Ashes of Midnight (18 page)

 

The trail led them to the entrance of a junkyard at the
end of an industrial area. The place was gated, but the padlock and heavy chain that secured it had been loosened. There was just enough room for someone to squeeze inside. And someone had; the wet crimson stains on the latch and edge of the gate left no question about that.

 

“Come on,” Kade said, wrenching the thing open wide enough for Brock and him to slip through.

 

He heard the rush of movement the instant before the big black dogs came barreling around a pile of scrap and rubbish. Two rottweilers, big as tanks and mean as hell.

 

“Holy shit!”

 

Brock’s shout was all but drowned out by the savage barks and growls of the oncoming dogs. No animal alive could take a vampire, but that didn’t mean the sight of a combined three hundred pounds of seething, furious canine wasn’t cause for a little alarm. Kade stood firm, his legs braced wide as the pair of rotties swiftly closed the distance on him.

 

He stared them down, eye to eye.

 

They slowed… then stopped, both of them dropping into a cower at his feet. The hounds whimpered, shifting on their bellies and keeping their big heads low as their dark eyes searched out his favor.

 

“Get out of here.”

 

They loped off, as docile as puppies.

 

Brock gaped. “What the hell was that?”

 

“This way,” Kade said, ignoring the question and the astonished stare that followed him as he stalked deeper into the junkyard. They had bigger things to deal with right now.

 

It wasn’t hard to find the bloodied victim. The young man had collapsed against a rusted metal crate, one jeans-clad leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the
knee. He looked boneless and weary, like a puppet whose strings had been severed. He held his hand up against his throat where the bleeding was the worst. He couldn’t stanch the flow. In just a few more minutes, he would be dead.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Brock hissed.

 

The warrior’s voice was thick and strained, but whether from revulsion or the simple fact that the sight and smell of so much fresh blood made even the most controlled vampire thirst like he was starving, there was no way to tell.

 

Kade’s own fangs tore farther out of his gums as he looked at the bleeding human. He tried his best to mask the sharp tips as he edged closer. “What happened to you?” he asked, despite the obvious injuries that could only have come from one of his kind.

 

“Jumped… me,” the human wheezed. “My neck… fucker… bit me.”

 

When the man removed his hand to show him the injury, the copper punch of his blood hit Kade like a fist to the gut. He’d fed only yesterday, but the urge to drink again pulled at him. His vision sharpened, bathing everything in amber.

 

“Who bit you?” Brock asked the human, smoothly stepping in when Kade had to glance away. “Can you describe who did this to you?”

 

The man exhaled a slow, shuddering sigh. He didn’t have long now. He looked up, eyes listless and glassy in the dark. He lifted his arm, slowly extending his finger to point somewhere past Brock’s thick shoulder. “Him,” he gasped, the voice thready and airless. “Behind you … that’s him …”

 

Kade and Brock swung their heads around in unison—just in time to see a huge Breed male running for the back
acre of the junkyard. The vampire wore black fatigues and a long-sleeved black knit shirt. His head was shaved bald, the back of his naked skull covered in an unmistakable pattern of
dermaglyphs

 

“Holy hell,” Kade muttered.

 

He broke into a run with Brock thundering at his heels. They bolted for the rear of the littered yard, but the Gen One male in front of them was ten times faster. He vaulted up onto a mountain of crushed cars in one swift leap, then he was gone.

 

It wasn’t Chase who’d brutalized the human and left him for dead, but another Breed male who was recently familiar to all of the Order. A Gen One who’d joined them only a few weeks ago.

 

“Hunter,” Brock growled. “Son of a bitch.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER
Fourteen

 

 

C
laire felt a bit queasy from the flight as she and Andreas stepped off the Order’s private jet in Boston later that night. It had been a long trip, mostly because of the chasm of uncomfortable silence that seemed to have opened up between Andreas and her. Fortunately her lack of sleep after the dreamwalking disaster with him had made her plenty tired on the flight from Denmark to the States. She slept most of the way but he had seemed much too edgy for rest.

 

Even now, as he guided her across the private hangar toward a sleek black Land Rover that pulled up to greet them, Andreas practically vibrated with broody, dangerous energy.

 

“Tegan and Elise,” he told her as a big tawny-haired Breed male and his petite blond mate climbed out of the vehicle. At the sight of them, Andreas’s demeanor changed from the maddening aloofness he’d been subjecting her to on the flight, to one of warm familiarity. “My friends,” he said, stepping forward to greet the golden, beautiful couple.

 

In one of his brief moments of conversation on the flight, Andreas had mentioned that Elise had been mated to a director of the Enforcement Agency here in Boston. She’d lost him a few years past to an altercation with a Rogue while on the job, and had lost her only son more recently than that. Claire wasn’t privy to the details of how Elise had found happiness again with Tegan, but it was obvious from the glow of peace they both radiated as they approached that the two of them were deeply in love.

 

Claire hung back as Andreas took the female’s hand to his lips and brushed her fingers with a chaste but friendly kiss. She had no right to feel the least bit possessive of him, but the pang stabbed her a little as the pretty Breedmate took Andreas into a welcoming hug.

 

Elise’s mate looked nearly as affected as Claire felt. The tall, muscular Breed warrior had a hard-edged look about him, from the wild tousle of his golden hair, to the glittering gem-green eyes that watched over his woman with a combination of pride and purely masculine protectiveness. Andreas had said Tegan was Gen One Breed, and seeing him up close, Claire would have guessed it on her own. His studied stillness called to mind the mien of a big cat; all those muscles might seem coiled and at ease, but it would take only a fraction of a second for him to spring into deadly action if he felt his world or the mate he openly adored were threatened in any way.

