My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

A few hours later, Bramford looked even worse from above.

Victor was sitting on the edge of the tallest building in the city, an old administrative tower built near the center, high enough to see the port, the warehouses, the crooked streets, and the dark strip of sea in the distance. The building had damp stone, a slanted roof, and an old bell that probably had not rung in decades. Even so, it was a good observation point. From there, he could see almost all the main routes without needing to stand in the middle of the mess.

The city was pretending normality.

That was what irritated him.

After the clones, the hanging body, the diverted cargo, and the interrogation in the cellar of the Gray Tide inn, Bramford was still trying to look like an ordinary port city. Lit lanterns. People walking with controlled haste. Local guards on patrols that were far too well rehearsed. Doors closing too quickly when someone from outside passed. Windows with curtains that moved just enough to betray the eyes behind them.

Victor rested his forearms on his knees and looked toward the port.

"Is there any way to find this guy quickly?" he asked the wind.

The wind did not answer.

Naturally.

He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Mirella was coordinating the groups, Natasha was closing the exits, Alexa was trying to assemble a trail with shadow residue, Dahlia was far too happy with stitched corpses, and Nera had been taken away from him for a few minutes because, according to Mirella, "two problems together draw too much attention." Victor disagreed, but he did not have much room to argue after an entire street had become a duplicate slaughterhouse.

The problem was that Ghideon was always one step behind some false layer. It was not direct strength. It was irritation with method. Every clue pointed to another clue, every suspect was either too afraid to lie properly or too controlled to tell the truth. Victor preferred enemies who appeared, shouted some idiotic threat, and tried to tear off his head. That was simple. Bramford, on the other hand, seemed like a box full of worms hidden beneath silk.

Carmilla would find the man.

Scarlet too.

That thought came quickly and obviously. Carmilla would have looked at two blood samples, felt the wrong signature in some wall, and said, with that arrogant calm, where the enemy was hiding. Scarlet would have sniffed the air, mixed fox instinct with blood magic, and gone straight to the most problematic point in the city. The two were irritatingly useful when they wanted to be.

But they had not come.

Victor looked at his own pocket by reflex and almost laughed to himself.

Lately, the two had developed the terrible habit of accompanying him hidden in smaller forms, bats, shadows, small presences in clothes and bags. It was possessive, inconvenient, and sometimes useful. But this time, both had refused. Not because they lacked the desire to watch him. That would have been a miracle. They were simply tired of being stuffed into a pocket, cloak, or secret compartment while Victor ran, blew things up, and entered bad places.

Carmilla said it was humiliating.

Scarlet said it was cramped.

Both also wanted to train on their own. To grow stronger without depending on his shadow. Victor respected that, though he called them both dramatic before leaving. Scarlet bit his shoulder. Carmilla said that if he died in Bramford, she would invade hell just to beat him. It sounded like a normal farewell for them.

So Victor was alone.

Well, not exactly.

"Do you want help?" Rowena’s voice appeared in his mind with that irritating naturalness of someone who never asked permission to enter any conversation.

Victor closed his eyes for a second.

He had brought Rowena.

That is, technically, he had forgotten to leave the ring at home. The jade ring was on his finger, quiet, beautiful, and dangerous, as if it did not carry an ancient, hungry, resentful werewolf with a tendency to insult every vampire who breathed near her. He should have left it stored in Serafall’s palace, or at least handed it to Carmilla for a few hours. But he had left in a hurry, thought about the mission, thought about the equipment, thought about blood, and forgot the most problematic detail.

"And you are going to help?" Victor asked quietly, without looking at the ring. "I thought you hated me."

"I do."

"Great start."

"But I am bored."

Victor looked at the cloudy sky.

"So you want to help because you are bored."

"Watching you fight is entertaining. Watching you sit on top of a building thinking like a tired old man is irritating."

"I was not thinking like an old man."

"You were. All that was missing was complaining about your knee and young people making noise."

Victor let out a short laugh.

"You know we are mortal enemies, right? Vampires and werewolves do not usually form investigation duos."

"I know."

"And you still want to help."

"I want to keep watching things happen."

"That is very honest."

"Besides, if you die stupidly, I will either be stuck with a corpse or end up in the hands of some vampire bitch who will try to study me."

Victor thought of Carmilla, Dahlia, and perhaps even Eleonora.

