Christ, he could not believe what the woman had been up to. Even more incredible was the fact that she'd been carrying out her lunatic vendetta for what had to be weeks, maybe even months. Obviously her brother-by-marriage had no idea, or the by-the-book ex?Darkhaven Enforcement Agent would have put a swift stop to it. Everyone in the Order knew that Sterling Chase had once had feelings for his brother's widow-- probably still did. Not that it was any of Tegan's business. Nor was Elise's apparent death wish.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his unbuttoned coat, Tegan stalked back to the street, his breath rolling between his lips in a cloud of misting steam. It was snowing again in Boston. A blustery curtain of fine white flakes fell onto a city already frozen from weeks of an unusually frigid winter. Tegan knew it had to be pushing single digits with the windchill, but he didn't feel the cold. He could hardly remember the last time he'd felt discomfort of any kind. Longer still, the last time he'd felt pleasure.
Hell, when was the last time he'd felt anything at all?
He remembered pain.
He remembered loss, the anger that had once consumed him...long, long ago.
He remembered Sorcha and how much he'd loved her. How sweetly innocent she was and how completely she had trusted him to keep her safe and protected.
God, how he'd failed her. He would never forget what had been done to her, how savagely she'd been abused. To survive the blow of her death, he had learned to detach from his grief, from his raw fury. But he could never forget. Would never forgive.
More than five hundred years of slaying Rogues, and he wasn't even close to calling things square.
He'd seen some of that same grief and fury in Elise's eyes tonight. Something she cherished had been taken from her, and she wanted justice. What she would get was death. If her dealings with the Rogues and their human mind slaves didn't kill her, the weakness of her body surely would. She had tried to hide her fatigue from him, but Tegan hadn't missed it. The weariness he saw in her went deeper than mere physical need, although he could tell from a glance at her gaunt frame that she'd been neglecting herself since she'd left the Darkhaven--maybe longer than that. And what was the deal with all that acoustical foam nailed to the walls of her place?
Shit. Whatever.
It really was none of his concern, he reminded himself as he hoofed it toward the secret compound that housed the Order, just outside the city. The brick-and-limestone mansion and its multi-acred estate were surrounded by tall, high- voltage fencing and a massive iron gate rigged with cameras and laser-tripped, motion-sensor alarms. Not that anyone had ever come close to breaking in.
Very few of the entire Breed population knew the precise location, and those who did were well aware the property was held by the Order and were wise enough to stay away unless expressly invited. As for humankind, fourteen thousand volts of electricity was enough to discourage the curious from getting too close; those of the stupider variety woke up parboiled from a taste of the juice or nursing a killer hangover from a thorough mind scrub delivered by the warriors--neither one of those options being particularly pleasant. But they were effective.
Tegan keyed his access code into the concealed security panel near the gate, then slipped inside as the heavy iron parted to let him in.
Once admitted, he veered off the long, paved drive and let the wooded grounds envelop him. Up ahead some few hundred feet, he could see the faint glow of the mansion's lights through the thick cover of snow-dusted pines. Even though the Order's true headquarters were housed in a subterranean compound beneath the Gothic manse, it wasn't unusual to find one or more of the warriors and their mates using the house in the evenings for dinners or entertaining.
But whoever was there tonight wasn't enjoying any kind of pleasant recreation.
As Tegan neared the building, he heard a fierce animal roar, followed by the crash of shattering glass.
What the--
Another loud crash sounded, more violent than the first, coming from the mansion's opulent foyer. Like something--or somebody--big was tearing the place apart. Tegan leaped up the marble steps to the front door and threw open the aged slab of black-lacquered wood, a blade gripped hard in his hand. As he stepped inside, his boots crunched in a chaos of broken porcelain and glass.
Jesus, he muttered, taking in the source of the destruction.
One of the warriors stood at an antique sideboard in the center of the tiled entryway, his scarred olive-dark hands braced on the carved edges of the piece as if that was all that kept him upright. He was soaking wet and na**d from the waist up, wearing only loose-fitting gray cotton sweats that looked like they'd been yanked on just seconds before. His dark head hung low, long espresso-brown waves sleek with water and drooping over his face. The dermaglyphs that tracked up his bare chest and over his shoulders were livid with color, the intricate pattern of Breed skin markings pulsing with furious life.
Tegan brought his weapon down, the blade concealed by his hand until he'd sheathed it again. How we doing, Rio?
The warrior grunted low in the back of his throat, less acknowledgment than aftershock of his rage. Water sluiced off him to pool around his bare feet and the scattered shards of a priceless Limoges bowl he'd swept off the sideboard. Polished glass littered the surface of the mahogany cabinet; above, the wall mirror and its ornate gilt frame were smashed to bits by the bloodied knuckles of Rio's right hand.
Doing some late-night home improvements, my man? Tegan walked closer to him, keeping his eyes trained on the tight coil of the warrior's bulk. For what it's worth, I never had any use for that froufrou French shit either.
Rio exhaled a rough, shuddering breath, then swiveled his head to look at Tegan. Topaz eyes still held a trace of glowing amber; the light from them sliced through the dark fall of his hair, throwing off the heat of a lingering madness. The bone-white glint of fangs shone behind the vampire's parted lips as he dragged in air through his teeth.