Michael sat rigid on his couch, the apartment a disaster zone around him. He was processing the flood of information that had just poured into his mind from the glowing orange ball. His own voice came out as a dry, shocked whisper.
"So this is what you're after."
It all made sense now, with a sickening, terrifying clarity. The werewolf, the subway, the attack... none of it had been about him. Michael was nobody. He was just an ordinary doctor trying to get through life. He had nothing, owned nothing, that would attract the attention of monsters.
Except for the Dragon Ball.
His breathing quickened, catching in his chest. His face twisted as the full, awful implications hit him.
A Dragon Ball. An actual wish-granting Dragon Ball. The knowledge burned in his mind like acid. Why did you need to collect all seven to make a wish? Why not just one? What was an ordinary person like him, a person who just wanted to be left alone, supposed to do with this kind of power?
The questions echoed uselessly in the dusty, ruined room until Michael deflated like a punctured tire. He knew the truth. He couldn't keep it. He couldn't hide. Someone with the resources and the sheer brutality to hunt him down would take it eventually.
Since he couldn't keep it, maybe he could trade it. Protection. Money. A way out of this nightmare.
A sharp, lancing pain shot through his shoulder, dragging him back to more immediate concerns. The bite wound throbbed, a hot, angry pulse where that man, that thing, had sunk his teeth in deep.
Doctor or not, werewolf or not, Michael wasn't taking chances. He needed a rabies vaccine. Now.
"I hope it's not too late," he muttered, glancing at his watch. Not quite twenty-four hours since the bite. He was still within the window.
He grabbed his coat, his movements jerky. He slipped the heavy, smooth Dragon Ball into his pocket, the weight of it both a promise and a curse. He locked what was left of his door and headed straight for the hospital where he worked.
The night shift at the hospital was quiet, bathed in the sterile hum of fluorescent lights. Michael found the vaccine storage, his hands steady as he pulled out a vial and began preparing the injection. He was rolling up his sleeve when one of his colleagues, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, wandered over.
"Rabies vaccine? Michael, did a dog bite you?"
Michael let out a bitter, strangled laugh. "You'd never guess. It wasn't a dog. It was a man."
His colleague's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? What, did you run into some junkie having a bad trip?"
The colleague offered some sympathy, made the appropriate concerned noises, and then walked away, patting Michael on the good shoulder. Michael didn't see him immediately pull out his phone and make a call to the police.
Two officers arrived at the hospital within minutes. The moment Michael spotted them through the hallway window, talking to his colleague, something felt wrong. It was the way they moved. The way their eyes scanned the hall, tracking him. It was too intense, too focused.
He didn't wait to find out if his paranoia was justified. Michael went straight for the nearest window in a supply closet, pushed it open, and dropped to the alley below, landing hard on his feet.
The two officers, the same ones from the hall, followed without hesitation, vaulting out the window after him.
They were legitimate police officers. They were also werewolves.
Soren found Selene in the armory, the air thick with the smell of gun oil. She was methodically checking her weapons, her movements precise and economical. He didn't waste time.
"Selene, we need to inform the elders. I think Kraven has been deceiving us."
Selene went very still. Her hands, which had been stripping a pistol, stopped moving. "Explain."
"Lucian. I think he's alive."
The words hung in the cold, weapon-filled air like a death sentence. Selene's face went pale under her dark hair, then flushed with a cold, contained anger. This wasn't something they could ignore, not even with Dragon Balls to hunt. Anyone who remembered the war between werewolves and vampires knew how brutal that conflict had been. How many had died.
Soren's expression turned uncertain. "But Elder Marcus is supposed to awaken this century. The ceremony is already prepared for him. Do you want to wake Victor instead? Or Marcus?"
The vampire elders ruled in cycles. Each elder governed for a century, then fell into deep sleep, awakening only through the blood of a pure-blooded vampire. The current ruling elder was Amelia. The next century belonged to Marcus. Victor had ruled the century before.
