A thirsting, savage monster. As Reichen prowled the back of a narrow neighborhood street, the bang of a storm door drew his head sharply up. A human male in a ball cap and baggy sweats stomped down a rickety wooden porch, screaming obscenities at the older woman who appeared backlit by lights from inside the house. "Getcha ass back here, Daniel! Do you hear me?" she shouted, loud enough for the surrounding four blocks to hear. The young male flipped her off and kept walking while he hollered back at her. "Yeah, yeah, f**k you too, Ma! Go back to ya bottle and stay the hell outta my weed, why don't ya! You owe me twenty bucks for the shit you stole from me!" Reichen cocked his head, watching the human cut down a dark side road. With his head down and his mouth working absently on all the things he still wanted to say to the drunk who spawned him, the kid didn't even notice that he wasn't alone in the narrow alley. He didn't see Reichen moving in from behind; probably only sensed him as a rush of cold air at the back of his tattooed neck. Before the human had a chance to utter a single startled gasp, Reichen sprang on him. He swiftly took him down to the cracked asphalt. Pushed the human's chin up and to the side, baring the hammering pulse at the side of his neck. He bit in deep, and sucked in a mouthful of warm, nourishing blood. He fed hungrily, greedily, ignoring the feeble struggles of his Host. Every gulp was bitter on his tongue, and did little to quench the desert dryness of his throat. His hunger persisted, even when the human's resistance had ended. Reichen kept feeding. He couldn't stop. He wasn't even sure he knew how--one of the terrible consequences of summoning his talent. He might have killed the man if not for the sudden awareness of cold hard steel pressing tight against the side of his head.
"The buffet is closed, ass**le." Reichen grunted, only the dimmest flicker of recognition burning into his brain. He kept drinking, starving for more. The hammer on the large pistol cocked with a loud metallic warning. "Back the f**k off, or you're gonna be eating lead." He growled now, pissed off by the interruption and still too fevered to let up on his Host. Blood gushed over his tongue and down his throat, but the fire in his gut still burned, impossible to extinguish. He slid a feral gaze to the side to gauge the Breed male with the gun locked and loaded at his head. "Holy hell," the huge vampire muttered. The icy nose of the pistol fell away from his temple. "Reichen? What the f**k." Reichen knew this immense male with the wild tawny hair and stark green eyes. Instinct called him warrior--friend, even though his stance and tone a moment ago had conveyed deadly serious murder. It was that instinctive awareness that kept Reichen from turning on the vampire as a strong hand came down on his shoulder and physically peeled him off his prey. He was shoved back hard, and the other male grabbed the human to seal the punctures with an efficient sweep of his tongue. Reichen watched, ass planted on the concrete, as the big Breed male palmed the human's forehead and erased his memory of the attack. "Now get the hell out of here." The stunned man stood up and wandered dazedly toward the other end of the alley. "Tegan," Reichen murmured thickly, voicing the name that finally sprang into his consciousness. The warrior stalked over to him. "What are you doing down here? Last I heard, Lucan had sent Rio out to Newport to chauffeur your sorry ass into the compound." Reichen shrugged.
"I had the sudden urge for takeout along the way." Tegan didn't laugh. He kept that fierce gaze trained on Reichen, watching him as he might an armed grenade. "You look like shit." "I'm better now," Reichen replied, feeling the new blood quenching his organs and cells. But it hadn't been enough. His thirst was still gnawing at him, greedy for more. "I am fine." Tegan scoffed. "You've got the shakes and you can't keep your eyes focused on a damn thing." "It will pass." This time a raw curse. "Give me your hand. Doesn't look like you can get up on your own motor." Reichen took the offered help, clasping Tegan's hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet. No sooner had he risen than Tegan drew in a sharp hiss. His fangs punched into view behind his lip, and the green of his eyes was suddenly shot with flecks of glowing amber. Reichen recalled the warrior's ability to read emotion with a touch, and he could only guess at the torrent of disturbing things he'd just picked up from that brief contact. "What the f**k is going on with you, man?" he demanded.
"It's the pyro... does this to me afterward. No big deal." Even as he said it, Reichen wondered if it was true. Summoning his power was getting easier all the time; coming out of its wake was another thing. Maybe Claire was right when she challenged him about his fury. How many more times could he do this and hope to emerge from it in one piece? How soon before he reached the tipping point and the fires ate away the very last scrap of his humanity? And if the fires didn't do it, he had the sickening feeling that the nearly insatiable thirst left in their wake surely would. "Shit," Tegan exhaled, holding him in a narrowed, assessing look. He pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and pressed a key. "Yeah, it's me. I'm down in Jamaica Plain. I've got Reichen here with me, I'm bringing him in to the compound."
The women of the Order made Claire feel as welcome as she ever had by her contemporaries in the Darkhavens. Three of the warriors' Breedmates, Savannah, Gabrielle, and Elise, had prepared her a lovely dinner of creamy soup and homemade biscuits, and Dylan had shown her to a private apartment down the maze of marbled corridors that Claire was offered for her own while she was at the compound. They had told her to make herself at home, and she couldn't resist spending a few minutes nosing around the massive headquarters that spread out seemingly endlessly. It was fascinating--and a bit unsettling--to realize that an organization like the Order not only existed but needed to exist.