Fighting a vampire is hard. Fighting twenty while protecting two humans is impossible. Arian did it anyway.
The dagger wasn't just a knife. When his blood touched it, the blade lit silver and cut things that shouldn't be cuttable — air, shadow, the invisible threads that tied vampires to their power. One slash and a 400-year-old vampire turned to ash.
Lena wasn't idle. She'd figured out the artifact. Fear made it spark. Protecting Arian made it roar. She threw blasts that cracked stone columns and sent vampires scattering.
Adara chanted, and the old Latin words made the church itself fight back. Walls groaned. The cross above the altar blazed.
When it was over, half the church was rubble and Viktor's people were gone, dragging their wounded. But Viktor stood in the doorway, untouched.
"You sealed nothing," he told Arian. "You just delayed me. I'll be back when you're alone." He vanished into the night.
Arian dropped to his knees, the dagger still glowing. "How do we seal it for good?"
Adara put a hand on his shoulder. "You go to the crypt. And you finish the ritual."