Selene's mind raced. With the Dragon Ball in play, she couldn't risk waking Marcus. She couldn't let him drink her blood and gain access to her memories. The knowledge of the Dragon Balls was too precious. Who knew if that ancient monster would use a wish for the vampire race or for his own twisted, private purposes?
She made her decision in an instant.
"We wake my father, Victor. Kraven was his protégé. Victor gave him his power, his station, before entering sleep. He should be the one to handle this betrayal."
Soren frowned. "That breaks the cycle. No one but you can bear the consequences of that decision." He stepped forward and extended his arm toward her, his sleeve pushed back. "Take Lucian's memories from me. You'll need evidence to justify waking Victor."
Selene didn't hesitate. She grabbed his wrist and bit down. Blood flowed into her mouth, coppery and sharp. Soren's memories erupted in her mind like a film reel on fast-forward. She saw Lucian clearly, the fight in the apartment, the Warewolfs in the street. She saw the necklace. She saw everything she needed.
She released his arm, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove. "That's enough. I have no interest in watching your entire life story."
Vampires could explore memories through blood, viewing them in reverse chronological order. If Selene wanted, she could have consumed every moment of Soren's existence. But she had what she needed.
She descended into the crypts, the air growing colder, heavier, and completely silent. Two ornate, carved coffins rested in the center of the chamber. Marcus on the left. Victor on the right.
Selene stood before her father's resting place and made her choice. She pulled a blade from her boot, made a deep, clean cut across her palm, and let her own pure blood drip onto Victor's cold, desiccated lips. Simultaneously, she used her vampiric abilities, pushing her own memories, her own reason for this sacrilege, into his dormant mind. Images of Dragon Balls. Lucian alive. Kraven's possible treachery.
Victor's eyes would open already knowing everything.
Alexei and Mr. X arrived at the Fraternity's London safehouse just after midnight. The local handler, a thin man with nervous energy and darting eyes, stood immediately when they entered.
"Elder. Judge." He bowed his head respectfully.
Mr. X had been an elder in the Fraternity before the organization's restructuring. Alexei, in turn, had been granted the title of Judge, a position of significant authority.
"How's the intelligence verification?" Mr. X asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Confirmed. Werewolves and vampires both exist in London."
The handler pulled out a folder, his hands shuffling through the documents. "We've connected several disappearances to werewolf activity. As for the vampires, we haven't found as much direct evidence in the limited time we had. But our source claims they kill regularly. Keep humans as livestock. Blood slaves and worse."
Mr. X nodded slowly. "Leave the information and the personnel lists you've compiled."
The handler set down a thick stack of files, relieved. He quickly excused himself, closing the door softly behind him.
Alexei leaned back in his chair once they were alone, stretching his arms over his head. "I didn't expect werewolves and vampires to actually be real. I always thought that was just European folklore nonsense."
"Meeting them in person should be interesting," Alexei continued. "This world gets stranger every day."
Mr. X didn't reply. He opened a heavy-duty weapons case on the table. Inside, nestled in foam, were specialized munitions, divided into two categories. Gleaming silver bullets for werewolves. Rounds with a faint, violet-blue tip for vampires.
"Alexei, the reports say vampires and werewolves have accelerated healing. Are you planning to fight them with your bare hands?"
Alexei grinned and pulled a long, heavy silver sword from the case, testing its weight and balance. The blade gleamed in the low light.
"I'm not exactly a master swordsman," he admitted, "but I can handle myself well enough against puppies and flying rats."
He gave the sword an experimental swing, the air whistling. "With their combat power, they won't be much of a challenge. What's the plan? Do we just exterminate them all?"
Mr. X finished loading his weapons, checking each magazine with practiced, efficient clicks. "The next step is simple. We observe these so-called werewolves and vampires up close. See what they're really capable of."
He smiled thinly, the expression not reaching his eyes. "This trip to London is becoming more interesting by the hour."