together and shook his head in disgust. What a waste. Stig hadn’t been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’d been a perfectly fine warrior. Silas had wound him up and set him on Aden’s trail knowing full well Stig would die. Maybe hoping to at least do some damage. But had Silas really thought Stig Lakanen could weaken Aden in any meaningful way?

“Sire?”

He turned at the sound of Bastien’s voice, becoming aware of the silence all around him. Lifting his gaze, he quickly located Freddy who gave him a jaunty salute despite the copious amount of blood staining his tux.

“Freddy?” Aden said, eyeing the blood.

“Most of it belonged to your enemies, Sire. I’ll be healed by the time we reach the office.”