Dreams of a Dark Warrior (11 page)

She didn’t need any dark-fey deadweight slowing her down. As soon as Regin knew the lay of the land,

the schedules, and the security protocols, she’d devise something. “In any case, my sisters wil come for

me soon.”

“That’s what everyone else keeps saying, but no one has ever mounted a rescue. We think this

instal ation is hidden from the outside.”

In a smug tone, Regin said, “Everyone else doesn’t have Nïx the Ever-Knowing in their corner.”

Though Nïx might be the one who put me here!

“Seems the most powerful oracle alive could have given you a heads-up about your capture.”

“She does everything for a reason,” Regin answered truthful y. Her every stray glance or offbeat

Nïxism could be pivotal in shaping the future. But deciphering these portents took more patience than

Regin possessed.

“I’ve got information you need,” Natalya said. “The immortals have a grapevine of gossip passed from

cel to cel . In the two weeks that I’ve been here, I’ve learned much about this place. And about our

captors. For instance, I know the magister took you down personal y.”

“Magister?”

“Declan Chase. Tal , pale face, soul ess eyes.”

“Completely soul ess.” This time. “How did you know?” Regin spied a camera above, placed to capture

everything within. She’d bet he was watching her right now.
Creepy.

“Because he stabbed you in the side. He’s also known as the Blademan. Sometimes the Order

catches us in sweeps, and sometimes they target us specifical y. Appears that you were on the

magister’s shopping list.”

“And magister means
in charge
?” Great. Aidan was the bossman of these mortals—the ones insane

enough to provoke immortals.

“I believe a magister is one step below a commander.”

Behind them, the young guy’s head banging increased tempo. “Uh, you wanna to tel me what his drama

is?”

He was handsome and dark-haired, built like an athlete, but he couldn’t be more than seventeen or

eighteen. He looked disconcertingly human, wearing some high-school footbal T-shirt, broken-in jeans,

and weathered cowboy boots. “’Cause I can see this getting old in a hurry.” The hair on his right temple

was matted with blood.

“He’s been like this ever since they threw him in here four days ago. He doesn’t eat or drink, just

stares and bangs.”

“What is he?”

“I can’t puzzle it out. He doesn’t have horns, pointed ears—or apparently a need to eat. He does have

smal fangs, but he also sports a tan line.”

“You
checked
? Natalya, you durrrty bitch.”

“Hey, I had to determine if he was a blood sucker or not. Now I don’t know what to think.”

Doing her best to ignore the banging, Regin asked, “Who else have they taken prisoner?”

“It’s a who’s-who list of the Lore.”

Regin gave the fey the look her comment deserved. “As evidenced by the fact that
I
am here.”

“Volós the centaur king and the Lykae Uil eam MacRieve have been here for a couple of weeks. They

brought Carrow Graie in just before you.”

Carrow? Regin was good friends with the witch.
My man is responsible for all this?

“They’ve got scads of ghouls, Wendigos, some high-powered Sorceri. Numerous succubae and

vampires …”

Out of the corner of her eye, Regin spied two guards dragging by a towering prisoner. She turned,

gasped.

Lothaire the Enemy of Old.

The vampire was drugged, his head lol ing, his pale blond hair stained with blood. His clothes were

unmistakably moneyed—his muscular legs encased in leather pants, his shirt tailored to fit his lean build.

But the shirt had a bloody slit in the side. Natalya murmured, “The Blademan took
Lothaire
down?”

The Russian Horde vampire was diabolical. If these humans could capture and contain
him
…

With difficulty, he raised his head, his hooded eyes flashing to Regin, his reddened irises darkening.

Without a word, he bared bloody fangs at her.

Once he and the guards passed, Regin bit out, “Those two with Lothaire … they’re truly
human
? I think I final y understand what a mindfuck is.”

“It’s the col ars. The mortals cal them torques. They weaken us, dim our powers through some mystical

means.”

Regin yanked at hers again. “So how do you get it off?”

“They can’t be broken. Only the warden or magister can unlock them—with a thumbprint.”

Oh, yeah, I’m screwed.
“Al righty, then. About that al iance.” Regin shot a look up at the camera, rubbing her hand over her nape. “How old are you?” she asked the fey.

“Why?”

“’Cause you could use a little work.” She switched to the old immortal language to say, “Because you

might understand this tongue.”

Natalya answered in the same, “I know it.”

“Has there
never
been a successful escape?” Regin asked, but she feared she knew the answer.

There was a reason Regin had never heard of the Order.

“The fox shifter next door has been here for years—she hears
everything,
conversations even in

other wards. No one has gotten free.”

“There’s got to be a way.”

“It’s said we’re on an island, far from any coast and surrounded by shark-fil ed waters. The cel is

inescapable, the glass unbreakable. To have any chance at freedom, you’d have to get out of the cel

first. They only take us out for three things—torture, experimentations, and executions.”

“Mark my words, fey. I wil escape this place. And if you get me up to speed and keep me there, I’l take

you with me.”

Natalya tapped her chin with a black claw. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a card up your

sleeve.”

“Maybe I do.” Regin had knowledge of an upcoming event.

Declan Chase’s imminent demise.

SIX

W
hat the hell are they speaking?

Declan had observed the Valkyrie and fey’s tense interaction with interest. He was fascinated with the

hierarchies and al iances in the Lore, the usual predictability of their castes and classes.

But once their initial discord had faded, they’d begun calmly speaking to each other in a different

tongue, one that seemed familiar to Declan.