 

“Hello, Claire. I’m Elise,” Tegan’s Breedmate said, releasing Andreas to come over and greet her with equal kindness. While the two males shook hands, Claire found herself engulfed in a quick, welcoming hug. Elise stepped back, her pale lavender eyes bright with intellect and warmth, her chin-length light blond bob framing her delicate face. “It’s very nice to meet you. Even though our paths never crossed in the Agency, I am familiar with some of your philanthropic work in Hamburg. You’ve really done a lot for the Darkhaven communities over there.”

 

Claire shrugged faintly uncomfortable with the praise, given the purpose of her emergency arrival in the States with Andreas. And although the two males spoke in low voices, she heard Tegan’s murmured condolences on the deaths of Andreas’s kin and the destruction of his Darkhaven.

 

“I recall one of your young nephews and his shy Breedmate who’d been with child when I last saw you in Berlin a year ago,” Tegan added, his brows furrowed over those fierce green eyes.

 

Andreas gave him a sober nod. “They asked me to be godfather while you were there, I believe.”

 

“Yes,” the warrior replied, a faint smile in remembrance before his expression darkened with sympathy. “We were all stunned to hear what happened. The attack won’t go unmet, not if the Order has anything to say about it.”

 

Tegan sent the briefest look in Claire’s direction, unspoken acknowledgment of her mate’s hand in the tragedy that Andreas alone had managed to survive. Her sense of guilt and awkwardness increased, as did the tense knot in her belly. Her nerves were stretched peculiarly taut, putting an anxious flutter in her chest.

 

Andreas put his hand on Tegan’s shoulder as they continued their quiet conversation. “I want your word on
something, my friend. If it turns out that Dragos is even remotely connected to what happened to my Darkhaven, I’ll do whatever I can to help you get the bastard and shut him down. But Roth is mine alone. Can you give me that much?”

 

The warrior inclined his head in a slow nod. “I know the kind of hatred you’re feeling. I’ve been there myself. I’m the last one to tell you how to deal with your own demons, but just be careful, yeah? Plenty of bastards out there deserve a good killing, but vengeance will consume you if you don’t control it.”

 

It may be too late for that advice
, Claire thought, watching Andreas’s rigid stance and haunted, hardened gaze as the four of them made their way toward the waiting SUV His need to avenge his family and his human lover only seemed to be growing stronger, more volatile, for the fact that the justice he craved had yet to be realized.

 

After the horrors he showed her in his dream, there was a part of her that understood his rage, even shared it. But from what she’d seen of him these past couple of days, she worried that his own life might mean nothing to him. Would he hold anything sacred if he finally got his chance to destroy the one who’d hurt him?

 

Wilhelm
.

 

Just thinking about him turned her stomach with contempt. Claire couldn’t cling to any reasonable hope that Andreas’s accusations against Wilhelm had no basis. But what terrified her the most was that her involvement with Andreas now could bring no good—not to either of them. Her affection for him was something he didn’t seem to want or need. He had a single purpose in living now, and she knew him well enough to understand that if it came down to a choice between his own life and getting the justice he
felt he needed, he would spend his last breath seeing that purpose through to the end.

 

The idea of Andreas dying—again, after the miracle of his resurrection and return to her life—was something Claire would be unable to bear. The thought nearly staggered her as she neared the vehicle and felt the cool night air coming in from the city beyond.

 

The feeling of unease dogged her now, and there was a mounting jangle swelling in her veins. A waking sense of a presence she hadn’t quite recognized until now, when it was clanging in her cells like an alarm.

 

Wilhelm was near
.

 

Oh, God. How had she missed that? She’d been so wrapped up in Andreas and his friends, in her own confusion of emotions, that she hadn’t picked up on her body’s signals that her blood-bonded mate was somewhere in the area.

 

Somewhere in the city of Boston, she was certain of it.

 

What was he doing here?

 

“Claire, are you okay?” Elise placed her hand on her arm in concern. “What is it?”

 

She shook her head, more fervently when Andreas paused with Tegan and turned a questioning, suspicious look on her.

 

“I feel a little light-headed,” she said, casting for a reasonable excuse that didn’t involve telling Andreas that the enemy he intended to kill—who would be equally determined to kill him, as well—was probably only a few miles away from where he stood. Andreas couldn’t know that Wilhelm was so close now. She couldn’t let him know that, she thought, a sudden dread crawling into her throat.

 

“What’s wrong?” Andreas’s deep voice soaked into her,
but it wasn’t enough to calm the alarm that was rising inside her now.

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, lying only because the truth would send him storming straight into death’s hands. “I’m fine. I haven’t flown in a while, so it’s probably just a bit of air sickness. I’ll be okay. I need a moment to let it pass, that’s all. Is there a restroom somewhere?”

 

“Over there,” Elise said, gesturing toward the annex terminal nearby. “I’ll take you—”

 

“No,” Claire blurted. “I can find it on my own. Please … wait here. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

 

All that kept her from running was Andreas’s dubious look. He knew she was distressed; the blood bond that linked him to her now would tell him that easily enough. But it was her other bond—the one that would shackle her to Wilhelm Roth for as long as he lived—that sent her fleeing in a state of near panic.

 

She flew into the restroom, breathless and trembling. If she felt in her blood that Wilhelm was near, then he had to know that she was in the city now, too. The odds of him coming to look for her were too awful to consider. Conversely if Andreas were to force her to help him find Wilhelm through her blood bond? She would never forgive herself, or him.

 

And there was a larger, more troubling question, as well. What if Wilhelm Roth truly was involved in something bigger than she’d ever guessed—something related to Dragos? How could Andreas stand up to Wilhelm’s death squads and the greater evil of someone not even the Order had been able to defeat thus far?