Dreams of a Dark Warrior (10 page)

The only home he’d known for nearly a decade.

Inside his inner chamber, he removed his gloves and jacket. There were only two places in the world he

felt comfortable enough to shed the layer of clothes that kept his ruined skin hidden: here within this

sanctum, and out in the desolate forests on the island.

Releasing a weary exhalation, he sank into the chair at his control console. Above the curved desk and

computer keyboard stretched a ninety-six-inch LCD screen. Across that extended monitor, he could pul

up multiple broadcast feeds from the facility’s cameras.

With the click of a button, he could view—and hear—the occupants in any of the holding cel s, could

deploy security measures against them.

From this console he could run the entire base. In fact, he often did.

This military instal ation had once been used only to secure and interrogate prisoners. Now the facility

also housed a research arm in a dedicated ward. A team of scientists lived on-site, investigating the

immortals’ innate defenses, their physical strengths—and especial y their weaknesses.

Webb had turned over control of the base to Declan a decade ago. Since then, Declan’s life had fal en

into a routine: work out in the morning to deaden his abnormal strength, oversee operations, interrogate

some of the higher-priority captives.

Now he reviewed several backlogged cases as he mindlessly ate a military MRE—and awaited a

doctor’s house cal .

After finishing his meal, he pul ed up the feed from cel seventy to front and center on the monitor.

Fegley and a guard were just tossing the Valkyrie to the floor inside. She was stil unconscious with her

head bagged.

“New roommate, fey,” the warden said to the female assassin already in the cel . “She’s a Valkyrie.

Maybe this prisoner wil actual y talk to you.”

The fey didn’t move to assist her, merely stared at Regin with cold indifference.

Odd. From what he understood, the fey and Valkyrie were ancient al ies. Of course, the assassin

wasn’t completely fey.

The other inmate—a teenaged halfling—continued banging his head against the wal . The boy hadn’t

known he was a detrus, hadn’t known they’d existed, until he’d been dispatched here by one of the four

other magisters. Apparently, he’d committed no crime other than setting his sights on the wrong girl—a

magister’s daughter.

Upon arriving here and seeing living, breathing monsters, the boy had gone nearly catatonic.

Declan hadn’t even been eighteen when he’d faced these beings for the first time. He had survived the

encounter.

But not intact. …

For long moments, Declan watched the even rise and fal of the Valkyrie’s chest. Her T-shirt was hiked

up, revealing her flat bel y and her wound. The skin there had already closed.

Typical immortal resilience. How many times had he cursed it? With their ability to regenerate, they

were nightmare adversaries.

Not to mention when they possessed other powers. Like the vampires’ and demons’ teleporting or the

witches’ spel casting. Without the Order control ing their number, there’d be no stopping them.

He drummed his fingers on his desk. The Valkyrie was fresh from ten murders, and stil he was curious

about her, wanting to know more than the limited details in her file.

What is wrong with me?
Of al the immortals he’d been sent to capture, Declan might hate her the most

—for flaunting what she was, for being proud to have
offed
his men.

And Declan wasn’t
supposed
to be curious; he was simply supposed to act—under orders. For nearly

twenty years, he’d fol owed commands, had been the weapon the Order wielded.

He wasn’t content in his life, but at least his sense of purpose warred with the strain. He owed

everything to Webb—his life, his career, whatever sanity he stil possessed.

Someone buzzed his inner chambers. Only three people would dare: Calder Vincente, a former Ranger

and his right-hand man, Webb on his infrequent visits, and Dr. Kel i Dixon, the physician in charge of

and his right-hand man, Webb on his infrequent visits, and Dr. Kel i Dixon, the physician in charge of

prisoner research.

He glanced at the video of the outer hal way. Dixon, with a familiar metal case in hand.

Though he wanted only to observe the Valkyrie—to relish her reaction when she awakened and

comprehended her position—he had business with the doctor. He donned his gloves, then buzzed her in.

She entered, her smile fawning. Which he despised. Sometimes Dixon acted like a schoolgirl fan of

his. He knew she was attracted to him, but then for some reason women usual y were. The more coldly

he treated them, the more they seemed to desire him.

Yet even if there were any aspect about Dixon to tempt him—her looks were forgettable, her figure

boardlike—she of al people should know why anything more was impossible.

She waited for him to ask her to sit. Since the only place in this corner of his chambers was his bed, he

didn’t.

“How was your trip?”

“The hunting was plentiful.”

“That’s what we’ve heard.” She pushed her large glasses up on her nose, casting him an MD’s

assessing glance. “You look exhausted. Were you able to sleep?”

“I’l catch up over the next week.” Normal y, he slept just four hours a night, yet that got shaved down to two on these hunts. And he’d been gone for two weeks, completing lengthy preparations for his three

captures.

“How was your heart rate? Any palpitations? Any adverse effects of the medicine?” Dixon had been

supplying him with his injections for more than a decade—ever since she’d begun giving Declan his

yearly physicals.

She’d been keeping his secrets and keeping him dosed for al that time.

“No adverse effects. I’ve decided I need to double up.”

She set the case on his console. Inside, he’d find two weeks’ worth of vials and syringes, a convenient

doping kit. “Chase, what you’re injecting should knock out a horse. It’s going to start affecting your mind, with potential y permanent complications.”

He’d long suspected that at some point, she’d begun to add an opiate to the mix, increasing it gradual y.

Now he felt certain of it. “Then I must be building up a tolerance, because it’s not working.”

