Viktor's ultimatum arrived at dawn—a formal letter, hand-delivered by a Verrat courier who died three seconds after completing his task. Angelina didn't appreciate uninvited guests.
The message was simple: Bring the Key to the Portland docks by midnight, or every Wesen business aligned with the Pack burns.
I read it twice, then set it on fire.
"He's not bluffing." Monroe stood at the safe house window, watching the street. "Viktor has enough resources to make good on that threat."
"I know."
"So what do we do? We can't just hand over the Key. But we can't let him destroy everything we've—"
"We go to the docks."
Monroe turned sharply. "That's a trap."
"Obviously."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm ready." I reached for the phone that connected me to the Mellifer network. "Call everyone. Full mobilization. Tonight, we show Viktor exactly what he's dealing with."
The day disappeared into preparation. I coordinated with every ally I'd built over the past weeks—Monroe handling combat positioning, Adalind managing intelligence updates, the Mellifer network tracking Viktor's forces as they assembled.
By evening, the shape of Viktor's trap was clear: a dozen Royal agents, positioned around the dock's main warehouse. Two Verrat kill teams in reserve. Viktor himself watching from a yacht anchored in the harbor, safe enough to observe his victory.
He expected me to come alone, or with one or two Pack members. He expected desperation, surrender, maybe a futile last stand.
He didn't expect what I brought.
The docks at midnight were industrial and empty—shipping containers stacked like giant's blocks, cranes silhouetted against the harbor lights, the smell of salt water and diesel fuel thick in the air. Viktor's agents waited in the shadows, professional and patient.
I walked into the warehouse's central clearing like I owned it.
Viktor stood on a raised platform, flanked by his personal guard—four Hundjäger in matching tactical gear, the kind of protection money could buy. His expression was amused, condescending, exactly what I expected from someone who thought he'd already won.
"Mr. Cross." Viktor's voice echoed off the warehouse walls. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation. I was concerned you might force me to follow through on my threat."
"I considered it." I stopped twenty feet from the platform. "But this seemed more efficient."
"Indeed." Viktor gestured to his guards. "The Key, please. And then we can discuss how to make your execution as painless as possible."
"About that." I raised my voice, projecting across the warehouse. "I brought some friends."
Monroe emerged from the shadows to my left, woge complete, claws extended. Angelina appeared on my right, chains coiled around her forearms, her smile promising violence.
Viktor's amusement flickered. "Two Blutbaden. Impressive, but hardly—"
Scalpel stepped from behind a shipping container, surgical tools gleaming in his hands. The Mellifer Queen's representative—a young woman with compound eyes already visible—took position near the warehouse's main exit.
And then Adalind walked out of the darkness behind Viktor.
His personal guard spun, weapons rising, but Adalind's woge was already complete. Hexenbiest magic crackled around her fingers, her rotted face beautiful in its terrible way.
"Hello, Viktor." Her voice was conversational, almost friendly. "Miss me?"
"Adalind." Viktor's composure finally cracked. "What is the meaning of—"
"I've been feeding Cross your security codes for weeks." She moved closer, magic building with each step. "Every patrol schedule, every agent deployment, every plan you made thinking I was still yours. I was never yours, Viktor. I was just waiting for someone worth following."
[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT: ENEMY FORCES COMPROMISED]
[VIKTOR'S SECURITY NETWORK: FULLY EXPOSED]
[PACK COORDINATION: OPTIMAL]
[PROBABILITY OF VICTORY: 87%]
Viktor's face cycled through emotions—shock, rage, calculation. His eyes found mine across the warehouse.
"You think this changes anything? A Pack of mongrels and traitors?" He laughed, but the sound was forced. "I have resources you can't imagine. This is one city, one battle. The Royals have ruled for centuries."
"Then rule somewhere else." I drew my sword. "Portland is mine."
The battle was brief and brutal.
Viktor's agents were professionals, but they'd been expecting a desperate Grimm, not a coordinated Pack with weeks of shared combat experience. Monroe and Angelina fought as a unit—covering each other's flanks, exploiting openings, moving like they'd trained for exactly this.
Scalpel didn't fight directly, but his presence kept enemy wounded from recovering. The Mellifer representative disrupted communications, her workers jamming Viktor's command frequencies.
And Adalind... Adalind was magnificent.
