Dreams of a Dark Warrior (30 page)

swung her head up to face the camera, eyes silvery.

Declan ran his gloved fingers down the monitor over her image. Then he punched the screen.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I
never expected this from you,” Webb told him. His military bearing was even more pronounced

tonight, though he used to relax around Declan. “Never from you, son.”

Webb’s censure was kil ing him. Declan respected him more than any other man. It was bad enough

that Declan had fucked up so completely, but for Webb to know about his transgression was too much.

“Your clearance wil be downgraded. Your print won’t work on prisoners’ bindings.”

Not mind-wiped? Not cast out?

“And Fegley wil take over your captures.”

“You’re putting him in charge of Malkom Slaine?”

“Fegley’s loyal to this cause. Loyal to the bone.”

“He gets off on the power here.”

“As opposed to getting off on the inmates here?” Webb rubbed his hand over his face. “You know I

look upon you as a son. And your work here isn’t finished. I wil try to smooth this over as best as I can.”

Fixing things for me yet again.

“But, Declan, I have to know you can beat this obsession with the Valkyrie.”

“Consider it beaten.” There was no gut-wrenching pain in his body, no urgency or crippling tension.

Inside he felt cold as ash.

It didn’t matter whether Declan believed she had the power to destroy him.
She
had, which meant she’d been actively endeavoring to murder him. Al the seduction, al the charm to win him over … al bul shite.

He’d been an easy mark, yearning for what she’d seemed to offer.

And until he’d discovered the truth, he’d at last had the briefest taste of … peace.

Now he knew exactly what he was missing.
Fuckin’ hate her!

“How can I trust that?” Webb demanded. “When you broke every regulation to see her repeatedly in

your quarters? You of al people should know what they’re capable of. Have you forgotten about your

parents? How do you think they’d feel about your involvement with a female
who’s not human
?”

Declan stared straight ahead, berating himself for this fal far worse than Webb ever could.

“It’s us against them. There’s no middle ground. You’re either on our side or you align with the detrus

that
fed
on your family. Fed on
you
. What’s it to be, Declan?”

“I’m loyal to the Order.”

“Good. Then you’l accompany Fegley in Slaine’s capture, shadow the warden for once. Just as a pre-

caution.”

The idea grated. “Why?”

“Because you’re the only one who could stop that demon if he got loose on our plane. After that, you’l

take some time off base.”

“
Now,
sir?” Who would interrogate Slaine? Who would make sure his blood got destroyed so no one

was ever tempted to miscreate another like him?

Webb steepled his fingers, a gesture Declan now realized he’d emulated. He’d emulated much about

the man. “I’d been coming to see you tonight to tel you some exciting news, the kind you crave most. But

now I don’t know if you deserve the mission. …”

Declan’s body shot through with tension. “You found Neoptera.” Their nests were rare; it’d been years

since Declan had encountered any of their kind.

“Yes. In southern Australia.”

Only a few hours away by chopper. This could be an opportunity to prove himself—and the chance to

do what he loved above al things.

Slaughtering Neoptera.
Hatred so vicious it burns cold.

“I need this, sir.”

“Yes.” The man gazed at him shrewdly. “I think it’s exactly what you need.”

The stench of rotting flesh engulfed Declan and his men as they closed in on an abandoned

warehouse. The smel of old victims.

Which meant that they’d found the Neo nest. At last.

He and his team had dusted off directly after Slaine’s successful capture, and for the better part of a

week they’d hunted along the murky quays of southern Australia.

He waved half his men toward the back of the building to block off the only other exit. They wore night-

vision goggles and had their sidearms drawn. No TEP-Cs tonight—this was going to be a close-quarter

bug hunt.

Declan had unsheathed his sword and was ready to get his hands dirty. Ready to prove himself.

He’d gotten through Slaine’s capture without throttling Fegley—a feat in itself. Acting as a mere fail-

safe in the background, Declan had done nothing, just watched another heading
his
mission.

He’d even held his tongue as Fegley had taunted him. Apparently the warden had put two and two

together: Declan’s interest in the Valkyrie, fol owed by his downgraded clearance.

“Golden boy Chase,” he’d said. “Not so perfect after al . Got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

Declan shook away those thoughts, needing to stay focused. Already he was in strung-out shape. For

days, he’d been unable—or unwil ing—to sleep.
To dream.

When they reached the entrance, he motioned for his team to activate their goggles, then feigned

doing so as wel , though he’d never needed them.

Inside the dark warehouse, the stench was pervasive. Four bodies lay tied, gagged, mutilated. An adult

male and female and two children.
A family.

Memories threatened to swamp Declan—scenes from a time when
he
had been bound and tormented,

knowing death was coming.

Pleading for it.

Seeing the victims’ wounds made his own skin crawl. His raised scars grew hypersensitive, as if he

could stil feel the injuries that had wrought them—

A male Neo swooped down on him, delivering a blow that hurtled him across the space. Four other

creatures attacked as one.

