The Bolshoi Theatre was magnificent—all red velvet and golden chandeliers, built in an era when art and beauty were paramount. The performance that night was Swan Lake, which Adrian found ironically appropriate given the impending violence.
They arrived early, taking a private box that overlooked the stage. Kieran wore a perfectly tailored black suit that made him look like a prince—which, Adrian reminded himself, he had been. Marcus and Wei flanked them, both dressed formally but clearly armed despite the "no weapons" agreement.
"He's here," Marcus murmured as the lights dimmed.
Adrian felt him before he saw him—a presence that made the air heavy, oppressive. Lord Konstantin entered a box directly across from theirs, and even from a distance, Adrian could tell he was ancient.
Konstantin looked like a Russian aristocrat from a bygone era—tall, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and ice-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. He wore clothing from another century, and he moved with the absolute confidence of someone who'd ruled for nearly two millennia.
"Kieran Ashford," Konstantin's voice carried across the theatre despite the music. "The Cursed Prince. How fitting that you come to me in a palace of art, much like the one you abandoned a thousand years ago."
"Lord Konstantin," Kieran replied, his voice equally carrying. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"I agreed because I'm curious. What drives a vampire who's spent a millennium hiding to suddenly declare war on Viktor's network?" Konstantin leaned forward. "Ah. The human beside you. The reincarnation. How... sentimental."
Adrian felt exposed under that ancient gaze, like Konstantin was peeling back his layers and examining his soul.
"Viktor wanted to use him to resurrect the old lords," Kieran said. "To break the Accord and expose our kind. You supported this plan."
"I funded an opportunity. Whether Viktor succeeded or failed mattered little to me." Konstantin smiled, and it was cold. "But I'm interested in you, Prince. You were royalty once, heir to a kingdom. You could have ruled as a vampire, claimed territory, built an empire. Instead, you hid. You served humans. You became weak."
"I became compassionate. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Konstantin stood, and suddenly there were vampires everywhere—dropping from the ceiling, emerging from the shadows, surrounding their box. "You've become soft, Kieran. Love has made you vulnerable. Let me demonstrate."
He moved impossibly fast—faster than Adrian could track—and suddenly Konstantin was in their box, his hand wrapped around Adrian's throat, lifting him off his feet.
"So fragile," Konstantin mused, his grip crushing. "I could snap his neck before you could blink. Would you watch him die again? Would you feel that heart-ache return?"
Kieran's roar was inhuman. He launched himself at Konstantin with a violence that made Adrian's earlier training look like child's play. They collided with the force of a car crash, both of them supernatural blurs.
Adrian hit the ground gasping as Konstantin released him to fight. Marcus pulled him to safety while Wei shifted into her massive wolf form, taking on the vampires that were closing in.
The Bolshoi Theatre became a warzone.
Vampires and werewolves fought in a deadly ballet, blood splattering the red velvet seats. The human audience had fled screaming at the first sign of violence, but the performers—apparently compelled by vampire magic—continued playing Swan Lake, the music a haunting backdrop to carnage.
Kieran and Konstantin fought with swords that had appeared from nowhere, their blades clashing in showers of sparks. They were evenly matched—both ancient, both skilled, both absolutely determined to kill the other.
"You fight well," Konstantin acknowledged, parrying a strike that would have taken his head. "Your father trained you properly."
"My father was a monster who killed the person I loved," Kieran snarled, pressing the attack. "Just like Viktor. Just like you."
"We're all monsters, Prince. Some of us simply embrace it."
Konstantin's blade slipped past Kieran's guard, opening a deep cut across his chest. Kieran stumbled back, black blood staining his white shirt.
"No!" Adrian screamed, trying to run to him. Marcus held him back.
"He's fine," Marcus said urgently. "Vampires heal. But you need to stay back—"
A vampire broke through Wei's defense, lunging for Adrian with fangs extended. Adrian did the only thing he could—he grabbed a broken piece of theatre seat and drove the wooden splinter through the vampire's eye.
The vampire screamed and turned to ash.
"Not bad," Wei called, ripping another vampire's head off with her jaws. "You're learning!"
Kieran, meanwhile, had recovered and was driving Konstantin back. His fighting style had changed—less controlled, more savage. This was the vampire who'd slaughtered a village in a blood rage, the monster he kept carefully leashed.
"There it is," Konstantin laughed, even as he defended desperately. "There's the killer. The prince of destruction. Why do you hide this from your precious human?"
"Because I'm not that vampire anymore," Kieran growled, and with a move too fast to see, he disarmed Konstantin and drove his sword through the ancient vampire's chest, pinning him to the floor.
Konstantin looked down at the blade, then up at Kieran. "Well played. But killing me changes nothing. Morgana is smarter, stronger. She'll take the human and complete the ritual."
"Then I'll kill her too."
"And the ones after her? Viktor's movement is bigger than a few lords. It's an ideology. You can't kill an idea, Prince." Konstantin smiled, blood on his teeth. "Your human will never be safe. Never be free. Eventually, someone will succeed. And you'll watch him die again."
Kieran twisted the sword, and Konstantin's smile faded. "Then I'll kill them all. Every vampire who threatens him. Every follower of Viktor's movement. I'll burn it all down."
"How delightfully dramatic." Konstantin's body was beginning to turn to ash. "I see why you abandoned your kingdom. You were always too emotional to rule. Too... human."
He crumbled to dust, and with him fell the compulsion controlling the orchestra. The music stopped abruptly, leaving only the sounds of battle.
The remaining vampires, seeing their lord defeated, fled. Wei's pack gave chase, leaving only Kieran, Marcus, Adrian, and a theatre full of bodies.
Kieran crossed to Adrian immediately, his hands running over him, checking for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. You're bleeding—"
"Already healing." Indeed, the wound on Kieran's chest was closing rapidly. "We need to leave. The human authorities will be here soon, and explaining this is beyond our capabilities."
They fled into the Moscow night, leaving behind ash, blood, and one more dead vampire lord.