Over the years, he’d studied on his own to learn the languages of his enemies—the vampires’

Russian, the Lykae’s Gaelic, the rough Demonish of the various demonarchies—but he couldn’t place

this.

With the click of a button, he started a program to translate their words, confident that he’d soon have

a transcript of everything.

Input invalid.

What the hel ? His program couldn’t pin down the language. He rang a technician. “I want a translation

from cel seventy.
Now
.”

“They’re speaking no known language, sir.”

Declan hung up, tamping down his frustration. He’d heard tales of an omnilingual fey—an elven

creature who somehow knew al languages. He put her on his capture list.

The phone rang. Webb was the only one who cal ed his personal line. Declan had no friends or family.

When he answered, Webb said, “You completed al of your captures! Good work, son.”

Even after al this time, Declan savored the praise. He knew he’d cast Webb in a father’s role, but

Webb had been just as quick to put Declan into a son’s. They’d both lost loved ones in this war. “Thank

you, sir. But we sustained casualties when taking both the vampire and the Valkyrie.”

“I saw the videos of the captures. Of course, we knew taking Lothaire wouldn’t be easy. You

confiscated a ring of his?”

“A plain gold band. He was incensed to lose it, even more homicidal.”

“It must have mystical powers. Find out what it does. And what about the Valkyrie? How did she know

we were closing in?”

“Her soothsayer sister dispatched her to attack my men.”

“Nïx the Ever-Knowing did this?” Webb asked, his tone peculiar. “When is the glowing one in the exam

schedule?”

Declan pul ed up the rotation on his screen. “Dixon won’t have her until next week.” The facility was

backlogged with inmates, and stil Webb insisted on bringing in more, no matter how much Declan

protested.

“Question the Valkyrie before then. Dig for as much intel as you can get before the docs get through

with her. We need to discover how she produces energy, how she channels it—”

“You knew she could channel electricity?”
That intel would’ve saved lives tonight.

“Not until we watched her capture,” Webb said. “Think, Declan, she doesn’t eat or drink, but she

produces continuous, uninterrupted power. She’s like a walking reactor. Tapping into her energy source

could solve the limitations inherent in the TEP-C.”

The Order’s charge throwers, or tactical electroshock pulse cannons, were incredibly effective against

detrus—at least, against most of them besides Regin the Radiant—but they had limited firing power.

“If you can discover what fuels her, we can use it against her own kind. …”

Turning their strengths into weaknesses.
Dixon’s team of scientists would cut the Valkyrie open on the operating table to get to the truth. Since they’d need measurable, duplicable results, they’d do it

repeatedly.

Declan gazed at the monitor, regarding the female with puzzlement.

“In any case, now that we final y have a Valkyrie, we need to learn everything we can about her

species, and what sets this one apart.”

Whenever the Order had been close to capturing a Valkyrie in the past, the target had grown spooked,

as if she’d been tipped off. Likely by Nïx the Ever-Knowing.

So why had Nïx al owed Regin to be captured?

Why tel him he was
late
?

“And we need to know about the vampire’s ring,” Webb said. “I understand how difficult it is to get

miscreats to talk, but I’m confident you can get me these answers.”

Though Declan had become an expert at torture, the immortals were astonishingly closemouthed, even

withholding information about their natural enemies. The only way to get results was by tormenting a loved one or mate, but Declan had no leverage like that over either the Valkyrie or the vampire.

No matter. Somehow he would break them. “Yes, sir,” he said absently.

“Son?” Webb sighed. “You’re not feeling mercy for the Valkyrie? Because you had to harm a female?”

Thirty-five years of
something
had rushed to the fore.

“Remember, their beauty is a weapon. This one wil not hesitate to wield it on you.” A pause. “Has she

compromised your judgment? Tempted you in anyway?”

Declan grated, “No, sir!” The Order would mind-wipe and cast out any member who became involved

with a detrus. Even an involuntary entrancement was enough to have one’s memory erased.

Unless it happens to me.

Two years ago, a witch had entranced Declan, cursing him to relive every terror and agony he’d ever

experienced.

Webb had procured a countercurse before Declan had been driven insane—or at least
noticeably

insane. Then the commander had covered up the whole ordeal.

How many more rules would the old man break for him? Would he fix any more transgressions?

On this night, Declan had savored the feel of a captive’s body in his arms.
And I’m … changing.
His doses could barely control it.

Cast out.

At the idea, sweat beaded on his upper lip. The Order was al Declan had. He’d rather die than lose it.

“I’l get the results, sir.”

“Maybe I’l come out and check on things next month or so. Might be a good time, with so many

developments on the horizon.”

“Very good, sir. And perhaps we can talk then about cul ing some of these prisoners.”

Declan didn’t want them contained, or, God forbid, created. He wanted them al exterminated. “This

facility is wel over capacity.”

“We’l talk about that when I get there.”

Once they’d hung up, Declan cal ed for Vincente. The former Ranger was as trustworthy as any, he

supposed, though Declan could never ful y trust another, no one but Webb.

In moments, the burly guard arrived. Not for the first time, Declan wondered if the man ever slept.

He handed Vincente the protective box guarding the vampire’s ring. “I want you to get this ring

analyzed. Have the metal urgist test for any mystical properties. The usual precautions—no one touches

it. Return it before I question Lothaire.”

With a nod, the man took the box and exited.

Even after the warning that Webb’s cal had provided, Declan turned back to the monitor for another