Declan tasted blood, ripped off his goggles. His heart began thundering in his ears, his muscles

burgeoning.

He spat a mouthful of blood, then charged into the fray.

Gore splattered thickly over the wal s as Declan stabbed the last Neo, pinning its powerful body to the

ground.

This one was the fourth he’d fel ed. His team had taken down the other.

Looming over the creature, Declan pierced its thorax to immobilize it, then unhurriedly twisted his sword

as it thrashed. Its compound eyes stared up at him with sentience. When it lashed out its prehensile

tongue, Declan eagerly punished it with another onerous twist of the blade, unable to disguise his

satisfaction.

His men regarded him uneasily. They were hardened black-ops soldiers—mercenaries, assassins—

and
he
was raising brows?

Never had he experienced camaraderie with them. For them, the Order was a job. It was Declan’s life.

And they could never appreciate retribution like this—because they hadn’t earned the right to it. …

In time, he slammed his boot down against the Neo’s head, wrenching free his sword to strike the kil ing

blow.

But as he raised his weapon, Declan hesitated.

For years, he’d dreaded the effects of Neo blood, had wondered endlessly why they’d forced him to

drink of their dead.

Now he realized they’d probably done it just to keep him conscious and alive for longer, nourishing him

as they fed from fresh prey.

There was a more likely explanation for Declan’s abilities.
Going down swinging …

Had he accepted that he was a berserker? No. But the mere possibility made Declan shake loose his

old dread, made him accept that these beings would have no hold over his future.

They would never take more from him than what he’d already yielded—days of his life, pieces of his

flesh …

My family.

With a savage yel , he swung, decapitating the creature.
Done. It’s done.

Inhaling for calm, he ordered the team to do a cleanup, then trudged out into the humid night air to wipe

down his sword.

With no more leads in this city, they’d be returning to the facility days early. Probably just as wel ; once this adrenaline rush waned, he’d be completely exhausted.

As he gazed down the dimly-lit quay, he acknowledged that the Valkyrie had been right about one thing.

He was never meant to run a facility, to torture day in and day out. He was a hunter through and through.

He
should
be in the thick of the fray.

And again, his thoughts returned to Regin.

As far as she was concerned, he was dead inside. He didn’t give a damn about the Valkyrie, didn’t hate

her, just felt numb when he thought of her.

Aye, cold as ash.

So why did I order Vincente to watch over her while I was gone?

TWENTY-EIGHT

D
eclan arrived back at the base at six in the morning, limping, bleary-eyed with exhaustion, his fatigues blood-splattered.

Returning “home” from battle, like in that dream of Aidan’s.

When the berserker had washed off the blood and gore, he’d found the Valkyrie waiting for him,

needing
him. Gazing up at him like he was a hero.

—Her face lights up when I come into view.—

Now, God help him, Declan’s feet wanted to take him to her cel .
Oh, aye, Dekko. So maybe she can

try to finish you.

Instead, he forced himself to stagger to his solitary, grim quarters. He just needed some sleep. Then

he’d think more clearly.

He gazed around his room—why had he never realized this was his own cel ? A soul ess hol ow space.

Just like his life.

Here he had no sweet kiss and soft woman waiting for him. No family. Just emptiness.

These goddamned detrus had more of a life than he did.

He sank down in front of the console, fighting the overriding urge to see Regin. It’d been a week. Just a

glimpse …

He pul ed up the feed of her cel . She was asleep, curled on her side. She wore only her T-shirt and

panties, with her hair spread over her shoulder.

Achingly beautiful.

He was expected to hate this female as much as the creatures he’d just hunted? To equate her kind

with theirs? Impossible.

He exhaled. Numbing drugs or not, his emotionless existence was clearly over. He did feel, and al too

strongly.

I want her so much. Even while she wants me dead.

Why wouldn’t she? How many times had he told her he would execute her, or that he took pleasure in

hurting her?

He couldn’t begrudge her actions—she’d taken him at his word and attempted to protect herself, doing

whatever it took not to be on the “rol cal of dead immortals.”

All’s fair in war. Best not take things personally.
He was a big boy; if he could dish out the pain, he’d better be prepared to take it.

No, if he was honest, he’d admit he’d been infuriated by his reaction: disappointment so deep it’d been

like a physical blow.

Declan wanted whatever he’d believed he could find with her. Craved it more than a ful needle.

A knock sounded on his door. Probably Dixon this early. Speaking of needles.
Better have what I

need, Doctor.

He flipped off the screen, buzzed her in. She carried a case.
Very good.

When she saw him, her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Those hunts real y take it out of you. No

sleep?”

“None.” He’d been too busy searching—and too desperate not to dream of Regin.

“I see. I’m sure you’ve had a lot on your mind as wel .”

Maybe he was paranoid, but Dixon seemed to be acting strangely around him, more reserved.

Probably figured out what had happened with Declan and the Valkyrie. If Fegley had, then Dixon sure as