Chapter 14 The Judas of Haven-9
Eron Valêm POV
The tunnels were quieter than usual, like the rebellion itself was holding its breath.
I’d walked these halls a hundred times, guided half our operatives through them, bled and laughed and killed for the Ashborn cause, but tonight, they felt wrong. Hollow. Like every echo knew what I was about to do.
The elevator cables hummed as they lowered me through the earth’s bones. Each floor passed like a heartbeat I didn’t deserve to keep. By the time the doors opened, the air was sharp with old metal and oil, the smell of machinery that had forgotten what sunlight was.
And there he was.
Not one of the blood-drunk nobles or feral beasts the rebellion imagined when they whispered about vampires. No, this one was polished sin, tall, pale, and dressed like he’d stepped out of a cathedral made of mirrors.
Lord Malrec.
He didn’t bother to hide his fangs, why would he? The dim light loved him.
“Eron,” he said, smiling like a knife. “My favorite thinblood.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Still ashamed of what you are?” His gaze swept over me, assessing and indulgent. “Half of our kind, half of theirs, and neither side truly yours. It’s a pity. You could’ve ruled, once.”
“I didn’t come here for nostalgia.”
He laughed softly. “No, you came here to trade souls.”
I swallowed. “Information. That’s all.”
He waved a hand. “Semantics.”
I pulled the folded report from inside my jacket, stolen medical data, blood readings, Sera’s notes, even Solen’s encrypted analysis drafts. Everything about Rhea that I’d been able to access. I tossed it onto the table between us.
“She’s alive,” I said. “You wanted proof? There it is.”
Malrec’s expression sharpened. “So the rumors were true. The Ghost of Haven-9 rises.”
“She’s not a ghost,” I muttered. “She’s… something else.”
“Ah, yes.” His tongue tasted the air. “The girl who cannot die.”
“Just keep your people away from her.”
His brows lifted. “You’re setting conditions?”
“I’ll get you what you want. But if you attack Haven-9, if you hurt her, the deal’s off.”
“Eron,” he said with mock patience, “we don’t hurt assets. We study them.”
“That’s worse.”
He smiled wider. “Then make me a better offer.”
“Swear she won’t be touched.”
He tilted his head, the motion too smooth to be human. “You think you can bargain with predators?”
“Swear it.”
The silence stretched. Finally, he pressed a hand over his chest, feigning solemnity. “Very well. The girl will not be harmed, by my direct order.”
Something in his tone made my stomach twist. It wasn’t a promise. It was wordplay.
I hesitated, but the damage was already done.
He picked up the folder and flicked through the pages like he was reading poetry. “You did well. You’ve always done well. You’ll be rewarded when this rebellion collapses.”
“Just remember your oath,” I said, turning to leave.
“Of course,” he said sweetly. “You have my word.”
The sound of his voice followed me into the elevator, wrapping around me like cold smoke.
When the doors shut, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like years.
It’s done, I told myself. They’ll get what they came for, maybe take the archives, maybe scare Solen into retreat. No one dies.
No one dies.
That lie held for exactly three minutes.
The first scream hit before I reached Level Four.
Then another. And another.
The lights flickered red. The alarm began to wail, a shrill, mechanical warning swallowed quickly by the deeper roar of chaos.
I slammed the emergency release, forcing the doors open mid-descent, and leapt down the maintenance ladder. Smoke met me halfway. The smell of blood hit a second later.
By the time my boots touched the ground, Haven-9 was burning.
Vampires poured through the lower corridors like liquid shadow, their armor gleaming wetly. I recognized Malrec’s mark on their collars. His private enforcers. The bastard hadn’t waited five minutes.
“Stop!” I shouted, drawing my pistol. “He said no blood!”
The nearest vamp turned. His grin was all teeth. “Orders changed.”
I fired. The bullet hit true, silver-coated and blessed by someone I’d killed for the recipe. He dropped, hissing. The others barely noticed.
I stumbled back, ducking behind a crate as plasma fire ripped through the hallway. I could hear the rebels shouting, Ryn barking orders, Maris swearing, Sera screaming for someone to grab the wounded.
And over it all, the distant sound of her.
Rhea’s voice, hoarse but alive, shouting commands that cut through the chaos.
For a heartbeat, guilt and relief strangled each other in my chest. She was alive. And it was my fault she might not stay that way.
I could’ve gone to her. Could’ve fought beside her. Could’ve died beside her.
Instead, I ran.
Not fast enough to outrun the sounds, the fire, the screams, the wet tearing of flesh, but fast enough to pretend I still had a choice.
My boots pounded through the service tunnels, up the old access shaft, past the graffiti that used to make me proud: Ashes remember the fire.
Now it just felt like a curse.
I didn’t look back until I reached the surface hatch. The night air slammed into me, sharp and cold. Smoke rose through the manholes behind me, like black veins against the fractured moon.
I could still hear the fighting. Still smell the blood.
Part of me wanted to go back.
Most of me knew I’d only make it worse.
“Coward,” I whispered, though I didn’t know who I meant, Malrec, myself, or both.
I stumbled into the shadows, the sound of my heartbeat too loud in my ears.
Rhea. I could still feel her kiss on my lips. Still hear the way she’d said my name like it meant something.
I stopped on the ridge above the ruins, smoke curling around me like ghosts. The tunnels below screamed and burned, the rebellion dying before dawn.
My hand trembled as I pulled out the silver comm crystal, the one linked to Malrec’s frequency. I almost crushed it.
Instead, I whispered the only word that mattered.
“Rhea.”
The crystal went cold.
And behind me, Haven-9 finally fell silent.