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From the second-floor railing, Victoria watched the tension grow like an uncontrollable fire.
Below, the neophytes gathered like a restless herd, exchanging looks heavy with suspicion.
Nate's scent unsettled them. He lacked the weathered density of an ancient vampire; he did not carry the echo of centuries like she did. No. He smelled fresh... too fresh. Even fresher than they did.
And yet...
His posture, the steady gaze, the dangerous calm with which he held the silence... conveyed something none of them could name.
A couple of neophytes began to bow slightly, as if a primitive instinct compelled them to recognize him as more than just an equal.
Victoria jumped down.
The impact was sharp, elegant, and threatening. She landed in front of them with feline precision, and those closest instinctively stepped back.
"Enough."
Her voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, silencing the collective murmur.
She advanced with slow, calculated steps, like a predator closing the distance on its prey.
"Don't forget who brought you into this world," she said, poisoning every word with malice. "I gave you strength, speed... the chance to stop being prey. And only I can teach you how to survive when those damned golden-eyed ones come to rip your heads off."
The group hesitated, caught between instinct and obedience.
Victoria fixed her gaze on Nate, raising an eyebrow with contempt.
"And you? A newborn... You think you can do better than me? What do you know about leadership, besides crawling around for a few hours like a puppy that still doesn't understand what it is?"
Nate didn't respond.
He didn't even blink.
He watched her calmly, and in that calm, he read something the others missed: she was pretending.
Pretending to have more confidence than she really had.
Her posture, the weight on her heels, the barely concealed tension in her shoulders... she was ready to flee as soon as she thought she'd lose the advantage.
In his mind, possibilities flashed in the blink of an eye.
Then, as if the idea had arrived on its own, he slowly moved a hand inside his jacket.
From there, he pulled out a small object, worn by years, its bluish gleam dimming under the low light.
A knife. Old, with a black handle, marked by prolonged use.
Victoria looked at it, first without understanding... then the memory hit her like lightning.
The ballet studio.
The echo of footsteps on the wood.
James, kneeling, the knife embedded in his forehead.
The short-haired vampire, firm and lethal, was standing beside him.
The human, curled in a corner, breathing as if every breath was the last.
The Cullen James wanted to provoke, holding his head... and ripping it off with one clean move.
And finally... A young man, sitting, chest heaving and hands trembling, but eyes fixed on the determination to kill.
She never knew their names.
But their faces, that scene... and that damned knife... had been burned into her memory like red-hot iron.
"It was you..."
Her voice broke, soaked in hatred.
Fury struck her like a lightning bolt. Her fingers curled into claws, and every muscle in her body tensed, ready to launch.
Nate narrowed his eyes. A brief surge of satisfaction ran through him, but his expression remained as unreadable as before.
Victoria raised her hand abruptly, finger pointing straight at Nate, and her voice cracked like a whip through the air.
"Grab him!"
The roar was laced with rage, but also an urgency she couldn't hide.
She wanted to be the one to tear his head off. To feel her hands tearing flesh and bone. To prove that fresh scent and that face that brought back unforgettable memories wouldn't survive her.
The neophytes faltered. Some took a couple of steps forward, urged by the order, but their movements were clumsy, tentative. Others—the same who minutes before had felt the strange urge to bow before Nate—stepped back, instinct warning them not to get too close.
The tension thickened like invisible smoke. On their faces, an internal war was visible: they knew the strength of their numbers could crush him... but they also knew that the first to approach could fall as easily as the neophyte Nate had killed a few minutes ago, without apparent effort.
Nate stood still. Watching patiently, as if he already knew how it would end.
No one wanted to be first. No one wanted to bet their life on that show of loyalty.
Victoria spun on her heels, looking at them one by one, and Nate didn't miss the flicker in her eyes. It was desperation. She hid it quickly, burying it under a wall of coldness, but he saw it.
"Don't you hear me?" she repeated, her voice losing its edge, becoming sharper, more biting.
The third shout came almost as a squeal, stripped of authority. "Grab him!"
This time, those who had stepped forward reacted as if pulled by an invisible rope. They lunged at Nate with violent momentum, breaking the air with the force of their leaps.
And at that moment, Nate's calm broke just enough to give way to something more lethal.
Several neophytes threw themselves at Nate at once, an uncontrolled tide of bodies and sharp fangs, ready to tear him apart without mercy. The air filled with the dull sound of hurried footsteps, sharp breaths, and fierce growls. Nate widened his eyes, locking a cold gaze on his attackers. A wild, primal spark ignited inside him, running through every muscle, tightening every fiber of his being. He lowered his center of gravity, planting his feet firmly against the rough concrete, feeling it vibrate under his weight. He waited. Calm. Certain.
The first to launch himself was the fastest, a swift shadow aiming to knock him down with a brutal charge. Nate caught his wrists with lethal precision mid-leap. Not only did he block, but he used that momentum to spin himself like an unstoppable whirlwind, turning the neophyte into a living battering ram. He smashed him forcefully into advancing companions. The crash was brutal: bodies collided, bones cracked, and several vampires flew across the dusty floor, thrown like rag dolls.
