"They’re calling for..." his eyes landed on Ren, and then he gulped. "the last Pierce."

Ren’s heart plummeted in that moment, and the rage he had just managed to contain came back like a flood, and he glared.

Bastards. He thought. Every last one of them.

Cilian looked at the intense gaze in Ren’s eyes and felt that this might be a little fun.

"Then, shall we go greet the ’guests’, Ren?"

"Are you going to fight?" Ren asked, looking at Cilian, and Cilian interpreted it as Ren worrying for him.

He brought his hand to Ren’s hair and scuffled it, but Ren hated it and slapped his hand off.

"If they came for a fight, of course, I’ll have to give it to them." He licked his lips. "Anything else would be just boring, you know."

Psycho.

"Anyway, let’s head up."

And so, they went up, with Ren counting his steps as he walked. What would he say if he did come in contact with Dennis? He would try to put a bullet in his head, no doubt.

But he didn’t have a gun on him.

He glanced back and wondered if he should’ve just snatched one of the loaded Glocks.

Outside, the rain had started falling, drumming against the reinforced glass of the tall windows.

Ren walked a step behind Cilian, feeling his lips sting a bit, and the metallic taste of blood lingered, a reminder of what had just happened in the basement, but his focus was suddenly drawn to the front doors.

Cilian didn’t look like a man who had just had a bullet dug out of his shoulder. He walked with a lazy, elegant stride, his dark robe, which he hadn’t bothered to button completely, revealing the white bandages stark against his skin. It revealed his weakness, and Ren wondered how he was okay with that.

Maybe he was just confident in himself. That despite a wound on his shoulder, he can take on vampires with his eyes closed.

"They’re early," Cilian hummed, his voice airy and amused and Ren traced his gaze far out. "Vampires usually have better manners regarding the sunset."

But it was late, though. So what were the manners he was referring to?

Standing in the center of the driveway, flanked by a unit of pale, still soldiers in tactical gear, was Julian. The Vampire Heir looked as if he had stepped out of a Victorian nightmare, his long, black hair spilling over a high-collared coat, his crimson eyes glowing with an unearthly luminescence.

He was just as eerie as Ren remembered him to be.

Beside him, partially shielded by the tactical unit, stood a man in a crumpled grey suit.

Ren’s breath hitched as soon as he saw him. It was Dennis. The advisor looked older, his face lined with a frantic, nervous energy. He wasn’t looking at Cilian; he was staring at Ren with a look that was half-pity and half-greed.

Ren’s eyes immediately burned with rage. So it was true. It was all true.

Dennis, that bastard... how could he shamelessly show his face now after what he did to Pierce?

"Cilian Vane," Julian called out, his voice smooth and cold. He stepped forward, the rain seemingly avoiding him. Strange. "We aren’t here for a fight. We’ve come for a negotiation. A trade, if you will."

Cilian stopped at the top of the marble steps, his hand sliding into his pocket. He didn’t reach for a gun, but the guards on the roof shifted their snipers, as if getting ready for a sudden attack from him.

Julian raised his hand and had his men stand down. Cilian let out a little laugh, seeing how vigilant they were.

"A trade, huh? Julian, what trade are you proposing?" He asked, as if he had not the slightest clue, and just when Julian was about to answer, he interrupted. "But hold on, before you speak, I’d like to remind you that I don’t like sharing what’s mine. Especially the rare ones."

Julian’s gaze slid past Cilian, landing on Ren.

"I’m sure you’ll like this one." He said, but Cilian tilted his head back.

"I doubt it, but let’s hear it. What do you think would be so precious that I would give up something that’s mine?"

A slow, hungry smile revealed the tips of Julian’s fangs. He was that confident, unaware of how much value Cilian cared for Ren.

"The Pierce slave for a seat on the Council and the coordinates to the Northern shipping routes. All we want is five minutes of his time and the location of the Black Ledger. After that, you can keep whatever is left of him. We won’t come after him after that."

Everywhere fell silent after that. Ren considered how they only wanted five minutes of his time, but in those five minutes, they would demand the location of the ledger.... Which he did not know.

And not believing him, they would quickly escalate the matter, and a fight would break out.

In this situation, he didn’t know if he could defend himself without a weapon, and against vampires on top of that.

"A seat on the Council, you say?" Cilian repeated, his voice light and airy, as if he were being offered a tray of stale hors d’oeuvres. "And the Northern shipping routes?" He let out a soft, sharp chuckle that made the guards behind him tingle with nerves. "Julian, I didn’t think you thought so low of me. You’re offering me scraps just to speak to my Ren."

"What do you mean, scraps?" Julian defended. "Anyone would kill for benefits like that."

"Oh please," Cilian took his hand out of his pocket and waved it, as if swatting a fly away. "I already own enough routes for shipment, and the Council is just a collection of old men waiting for their coffins to close. Why would I trade the precious time and safety of my darling Ren for a bunch of paperwork and a seat at a table I’m already planning to burn?"

Julian didn’t look offended; rather, he looked like he had expected this reaction somewhat. He stepped forward, his long black hair sticking to the high collar of his coat.

"Don’t be dramatic, Cilian. It’s a business proposal. We know your latest shipment of silver-core munitions was... intercepted. It must be difficult, trying to run an Empire when your supply lines are bleeding."