Do Or Die

The man had a somber, disquiet disposition about him that left others unsettled in his presence. Viktor had remained unperturbed by him.

"Sir," Brighton addressed him as he reached for the case held by his apprentice, who stood beside him. "Your "Hell's Embrace" as per your request."

Viktor stayed the man's hand by gently tapping it with his index finger. He waved his finger negatively. "No, no." Viktor spoke softly. "Not here, we're too overexposed."

Viktor turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Lincoln and Mat drew close, the doors to the elevator opened and Viktor entered. Three young women of African descent dressed in white tube tops, black leather jackets, and leather pants stood waiting his arrival in the elevator. Viktor sighed in exasperation. His silver-lined suit should have been enough to deter them from following him.

The trio of werewolves was a part of Audrianna's pack; they protected Audrianna on occasions, and one of their own had been the only casualty in the attack. He had hoped to not have to bring them with him, he had never agreed to them being a part of her entourage. But he was not in the mood to turn them away.

They all wore their natural hair in a corkscrew hairstyle that massed at the shoulder. One's complexion was a fairer shade of almond brown than the others. The ultimate goal was to be a decoy for Audrianna in case of an attack such as the one that occurred last night. But all that had resulted in is the death of one, and the kidnapping of his wife. Revenge must be at the forefront of their minds.

Their expressions gave away no measure of discomfort as he turned to the elevator's opening and beckoned Darksmith and the young boy inside.

The doors to the elevator were about to close when an index finger slid through the cracked opening. With the strength of his artificial index finger Lincoln forcefully, and easily, slid the doors back into its slit. Lincoln looked down at Viktor.

"You're not heading to command center?"

"Sorry. We're heading up. Prior engagement." Viktor flicked Lincoln's finger from the open door, but his finger only moved because Lincoln moved it, not because Viktor could. Lincoln folded his arms and watched as the doors began to close, not before Brighton gave a half-hearted wave delivered with an expectant expression in Lincoln's direction.

Lincoln gave Brighton a brief, non-committal smile before the doors shut.

Mat turned to Lincoln and leered at him. He lifted his curled fingers and gave him the fig sign, wriggling his thumb beneath his index finger. Only a decades-long friendship kept Mat from landing in a world of hurt by offending the towering Lincoln Huntington with his brash teasing.