Chapter 491: As Siblings
This was the first time Arzhen Vasiliev attended court proceedings personally.
The hearing that day had been unremarkable by the standards of the case. Another round of preliminary motions, another exchange of arguments about discovery scope and expert witness qualifications and the precise definition of "public safety technology" under the Hunter Protection Act.
Judge Venn had presided, overruling three of Arzhen’s side’s objections in the span of ten minutes and issuing a stern warning about dilatory tactics that had made his legal team shift uncomfortably in their seats.
The gallery had been half-empty. The stenographer had typed steadily through it all, her expression blank, her fingers flying across the keys.
But Arzhen had been there. He had sat at the defendant’s table with his hands folded on the polished wood, his tiger ears still, his golden eyes fixed on some middle distance that was neither the judge nor the lawyers.
He had spoken only twice, once to confer with his lead counsel, once to answer a direct question from the bench. His voice had been calm, controlled. Either completely confident in his position or completely indifferent to the outcome.
Now he walked out of the courthouse and into the bright summer afternoon light, and the world erupted around him.
The cameras came first. They always came first. A wall of photographers pressed against the barriers erected by courthouse security, their shutters clicking in rapid, overlapping bursts that sounded like insects swarming.
Reporters shouted questions that blurred together into an incomprehensible roar—"Mr. Vasiliev, do you intend to settle?" "Mr. Vasiliev, what is your response to the allegations of—"
Bodyguards in dark suits formed a moving perimeter around him, their faces blank and professional, their bodies absorbing the crush of the crowd like a human seawall. Staff members flanked them, carrying briefcases and tablets and the accumulated detritus of a billionaire’s legal defense.
Arzhen walked through all of it without breaking stride. He didn’t look at the cameras or acknowledge the questions. His tiger ears didn’t twitch and his tail didn’t lash. His car pulled up to the curb and he was gone.
Cecilia watched from a nearby building.
She sat in a private room on the third floor of a Hunter Association satellite office, positioned perfectly to overlook the courthouse steps.
The window was tall and arched, letting in the afternoon light, and before her, on the polished wooden table, lay a gun. It was a sleek, elegant thing. Custom-made, its barrel gleaming with a faint, almost imperceptible blue sheen.
The bullet was already loaded.
Damon stood beside her, his arms crossed. "Not taking the chance?" He sighed, shaking his head. "Well, that’s better for the case, then."
"Too bad this bullet is a special one. Won’t kill him outright, just poison him slowly. Feels like a mosquito bite, even. No one would even notice until it was too late. Not even him." He paused, a note of genuine pride creeping into his voice. "I worked hard to acquire this one. Proud of it."
Cecilia didn’t look at him. Her eyes were still fixed on the empty courthouse steps below. "Is his defense still slimy?"
"Yes." Damon shrugged. "And the jury... well, I’m sure some of them are bribed one way or another."
"Tomorrow’s court date, I’ll be present in the courtroom." Cecilia suddenly said.
Damon turned to look at her, one eyebrow rising. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Tomorrow is Mr. Anton Vasiliev’s press conference, right?"
"Is that how you want it to play out?" Damon asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"I’m running out of time." Cecilia’s hand moved unconsciously to her belly, rubbing the taut curve of it through her blouse.
"When is your due date again?" Damon asked.
Cecilia smiled. It was not a happy smile. "I don’t want to talk about that."
"Alright." Damon raised both hands in surrender. "So, any clue about why he’s looking into heat suppression drugs?"
Cecilia shook her head slowly, her brow furrowing. "No clue. Why a heat suppression drug? It’s something that helps people, not hurts them."
"We don’t know the details or the direction of the investigation either. He’s not in heat, right...? He’s a male. It would make more sense if it were a rut suppression drug he was searching for."
"Mm." Cecilia nodded. "No one around him either... would have anything to do with heat. Not even me." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "But maybe I should look more into the drug itself. Maybe it has other uses or other effects for people?"
"The commercial ones usually don’t have such things, at least not life-threatening or having severe reactions. But if it’s something special, like what he might be looking for, it could be different," Damon said.
"Let’s see tomorrow." Cecilia slowly pushed herself up from the chair, her pregnant belly making the motion awkward. "Assuming I am the target of everything he’s doing right now, he’ll answer our questions without even realizing it. I just need to be there."
"Okay." Damon nodded, then added, more gently, "Bring your boyfriends."
Cecilia paused. She looked down at her hands, at the gun still resting on the table, at the faint blue sheen of the bullet that could end everything with a single pull of the trigger. "Thank you, Brother."
Damon froze. His eyes faltered.
"Goddamnit..."
"What?"
"That scares me." Damon smiled. He scoffed, shaking his head. "Got one more crazy sister to add to the long list of siblings."
"Shut up."
"Who do you want to bring? To court?"
"Maybe... Arkai?"
"Eugh." Damon’s face twisted into an exaggerated grimace.
"What’s wrong with the two of you...?"
"Can’t you just bring Eastiel?"
"He’s been a bit upset at me for a while now."
"What? He dared?"
"Don’t ask."
"Alright... alright..."
***
Beep—beep!
The lights of Arkai’s car flickered twice in the dim expanse of the underground parking garage, cutting through the fluorescent gloom with brief flashes. The sedan was a sleek thing, dark gray, unassuming, a vehicle that didn’t draw attention.
It was also armored, reinforced, and equipped with a tracking system that linked directly to the Dawnoro family’s private security network.
Arkai had never been a flashy man. He preferred function over form, substance over spectacle. His car reflected that.
He pulled open the driver’s door and slid inside, the leather seat creaking softly under his weight.
The parking garage was quiet, filled with the distant hum of ventilation systems and the occasional drip of water from old pipes. Overhead, one of the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, its erratic pulse casting jumping shadows across the concrete pillars.
Arkai reached for his seatbelt, pulling it across his chest.
Then he saw her.
A woman in a black dress, standing between two parked cars three rows away. She was still. Too still. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her face, what he could see of it in the flickering light, was turned directly toward him.
She didn’t wave or call out. She just stood there, a pale smudge in the darkness, watching.
Arkai’s wolf ears swiveled forward. His hand was already reaching for his phone.
He dialed without looking at the screen. It rang once, then twice, and a voice answered on the third ring, alert. "Sir?"
"Are you taking your eyes off her or something?" Arkai said coldly.
"We apologize, sir! S-she’s missing—" The voice on the other end cracked with panic.
"Call Roarke. Get Rinne to safety."
"Yes, sir!"
Arkai ended the call and pocketed his phone in a single, fluid motion. He started the engine and the sedan purred to life, its headlights cutting bright white beams across the parking garage.
The woman in the black dress had moved closer. She was standing at the edge of his row now, her body angled as though she might step into his path, her hand half-raised in a gesture that might have been a wave or a plea or a threat.
He didn’t look at her face. He didn’t need to. He knew who she was.
He backed the car out of its space, the tires humming against the concrete, and drove toward the exit.
The woman stepped forward, not quite blocking his path, but close, close enough that he had to slow, had to acknowledge her presence, had to make a choice about whether to stop.
Arkai didn’t stop. He steered around her with a smooth turn and drove past without a glance, his taillights painting the concrete red for a brief moment before he turned the corner and disappeared up the exit ramp.
Perhaps it was funny, for a beast like him and all other beasts, to use cars and submit to traffic regulations. They could use their own gifted physiques to travel around. Faster, sometimes, than any vehicle.
But this was one of the car’s great uses. It was to put some acceptable distance between himself and people he did not want to interact with.
People like Sienna, for example.