Chapter 9

Maya's POV

I launched after him before conscious thought caught up with instinct. My boots found purchase on the blood-slicked marble. Raven surged forward in my mind—not fighting me this time, but with me, lending me her speed and strength and savage focus.

Victor was fast. Inhumanly fast. But I'd been studying him for two weeks. Knew his patterns. Knew he favored his left side when wounded. Knew the liquid silver burning through his system would slow him down.

And this time—this time I had backup. The exits were sealed. The building was surrounded. He had nowhere to go.

I've got you, I thought. Finally. I've got you.

He vaulted over a table. I followed, clearing it in a single bound that sent china and crystal crashing to the floor. Guests screamed and scattered. A few tried to run for the exits, trampling each other in blind panic.

I didn't care. Didn't even register them as human.

Just obstacles between me and my prey.

Victor glanced back. Those crimson eyes met mine. And he smiled—that same infuriating, delighted expression that made me want to put a bullet through his skull.

Then he reached out. Grabbed a middle-aged man in an expensive tuxedo. And threw him at me.

The man screamed. Flailed. Hurtled through the air like a ragdoll.

I caught him on instinct. Twisted to absorb the impact. Felt his weight slam into my chest as I tried to set him down gently—

His head lolled at an unnatural angle. Neck broken. Eyes already glazing over.

Dead before Victor even threw him.

Fuck.

I dropped the corpse. Kept running.

Victor grabbed another human. A woman this time. Young. Blonde. Wearing a silver gown that matched the one his dance partner had worn.

He snapped her spine with a casual twist and hurled her backward.

I dodged. She hit the floor behind me with a wet crunch.

"Stop!" someone screamed. "Oh God, somebody stop him!"

I raised my pistol. Sighted on Victor's back.

He grabbed a third victim. Held the struggling man in front of him like a shield.

"Come now," he called over his shoulder. Still running. Still laughing. "Surely you're not going to shoot through an innocent civilian?"

The man sobbed. Clawed at Victor's arm. "Please—please don't—"

Victor broke his neck.

Threw him.

I fired.

The bullet punched through the corpse's chest. Through dead flesh and shattered ribs. Caught Victor in the shoulder blade.

He stumbled. Went down on one knee.

The body hit the floor and slid, leaving a smear of blood across pristine marble.

I didn't stop. Didn't slow. Just reloaded and fired again.

This time Victor rolled. The bullet sparked off the floor where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier.

He was back on his feet. Running again. Bleeding from two wounds now—the knife strike in his ribs, the gunshot in his shoulder.

But still moving. Still impossibly, inhumanly fast.

Not fast enough.

I put on a burst of speed. Felt Raven's power flooding my muscles. Felt the world sharpen into perfect clarity—every scent, every sound, every minute detail crystallizing with predatory precision.

Victor crashed through the ballroom's main doors. I followed three seconds behind.

The hotel corridor beyond was chaos. Civilians fleeing in every direction. Security guards shouting into radios. Someone pulled a fire alarm—piercing shrieks that made my ears ring.

Victor didn't slow. He sprinted down the hallway, trailing blood, leaving a path of destruction in his wake.

I matched him stride for stride.

He kicked open an emergency exit. I fired. Missed. The bullet buried itself in the doorframe.

We burst into a stairwell. Concrete and metal and echoing footsteps. Victor went up—taking the stairs three at a time, moving with liquid grace despite his injuries.

I followed. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But I didn't slow.

Couldn't slow.

Not when I was this close.

MATE! Raven howled. MATE MATE MATE!

I know! I snarled back. Shut up and help me catch him!

She poured more power into my limbs. I took the next flight in four bounds. Closed the distance.

Victor glanced back. Saw me gaining. His smile turned sharp.

He grabbed the stairwell railing. Vaulted over it.

Dropped three stories.

I heard him land. Heard the impact of boots on concrete.

Then he was running again.

"Goddammit!" I leaned over the railing. Saw him sprinting down the corridor below. Raised my pistol—

"Maya!"

Logan's voice. Behind me. Footsteps pounding up the stairs.

I didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge him. Just vaulted over the railing myself.

Fell.

Hit the ground in a crouch that cracked the concrete. My knees absorbed the impact. My spine compressed. Pain lanced through my legs.

I ignored it. Pushed to my feet. Kept running.

Victor was twenty yards ahead now. He shoulder-checked a door—some kind of service entrance—and disappeared into darkness beyond.

I followed.

Found myself in a loading dock. Empty at this hour. Just concrete and metal and the smell of garbage from the dumpsters lined against one wall.

Victor stood in the center of the space. Breathing hard. Blood soaking through his shirt. One hand pressed to his ribs where my knife had gone in.

He was cornered. Wounded. Outmatched.

And he was still smiling.

"You're persistent," he said. "I like that."

I raised my pistol. Sighted on his heart. "On your knees. Hands behind your head."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" He tilted his head. "You've been shooting me all night, darling. Hasn't worked yet."

"Silver rounds." I kept the gun steady. "Liquid silver injection system. One more shot and you're done. So get on your fucking knees."

"Make me."

He moved.

I fired.

He was already gone—blurring to the side with that impossible speed. My bullet sparked off the concrete wall.

Then he was on me.

We went down hard. Rolled across the filthy floor. He tried to get his hands around my throat again. I drove my elbow into his ribs—right where the knife wound was.

He hissed. Loosened his grip.

I twisted. Got my legs around his waist. Flipped us.

Now I was on top. Knife in hand. Pressed against his throat.

"Last chance," I panted. "Surrender or die."