Without missing a beat, Nate lifted the neophyte still in his hands. With a sharp, brutal move, he slammed him onto the floor, making the old factory vibrate like a giant drum. The agonizing scream barely began to escape his throat when Nate, without a hint of mercy, planted his boot firmly on the head and, with a dry, precise tug, ripped off both arms. The scream tore through the silence, echoing between rusty walls and decayed beams. But Nate showed no emotion, seeming more like he was tearing dead branches off a dry tree.
The neophytes thrown violently to the ground scrambled up quickly, staggering and charging at him again with desperation and rage. Nate didn't hesitate. He leapt agilely to the metal railing where Victoria had been minutes before, feeling the metal vibrate beneath his feet. The roar of furious steps intensified behind him, closing in with deadly speed.
One of them, claws extended and fangs bared, jumped decisively to grab him and sink its claws into his face. But Nate, recalling Vladimir's precise and lethal moves, opened his palm like a cutting blade and delivered a brutal swipe to the attacker's neck. The cut was clean and sure: the vampire's head rolled down the metal corridor, hit the railing with a dry sound, and fell into the void with a macabre echo.
A flame of ferocity ignited in Nate's chest. Two more neophytes climbed the railing, one on each end, moving like furious lightning toward him. Nate turned his head, calculating in a fraction of a second who would arrive first.
The one on the left was faster. Without hesitation, Nate met him with a brutal kick to the chest, the impact sending him flying back with immense force, crashing through a dusty window. The glass shattered into a thousand crystalline fragments as the vampire's body disappeared outside with a sharp, resonant thud.
The second barely had time to open his mouth and scream when Nate, spinning fluidly on his axis, landed a punch on his face. The blow stopped his advance immediately, fracturing bones and cutting the air violently. Before he could react, Nate grabbed him by the neck with a powerful, firm hand. He jumped off the railing with his body dangling, and mid-fall, with a quick twist and a dry crack that chilled the blood, ripped off the head with a brutal tug.
The lifeless body hit the concrete floor with a dull sound, while Nate landed crouched, the enemy's head still firmly in his hand, like a dark trophy.
With a careless motion, he threw the head toward Victoria. The lifeless body hit the ground with a dry sound, the head rolling to stop right in front of her. The open, empty eyes seemed to follow her, accusatory in their deadly silence. Victoria remained completely still, paralyzed by a terror that gripped her, as if an invisible ice froze her muscles and robbed her of the will to move or even breathe.
A roar of rage broke the grave silence. Two neophytes, unable to contain their fury and desperation, launched themselves at Nate like a maddened pack, their bodies tense and fangs gleaming with violent thirst.
Then, Nate growled. A deep, guttural sound that seemed to emerge from the very abyss of his soul, so charged with menace that the very air seemed to thicken around him. His lips slowly curled back, revealing his fangs, and his eyes flared with an incandescent red, more intense than fire, burning just by looking at them.
He didn't take a step back. Firm, immovable, like a predator who knows no force in that place can overcome him.
The neophytes arrived instantly, a whirlwind of blows, scratches, and bites launched in desperation. But Nate was a living steel wall. He moved his torso and head with surgical precision, dodging attacks by millimeters, responding with hands that fell like war hammers. Each of his blows echoed with the crunch of flesh giving way, ribs fracturing, and bones cracking. Meanwhile, enemy attacks barely brushed his clothes, like insignificant breezes.
A fierce roar echoed through the rusty walls as Nate thrust his hand forward, turning it into a deadly spear that pierced a neophyte's chest. The vampire gasped, looking down at the arm now impaling his torso. Without taking his eyes off his victim, Nate plunged his other hand into the body and, with a grunt filled with brutal force, pulled his arms apart, splitting the body in two with a dry, grotesque sound. The pieces fell to the floor, scattering dust and debris.
The second neophyte was paralyzed, unable to even blink. The silence that followed was so thick that the faint creaking of the old wood beneath Nate's feet could be heard.
Then, like an unstoppable wave, several vampires began to bow their heads. First one, then another, until they became a kneeling crowd, arms limp and foreheads nearly touching the floor. An act of absolute, desperate submission.
The paralyzed neophyte couldn't take the pressure anymore and ran off, jumping through the broken window where Nate had thrown another enemy seconds before.
"Come back!" Victoria shouted, her voice trembling between desperation and helplessness.
But the attempt was fleeting. It wasn't long before a head crashed through the broken window and rolled slowly across the dusty floor. It was hers.
Seconds later, another head flew through the same opening and landed at the feet of a small neophyte, no older than sixteen, with messy black hair and big, terrified eyes. The girl looked down, recognizing without hesitation the severed face of the vampire Nate had thrown during the fight, who hadn't returned, now resting at her feet, still marked by panic. She looked up at Nate, and absolute fear ran through her from head to toe.
Without hesitation, she knelt.
Nate scanned those already on the ground, trembling and too weak to meet his gaze. Then he slowly turned toward Victoria, who watched him with a paralyzing mixture of despair, contained fury, and helplessness, seeing how her army, her control, crumbled before the monster she had unknowingly helped create.