Her magic swept through Viktor's guard like a scythe through wheat. Telekinetic force threw Hundjäger into walls. Hexenbiest curses tangled limbs and clouded minds. When Viktor's personal protection tried to evacuate him, she was already there, blocking the exit with power that made the air taste like copper.
I fought through the chaos toward Viktor's platform. Royal agents fell—some to my blade, some to Pack members, some to each other in the confusion. The Reaper combat instinct guided my movements, the Siegbarste durability absorbed impacts that should have crippled me.
Viktor ran.
He made it three steps before Adalind's magic caught him, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against a shipping container. The impact left a Viktor-shaped dent in the metal.
"Wait." I reached the platform, sword pressed against his throat. "I want to talk first."
Viktor's eyes were wide, his composure completely shattered. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, mixing with sweat and fear.
"You can't kill me." His voice trembled. "I'm a Royal. My family will—"
"Your family exiled you. Your resources are depleted. Your agents are dead or dying." I pressed the blade harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "And right now, the only thing keeping you alive is that I'm curious about something."
"What?"
"Why did you come personally? You could have sent subordinates, watched from Vienna. Instead you came to Portland, exposed yourself, risked everything." I studied his face. "What's so important about this city that a Royal prince would risk his life for it?"
Viktor's mouth opened. Closed. The calculation in his eyes was visible—weighing lies against truth, wondering which would save him.
"The Keys," he finally said. "They lead to something. Something hidden for centuries. Portland is where the trail starts."
"What trail?"
"I don't know exactly. Ancient texts, family legends. But the Grimms who created the Keys—they hid something in this region. Something powerful enough that every Royal family has been searching for generations."
[INTELLIGENCE ACQUIRED: KEY SIGNIFICANCE]
[LOCATION: PORTLAND REGION (CONFIRMED)]
[ARTIFACT TYPE: UNKNOWN - DESCRIBED AS "POWERFUL"]
[RECOMMENDATION: CONTINUE INVESTIGATION]
"And you thought getting the Key from me would lead you to it."
"The Key is part of a map. Seven pieces, seven locations. Together they reveal—" He stopped, realizing he was giving away too much.
I removed the sword from his throat. Stepped back.
"Go."
Viktor stared at me. "What?"
"Go. Leave Portland. Tell your family whatever you need to tell them." I sheathed the blade. "But remember this moment. Remember what happened when you underestimated what I was building."
"You're letting me live?"
"Dead princes attract attention. Living ones can be useful." I turned my back on him—a deliberate insult, showing I didn't consider him a threat. "If you come back, I won't be so generous."
Viktor ran. His yacht's engines fired within minutes, the vessel disappearing into the harbor's darkness.
Adalind appeared beside me as the sounds of battle faded.
"You could have killed him."
"I could have." I watched the yacht's lights shrink toward the horizon. "But dead Royals become martyrs. Living ones become lessons."
"That's cold."
"That's strategy." I smiled—an expression that came easier now than it had weeks ago. "Besides, I want him to go back to Vienna and explain how a month-old Grimm destroyed his Portland operation. That story will spread."
The warehouse was quiet now. Pack members secured the perimeter, collected weapons from fallen agents, documented the victory for future reference. We'd lost no one. A few injuries—Monroe's ribs, Angelina's shoulder—but nothing that wouldn't heal.
"Cross." Scalpel approached, his nervous energy somehow calmed by the night's violence. "What do we do with the survivors?"
Three Royal agents had been taken alive, too wounded to fight, too valuable to kill.
"Treat their injuries. Then offer them a choice: work for me, or walk away." I looked at the captured men. "We're not monsters. We're just better organized."
The rest of the night was cleanup and consolidation. By dawn, the docks were quiet, the evidence of battle hidden or disposed of. Viktor's Portland operation was finished—his agents dead, fled, or defected.
We'd won.
The rooftop overlooked Portland's harbor, the city spreading before us in the morning light. I sat on the edge, legs dangling, feeling exhaustion mix with satisfaction.
Adalind settled beside me.
"What happens now?"
"We build something the Royals have never faced before." I took her hand—the gesture natural now, unquestioned. "An alliance of monsters who chose their king."
She laughed. The sound was genuine, unguarded—the first real laugh I'd heard from her in weeks of calculated partnership.
"King of Monsters." Her fingers intertwined with mine. "I like the sound of that."
The moon was fading, the sun rising over Portland. Below us, a city full of people who'd never know how close they'd come to becoming a Royal playground.
The hunt continued.
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