Chapter 5 - The Siege of Vane Manor
The glass of the study’s arched windows starred under the downdraft of the descending helicopter. Dust motes danced in the fractured sunlight as Damian spun away from his brother, his hand finally clearing the holster beneath his jacket. A heavy Browning 9mm materialized in his grip, the safety clicking off with a crisp, final sound.
"Drop the phone, Julian," Damian ordered, the barrel leveling directly between his brother's eyes.
Julian didn't flinch. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his smile wide and unhinged. "You can kill me, big brother. But the men stepping off that bird aren't loyal to the Vane family anymore. They’re mine. They’ve been mine since the day father stopped writing checks."
The heavy oak door behind Marcus splintered with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood exploded into the room as a flash-bang grenade rolled across the Persian rug.
"Get down!" Damian roared, lunging forward to shove Clara and little Lily beneath the heavy mahogany desk just as the device detonated with a blinding white flash and a concussive boom that rattled the teeth in Damian's skull.
Ringing filled the air, a high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sound. Through the thick white smoke, armored figures poured into the study, clad in tactical black gear with obscured visors.
Marcus swung his sidearm up, firing twice before a suppressive burst of submachine gun fire chewed through the antique bookcase, sending him collapsing behind the overturned sofa with a groan.
"Marcus!" Damian shouted, firing back through the haze. Two tactical operatives dropped, their armor absorbing the first rounds before vital points gave way, but more took their place like mechanical ants.
Julian walked backward toward the shattered window, the rotor wash whipping his blonde hair into a frenzy. He looked like an angel of death standing in the tempest.
"See you at the reading of the will, Damian!" Julian shouted over the deafening roar of the jet turbine.
He didn't jump; a tactical harness dropped from the belly of the hovering chopper, and Julian caught it effortlessly, hoisting himself up into the steel belly of the aircraft as it began to lift off the lawn.
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Damian emptied his magazine into the departing fuselage, but the bulletproof plating absorbed the lead with dull metallic clangs.
The smoke cleared slowly, revealing a devastated room. Books burned in small patches on the rug. Marcus was bleeding heavily from a shoulder wound, clutching a tourniquet to his arm. And Clara was weeping silently, holding Lily tightly against her chest, the child’s eyes wide with terror as she stared at the empty doorway where the purple-black shadow had finally taken physical form.
