Kat didn't run.
She stormed.
Down the hall, past the library, past stunned pairs of eyes from leather-clad giants with immortal auras and unsettling calm. Past doors that felt too heavy to open, and walls that whispered stories in languages she didn't know.
Her heart pounded, but not with fear.
With fury.
They were vampires. Actual, literal vampires.
And no one had told her.
They'd used her. Lured her in with tech and money and mystery—and now? Now she was stuck in a goddamn gothic vampire lair with glowing-eyed warlords who probably ate hearts for breakfast.
She made it to the massive front door, threw back the locks, and yanked it open—only to freeze.
Nothing.
Not darkness. Not night. Not the mansion's driveway.
Just a thick, impenetrable veil.
Like fog made of shadow and pressure and silence.
It coiled just outside the threshold. Unmoving.
Kat took one step forward, hand still on the doorknob—then stopped cold.
Every instinct screamed. The hacker in her, the fighter in her, the part that had survived back alley gigs, corporate bounty hunts, and cartel data hits.
This wasn't smoke.
It was a barrier.
She threw a rock at it. It hit the wall of fog and was gone. Not bounced. Not scorched. Just... erased.
Her stomach turned.
Kat backed up a step. Then another.
Her voice cracked the silence. "What the fuck is this?"
No answer.
She circled the house, fast, checking for windows, fire escapes, something—anything to get out. She even tried the basement entrance, some old stonework latch that screamed "dungeon" in five languages.
Nothing opened. Nothing gave.
Every exit, every door, every crack in the compound was sealed.
She was locked in.
Not with locks or chains.
With power.
Unholy, ancient, purposeful power.
Kat stood there, heart in her throat, fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.
It wasn't about escape anymore.
It was about control.
And they had it.
⸻
By the time she stalked back into the main hall, she was seething.
Her hair was windblown from the windless night, her shirt stuck to her from the effort of trying every possible exit. Her knuckles still split from hitting Vishous.
She walked straight into the room where they were waiting.
Wrath. Butch. Z. Rhage. Phury. All of them looking at her like she might explode.
She did.
"You lock me in here?" she snapped, voice sharp as broken glass. "That's how you deal with problems? Trap them like rabid dogs?"
Butch opened his mouth. Vishous shook his head once. Don't.
She stalked right up to him again.
"You think because you're ancient and scary and wear leather like it's a personality that you get to treat people like pawns?" she hissed. "You used me. You lied. You gave me no choice. And now I can't even leave?"
Vishous's eyes didn't glow this time. They burned.
"You want out?" he said, stepping forward until they were nose-to-nose again. "Then go. Right now."
Her mouth opened—then snapped shut.
Because she couldn't. And they both knew it.
He leaned in, voice low. "That barrier is to protect you."
"Bullshit."
"No," Wrath said from behind him, calm and cold. "You accessed files that others would kill to possess. If anyone outside knows what you touched—even suspects—you're dead. Or worse."
"Worse than this?" she snapped, pointing to the windows. "Worse than being a prisoner in a vampire death mansion?"
"You're not a prisoner," Vishous growled. "You're an asset."
"I'm not your fucking property!"
That hit hard. Vishous recoiled slightly. Then his jaw clenched.
"No," he said after a beat. "You're not. Which is why the choice is still yours. But if you walk through that barrier, you won't come back. Not whole."
She stared at him.
Then turned her back.
Then turned back again. "You could've told me everything before dragging me into this."
"You would've run."
"I'm running now."
"No," he said quietly. "You're raging. Not the same thing."
That brought her up short.
She hated how right he sounded.
"You think you know me?" she asked, voice shaking. "You think because you stared at me too long and liked my code you've got me figured out?"
"No," he said, stepping close again. "I think I've barely scratched the surface. But I'd like too."
The room went still.
Even Zsadist looked uncomfortable.
Kat stood there, breath shallow, heart pounding, locked in a silent war with a man who made her skin crawl and her stomach turn and her blood burn.
"Fuck you" she hissed.