"Yes, that would probably happen."

"So do not die."

"Touching advice."

Rowena made a sound of contempt inside his head.

"Do not confuse usefulness with affection."

"Never."

He stayed silent for a few seconds, looking at the streets. A group of guards crossed a small square below the tower. All of them used the same step, the same distance, the same way of not looking at the shadows. They did not seem like clones. They seemed like real people trying to act like clones so they would not be noticed.

"Can you find him?" Victor asked.

"I can."

"Even with clones, shadows, controlled people, false blood, and an entire city stinking?"

"Yes."

Victor raised an eyebrow.

"Confident."

"Your problem is that you think like a vampire. You search for blood signature, flow, magic, control, bond. He knows that. He prepared everything to deceive vampires."

"And you will not search for that?"

"I will smell."

Victor looked at the ring.

"Smell."

"Yes, idiot. Scent."

"I know what scent is."

"You do not. Vampires sense blood. Werewolves sense life. They smell fear in sweat, lies in breathing, sickness on skin, hunger in the stomach, sex on clothes, death in hair. You keep sniffing blood like nobles smelling wine and think that is tracking."

Victor stayed quiet for an instant.

"Did you have that speech saved?"

"I have several."

"I noticed."

Rowena continued, now less mocking.

"This Ghideon uses blood-shadow. Excellent for confusing vampires. But he still touches things. Still breathes through bodies. Still leaves pressure in the air when he moves a puppet. And if he uses corpses and hosts, he leaves the smell of wrong flesh. That does not disappear just because he knows how to fake a face."

Victor ran his thumb over the jade ring.

"What do you need?"

"To come out a little."

"From the ring?"

"Not completely. Just enough to use my nose properly."

Victor stared at the stone.

"And is that safe?"

"For me, no. For you, maybe."

"Bad answer."

"It is the only one I have."

Victor thought for a few seconds. He did not trust Rowena. Trusting her would be stupid. She hated him, had every reason in the world to want to tear out his throat, and, if she ever freed herself, would probably try to kill him before any decent conversation. At the same time, she was bound to him in a complicated way. The bond he had placed over the old chains was not complete, but it existed. And, more importantly, Rowena wanted to see the chaos continue. For now, that was almost a contract.

"If I let you out a little, you will not try to run?"

"I cannot run."

"That is not what I asked."

"I will try when it makes sense."

"Honest again."

"Would you rather I lie?"

"No."

"Then shut up and let me out."

Victor laughed softly and stood at the edge of the roof. The wind pulled his cloak back. Down below, Bramford kept moving like a sick animal. He raised the hand with the ring and let a small line of blood leave his finger, enough to touch the jade stone. The ring reacted almost immediately. A dull light passed over the surface, more green than white, and a cold pressure climbed up his arm.

It was not vampire power.

It was something else.

Older, rougher, more alive.

Rowena’s shadow began to form beside him. Not a whole body. First came the outline of a hand, then part of an arm, the curve of a shoulder, long hair moving as if underwater, and eyes with no patience for the world. She appeared as a dense projection, half-translucent, but Victor felt weight in her presence. It was not an illusion. It was part of her pushing the seal outward.

Rowena took a deep breath.

Her face changed immediately.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head, and sniffed the wind with a concentration Victor had not yet seen in her. For a few seconds, the arrogance vanished. Only instinct remained. An ancient predator evaluating terrain. Her nostrils moved, her lips parted slightly, and her expression shifted from irritated to disgusted.

"This city is disgusting."

"I noticed."

"No, you did not. There is rot beneath the rot."

"Should that make me excited or worried?"

"Both."

She turned her face toward the port, then to the market streets, then to the older part of the city. Victor watched without interrupting. Rowena seemed to separate invisible layers. At one point, she wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something sour. At another, she showed her teeth faintly. Then she turned south, where the older warehouses and the lower part of the port stood.

"I found washed blood," she said.

"Everyone found that."

"I was not finished."

"Sorry."

"I do not forgive you."

Victor smiled.

Rowena continued sniffing.

"There is old fear in the warehouses. People kept alive too long. There are burned bodies near the water. There is shadow in three different points, but two are bait. The bait smells too clean. He wants you to follow the trail vampires can sense."

Victor grew more serious.

"And the third?"

Rowena opened her eyes.

"Beneath the city."

