Page 77 of Vampire Soldier

I reach forward, pull a fresh map toward me, and flatten it over the edge of the table. My fingers draw a quick circle around the four major outer districts, a spiderweb of alley-coded thoroughfares. “If he’s holed up and knows he’s being hunted, he’ll try to mask. Derelict areas. Neighborhoods that aren’t for territorial shifters. Somewhere we don’t own. Yet.”

Eloise leans forward. “Garner used some of those zones when he moved modified Rapture,” she mutters, her voice dry with memory. “They were outside our regulation zones—barely patrolled, let alone enforced by any Pack or Nightshade loyalists. Half of them are condemned, the rest unofficial gray zones.”

Lan’s typing slows. “The shipping docks Garner moved the rapture at. Ambrose, that project a few years back, the smuggling route through Low Hold and the old textile sector. We never had the new cameras installed.”

Ambrose gives a slow nod. “They’re quiet since they’re being demolished. No patrols right now, but they still fall under our jurisdiction.”

“Which makes them ideal for hiding a child,” Kasar says grimly. “Low visibility, low foot traffic. Enough structural wreckage to lose a team in for hours if we don’t know the layout.”

I nod, bile hot in my throat. “Then we start in the outer ring south of the bridge above the docks. Dredge every possible blind spot. Pull satellite from the fucking government if we need to.”

“Already done,” Lan murmurs. His voice is all frost and calculation now, the blade finally still between his fingers. He looks at me under his lashes. “Facial recognition just got a ping near the area. A man matching Kit’s build but Sam’s appearance near the old Sandmoor textile warehouse about an hour ago. No sign of Charlie with him. But there’s enough movement around the warehouse to suggest something’s being protected inside.”

Eloise’s eyes narrow, her grip tightening until the tablet casing creaks, no doubt recalling the firefight she was in the middle of a couple of years ago. A stillness settles over the room, sharp and expectant. Around the table, the Nightshades exchange glances—eyes hard, movements stilled. They’re just waiting for permission to lash out.

I set my palms flat on the table, pressing down as if I can absorb all the information into my very bones.

“All right,” I say. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

It’s not a request. It’s not an opening for suggestions.

I am General of the Nightshades.

I was forged in Ambrose’s flames and have slaughtered monsters wearing men’s faces. I can scent a drop of blood buried in the chaos of a cityscape and kill without raising a whisper. But this is not a war plan against an enemy faction. This is for my mate’s daughter.

My own daughter, in all the ways that matter.

“All right,” I say again, low but sharp enough that the room tightens around it. Mood shifts. This isn’t an inner circle now—it’s an army waiting for orders.

“Lan,” I say, fixing my gaze on the vampire lounging like death given a pulse. “You’ve got the last known movement. I want real-time surveillance on that location and surrounding sectors—every building within a two-block radius.”

Lan’s mouth curls—not quite a smile. “Do you want drones?”

I nod once. “If you can get them there fast enough.”

He starts typing instantly, posture not his usual lazy stretch of boredom, but tight and efficient.

“Ashe,” I continue. “I want every Nightshade street soldier pulled from non-essential posts and deployed. We clear this quadrant first, sweep clockwise. No rest until every fucking inch of this town is searched.”

Ashe nods once, already activating the Nightshade comms on his screen. “I’ll set up six-man rotations. Two teams at a distance if Kit doubles back or we lose his trail again.”

Kasar doesn’t speak, as I turn to him last. His stillness is crafted from centuries of contained murder; silent, patient, horrifying in its purity. He gives me one look, and I don’t need to say the words. Not really.

“Take flank.” I nod toward Lan’s updated map, now projected across the far blank wall like a vein-spread wound beneath track lines and warehouse overlays. “If he tries to bolt before we move in, you snap his fucking spine.”

Kasar dips his head once, low and deliberate. “With pleasure.”

“We’ll go dark on comms the moment we’re inside,” I continue. “He’s likely got more magic. We’ve already underestimated him once. No mistakes this time. We strike hard. We strike fast. We get Charlie back.”

“Do you want prisoners?” Kasar asks.

“If they talk, let them breathe,” I say, my voice like grinding steel. “If they don’t, make a fucking example.”

Ambrose steps forward with all the power of a sovereign, and when he looks at me, there’s something older than edicts in his eyes.

“They’re yours, Malachi,” he says. “All of them. You carve the path. We’ll follow.”

A quiet sweep of assent moves through the room like steel whispered against silk.

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