When capturing the vampire and even the Valkyrie, he’d suffered that familiar rage, and with it had

come the customary physical symptoms.

Thought left his brain, while his heart felt like it would explode. His muscles twitched and swel ed as if they couldn’t handle al the blood pumping to them. He would experience a marked surge in strength and

speed, yet afterward, he would be nearly feeble with exhaustion.

Dixon squinted behind her glasses. “If I hadn’t tested you myself, I’d swear you were one of them.”

“I am no bloody detrus.”

She flinched at the coarse term.

“And you did test me, finding
nothing,
” he reminded her. Though he did heal faster than most, his cel s were stil vulnerable to contagion and death. His skin scarred. His broken bones mended with calcium

remodeling; an immortal’s bone would set as if never broken.

Of course, he’d felt no need to tel her that he possessed animal-like senses, could see in the dark or

hear a whisper from half a klick away. “Dixon, you’re the one who came
to me
with the idea of injections.

Now you’re pul ing back?”

“I need to do new workups on you, run more tests,” she said. “Then we could final y get to the bottom of

this.”

His attention was back on the Valkyrie. “No more tests. You’ve subjects enough.” Besides, he feared

he knew why his strength was burgeoning.

Blood that wasn’t my own …

“If we could find the root cause,” she said, “then we wouldn’t have to systemical y suppress everything.”

They’d gone over this before. In addition to deadening his abilities, his doses suppressed his emotions

and any appetites, whether for food—or for sex.

She couldn’t seem to believe that he was ecstatic about that particular side effect.

“Chase, we have been friends for a decade.”

Of a sort.
I use you.
She was his source, his dealer, providing him a bimonthly stash.

From one drug to the next.
Just a couple of quid’s worth, I’m beggin’
. He shoved away the stray

thought.

She leaned against the console—in front of the screen. “You’re a male in your prime. Don’t you …

miss
it?”

No. No, he didn’t. Even if he didn’t suffer that punishing anxiety with each sexual encounter, his body

had been ruined.

“Listen, Chase, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” Had the Valkyrie stirred?

“It wil only take a second. It’s important to me. To us,” she added significantly.

To us
? He cast her a menacing look, the message clear—
you do not want to fuck with me tonight.

She blanched. “We c-can talk later, then, of course. I’l let you get some rest.” She almost laid her hand on his shoulder, but a chil ing glare made her recoil, backing to the door. “And I’l have additional vials prepped for now, if you want to start doubling up. Just til I can formulate the stronger doses for you.”

Be quick about it.
“Very good, Doctor.”

As the door closed behind her, he realized Dixon would not be easily dissuaded. The daft bitch thought

she was in love with him. How could she want a man she innately feared?

He exhaled with irritation. Damn it, he just wanted to watch his monitor, to see his new capture—

The Valkyrie was rousing.

Because her deadly cel mate was kicking her.

FIVE

W
here am I?” Regin mumbled groggily, fighting to wake. Was somebody kicking her hip? “Who are

you? Why’s it dark in here?”

“Take the bag off your head, you tosser,” a female said in a British accent.

Bag. Abduction. Not a dream. “Don’t kick me again,” Regin warned.

The next time a boot connected with her hip, her hands shot out to seize it, twisting until the owner went spinning to the ground. The move had Regin wincing from the pain in her side, but she swiftly snatched

the bag off her head as she labored to stand.

Her eyes darted around.
I’m in a cell?
So this was the Order’s facility?

A black-haired female was bounding back to her feet, her purplish eyes narrowed. She wore tight club

shorts, a leather halter, fishnet stockings with ripped holes, and the stiletto boots Regin had already been acquainted with.

“I recognize you,” Regin said. “Yeah, you’re Natalya the Shadow. Dark fey assassin.” She

remembered the female’s onyx-colored lips and claws. Her
poisonous
claws. Rumor had it that her very blood was black.

“And you’re the glowing Valkyrie.”

They’d had a contentious relationship in the past. Regin and her sisters used to snicker and cal

Natalya the Kil er Fairy. Until she’d flung poisoned knives at them. Now Regin defensively reached for her swords—

“No swords for you.” Natalya swept back her mane of stick-straight jet hair and began stalking around

her, claws bared.

“And no daggers to throw for you.”

As they circled each other, Regin flared her own claws as she tried to get her bearings.

Within this smal cel , there were two sets of bunks, a toilet, and a sink. Three of the wal s were made of solid metal, while the front was a wal of thick glass. In the corner was a second inmate, a young male,

maybe late teens.
Don’t know what kind.
He was knocking his head against the metal wal , his eyes glazed.

Down a long corridor were even more cel s.

Attention back to Natalya. “Aren’t you s’posed to be dead?” Regin asked as they each assessed the

other for weaknesses. Natalya’s gaze flickered over the remnants of her wound, Regin’s over the weird

col ar Natalya wore.

Regin reached up to her neck. What the—
I do too?
She yanked on the metal band, but couldn’t break it.

“Not dead,” Natalya said. “Just put on involuntary hiatus.”

“So are we fighting again, or do you always kick people in greeting?”

“Your m.o. is to attack first and ask questions later. Mine is the same. Seems to me that we don’t have

that luxury if we’re going to escape this place.” She lowered her hands. “I think we might need to join

forces.”

Normal y the fey and Valkyrie al ied. But Natalya was a dark fey—half fey overlord, half demon slave.

“I’l agree to a truce, but I’l escape this place with or without your help,” Regin said, lowering her hands as wel .