"Alexa mentioned tunnels."

"She is less stupid than you."

"Everyone today is very comfortable insulting me."

"Because you make it easy."

She took a step to the edge of the roof, or the equivalent of a step, since part of her body was still connected to the ring by thin threads of green light and blood. Rowena pointed to a region between the old pier and an abandoned chapel near the cliff.

"There is a passage there. Not in the building. Beneath it. Wet stone, old iron, blood trapped in barrels, and people afraid to breathe. He was there. Maybe still is."

Victor looked in the indicated direction.

"How long?"

"To get there? Five minutes if you run like a decent vampire. To find the entrance without alerting half the city? Ten, if you obey."

"I do not like that word."

"I know. That is why you are easy to predict."

Victor touched Alexa’s communication ring, still on his other finger. He thought about warning Mirella. Thought about calling Nera. Thought about doing what a disciplined person would do.

Then he looked at Rowena.

She smiled, showing teeth sharper than they should have been.

"Are you going to pretend you will wait?"

"I am considering it."

"Lie."

"Yes."

Victor activated the communication ring.

"Alexa."

The answer came almost immediately.

"What did you do now?"

"Why do you always assume I did something?"

"Because you called."

"Fair. Rowena found a trail."

There was silence on the other side.

Then Alexa’s voice came lower.

"The werewolf in the ring?"

"That one."

"You brought her on the mission?"

"I forgot her at home."

"How does someone forget an ancient werewolf on his finger?"

"With practice."

Rowena growled beside him.

"Tell that vampire I can find the target in ten minutes."

Victor repeated:

"She says she can find the target in ten minutes."

Alexa went quiet again, probably deciding between informing Mirella, Natasha, or cursing Victor until she was tired.

"Location?"

"South. Beneath the old pier, near the abandoned chapel. Two trails are bait. The third is below."

"Do not move alone."

Victor looked at Rowena.

Rowena laughed.

"I told you they would say that."

"Victor," Alexa insisted. "Do not move alone."

"I am with Rowena."

"That does not make it better."

"I disagree."

"Victor."

He was already on the edge.

"Warn Mirella and Natasha. I will confirm the entrance."

"Do not go in."

"Confirming is not going in."

"With you, it is almost the same thing."

Victor smiled.

"Then run."

He cut the communication before Alexa could finish the next sentence.

Rowena looked at him.

"You are really bad at obeying."

"You already said that."

"And I will say it again."

"If you irritate me too much, I will put you back in the ring."

"I am already in the ring, idiot."

"Then deeper."

Rowena narrowed her eyes.

Victor laughed and threw himself from the top of the tower.

The fall was silent. He erased his own presence in midair, let Black Lightning adjust his body before impact, and landed on a lower rooftop without breaking the tiles. Rowena was pulled along by the bond, floating beside him like a living shadow bound to the ring. She seemed to hate the sensation, but did not complain. She was busy sniffing.

"That way," she said.

Victor ran.

Not the way he had run beside the horses. This was different. No display, no training, no noise. He crossed rooftops, passed chimneys, leapt over narrow streets, and hid in the dark line between lanterns and eaves. Rowena gave small corrections. Left. Lower. Do not step there. Someone is watching. Stop. Wait. Now.

In less than six minutes, they reached the old pier.

The area looked too abandoned.

There were three closed warehouses, a stone street descending toward a broken platform, and, farther ahead, the old chapel near the cliff. The sea struck the rocks below with slow force. Victor felt a weak presence, almost erased, hidden somewhere beneath the ground. It was not enough to confirm Ghideon, but Rowena went still.

She sniffed once.

Then smiled.

"I said ten minutes."

Victor looked at the empty street.

"Where?"

Rowena pointed to a dry well tucked behind a warehouse, covered by old planks and fishing nets.

"There. The entrance is under rotten wood and rusted iron. There are at least six living people down there. Two afraid. Three controlled. One smells wrong enough to be your man."

Victor felt his blood accelerate.

"Ghideon?"

"Or something he does not want to lose."

Victor smiled.

"That works."

Rowena looked at him sideways.

"Are you going to wait for the others?"

Victor stared at the well.

For three seconds, he seemed to consider it.

Then he snapped his fingers, letting a small white flame be born at their tips.

"I will confirm."

Rowena let out a low laugh. "Vampires."