Catherine's parlor smelled of old books and older blood.
"An interesting request," she said, swirling wine that had been bottled before the Civil War. "You come to me asking about powerful vampires who might be... problematic."
"I'm asking about opportunities." I accepted the glass she offered—refusing hospitality would have been an insult. "Your organization controls significant territory, but you've mentioned rivals. Entities who challenge your authority without the strength to truly contest it."
"And you want to hunt them for me?" Her smile carried edges. "How generous."
"For us both."
I'd spent three days since the System conflict reviewing potential targets. Victor Ashworth in Spokane had seemed promising until deeper analysis revealed complications—his territory bordered too many established powers, and eliminating him would trigger political consequences I wasn't ready to manage.
But Catherine had enemies closer to home. Enemies whose removal would strengthen our alliance while satisfying the System's demands.
[OBJECTIVE STATUS: ALPHA ACQUISITION] [TIMELINE: 27 DAYS REMAINING] [CURRENT APPROACH: ALLIANCE-ALIGNED TARGET SELECTION]
"There is someone," Catherine said finally. She set down her wine and moved to an antique desk, withdrawing a folder that looked older than most of my coalition members. "Malcolm."
"Malcolm?"
"Malcolm Thorne. Four hundred years old. European blood—came over during the colonial period, never adapted to American sensibilities." She handed me the folder. "He controls a nest in Wyoming. Small but violent. Refuses to acknowledge my authority in the region."
I opened the folder. The photograph was old—daguerreotype quality, showing a severe-faced man with the stillness that marked ancient vampires. Notes in Catherine's elegant script detailed his habits, his nest composition, his known abilities.
"Why haven't you dealt with him yourself?"
"Because eliminating him directly would trigger responses from other independents. They'd see it as aggression rather than justice." Catherine returned to her wine. "But if some other power removed him... well. That would simply be unfortunate circumstance."
The logic was elegant. Malcolm's death by my hand would serve Catherine's political interests without her bearing the consequences. And I'd gain an Alpha-level target whose elimination strengthened rather than complicated my position.
"What makes him Alpha-class?"
"Age. Power accumulation. Four centuries of survival creates capabilities that younger vampires simply don't possess." She studied me over the rim of her glass. "He's nearly my equal in raw strength. Not quite, but close enough that direct confrontation would be costly."
"And you think I can take him?"
"I think you killed Cormac." The name landed between us—a reminder that Catherine had done her research, knew exactly what I was capable of. "A three-hundred-year-old Skinwalker Alpha with territory advantages. Malcolm is older but has grown complacent. He hasn't faced a real threat in decades."
The System processed the information, calculating probabilities I could feel humming at the edge of my consciousness.
[TARGET ASSESSMENT: MALCOLM THORNE] [AGE: ~400 YEARS] [POWER CLASSIFICATION: NEAR-ALPHA] [ABSORPTION PROBABILITY: 67% (CONDITIONAL ON TACTICAL APPROACH)] [RECOMMENDATION: VIABLE TARGET]
"What do you want in exchange for the intel?"
"A favor." Catherine's smile returned—sharper now, more predatory. "Undefined. To be called at my discretion."
Dangerous terms. An undefined favor to a vampire who'd been negotiating for centuries meant signing a blank check with unknown limits. She could ask for almost anything, and refusing would damage the alliance I'd worked to build.
But the System needed an Alpha. The deadline was ticking. And Malcolm was the cleanest option available.
"Define the boundaries," I said. "I won't act against coalition interests. I won't provide resources that compromise our security. Beyond that..."
"Beyond that, you trust me." She extended her hand—a human gesture that carried weight between monsters. "Do we have a deal?"
I remembered the first time I'd met Catherine. The church. The hunters. The moment when our alliance had shifted from calculation to something approaching genuine partnership. She'd tested me then and I'd passed. This was another test—whether I trusted her enough to accept ambiguous terms.
The wine was excellent—pre-1800, the kind of vintage that appreciated while civilizations rose and fell. I drank, letting the taste settle, buying time my hesitation had already consumed.
"Deal," I said.
Catherine's handshake was cold, her grip precisely calibrated to convey strength without threat. "I'll have the full dossier delivered within the week. Malcolm's location, routines, nest composition, known weaknesses."
"Weaknesses?"
"Every vampire has them. Malcolm's... well. You'll see." She released my hand and settled back into her chair with the satisfied grace of a predator who'd just secured a meal. "You're getting better at this game, Monster King."
"I learned from the best predators."
She laughed—a genuine sound, or close enough that I couldn't detect the difference. In that moment, sharing wine in her antique parlor, we were almost friends. Almost.
But almost was the operative word. Catherine was a vampire. I was a Skinwalker building a coalition that might someday compete with her power. Our alliance was real, but it was also temporary—a marriage of convenience that would last exactly as long as our interests aligned.
I filed that awareness away and finished my wine.
The dossier arrived three days later, delivered by raven to the Haven's eastern entrance.
Ruth brought it to my quarters—thick folder, bound in leather, bearing Catherine's seal. Inside: detailed maps, surveillance photographs, guard rotation schedules, and the intelligence that made the mission viable.
Malcolm Thorne controlled a compound in rural Wyoming—former ranch property, converted to vampire purposes. Fifteen confirmed nest members, plus human servants who handled daylight operations. Well-defended, well-organized, the kind of target that direct assault would turn into a bloodbath.
But there was a weakness.
Malcolm fed alone.
Once per week, he left the compound to hunt at a roadside bar twenty miles from his territory. Old habit, Catherine's notes suggested—he'd established the pattern decades ago and never changed it. Vampires were creatures of routine. Four centuries taught you what worked and discouraged deviation.
That routine would kill him.
[ASSAULT PLAN: DEVELOPING] [OPTIMAL APPROACH: AMBUSH DURING ISOLATED FEEDING] [RESOURCES REQUIRED: DEAD MAN'S BLOOD, SILVER WEAPONS, RECONNAISSANCE] [TIMELINE: WITHIN 27 DAYS]
I spread the materials across my desk and began planning.
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