by Kresley Cole
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 killing 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 yell, 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 well; 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
Declan 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 cell. 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 cell? A soulless hollow 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 pulled up the feed of her cell. 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 all 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 “roll call 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 full 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 really 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 well.”
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 hell would.
“I’ll catch up on some sleep now,” Declan told her, his eyes riveted to the case.
“You’ll need to. Webb scheduled you for Slaine’s interrogation.”
“It hasn’t been done?” Perhaps his commander’s confidence wasn’t totally gone.
“Slaine was too injured from Fegley’s ham-handed capture. The subject’s been recovering for days.”
Declan had been at the capture, had seen the terrible power that demon had wielded. Though he’d never admit it to another, Declan couldn’t have brought in Slaine uninjured either. “When is it scheduled?”
“Eighteen hundred. Gives you twelve hours to rest up.” She held up the case. “Your new, improved formulation should help. As you ordered, it’s much stronger—you can go every other day at least.”
As soon as he had the case in hand, he parted his lips to dismiss her, but she merely said, “Get some rest,” and left.
Alone, he turned the monitor back on, staring at the Valkyrie. What wouldn’t he give to sink down behind her, draw her close, and sleep like the dead?
A dangerous thought. A nearly undeniable pull. I’ll be taking my dose now, before I do something even more stupid.
He opened the case, filled a syringe. His chest ached for something intangible; his vein swelled greedily. He gave in to at least that need, plunging his syringe.
Ah, fuck me, that’s strong. Like the old days.
He collapsed back on the bed, the needle still in his arm. Chemicals rushed through his brain, his thoughts clouding. But his wasted mind remembered something he’d been too enraged to recall before.
Right before Declan had tried to kiss Regin, she’d told him she couldn’t do it. …
Blackness swallowed him.
When Regin awoke that morning, the grapevine had news. Chase had just come back from some mission after disappearing for days.
And she didn’t know how she felt about his return.
All week she’d been consumed by guilt, conflicted over her loyalties, pacing that cursed cell. Every time she railed at herself for not kissing Chase, she would remember the excitement of being with him, the pure sexual charge of his game. That night, for such a brief window, Regin had liked him.
Until Webb had crashed the party.
The man was obviously close to Chase, had called him son. In turn, Chase had gazed at the man with clear respect.
But after Webb’s interruption, Chase had been disgusted with Regin and so ashamed of what he’d done with her. She couldn’t stop recalling the pain in his voice, the hurt in his blazing eyes.
Now she awaited her “examination,” knowing her time drew near. Chase had been enraged—he would never stall for her.
Altered …
Every hour that passed was grueling. Natalya was regaling her with tales of old battles to keep her distracted, but time pressed heavily on Regin. She was continually lost in her own thoughts.
One spot of good news in this ordeal? Carrow had somehow survived Oblivion and lured her target, Malkom Slaine, into the Order’s trap. On the day of his arrival, Regin had seen the vampiric demon—arguably the biggest, meanest looking brute she’d ever b
eheld—dragged half-dead down the ward.
Yet after all the witch had risked to meet her end of the bargain and save Ruby, Chase had broken his word; he hadn’t freed them.
And he’d called the witches treacherous? Bastard.
But as far as Regin knew, Thad and MacRieve hadn’t been singled out again—
Gas hissed from above, clouds of it beginning to diffuse from the ceiling. Though she’d expected exactly this at any second, Regin stared up in disbelief.
Natalya murmured, “I’m so sorry, Valkyrie.”
Regin shrieked with frustration, pounding the glass of her cell. She held her breath as long as she could. Fight it!
Vision growing hazy, lids so heavy … Both she and Natalya collapsed to the floor.
When Regin woke, she was strapped to a table with bindings she couldn’t break. Her claws were like razors, but she couldn’t wield them.
An IV snaked from Regin’s arm; electrodes covered her skin. She craned her head around, saw Dixon and other scientists in white lab coats. In the corner, Fegley stood smirking.
Chase wasn’t here? Regin spied the camera above. Probably watching it from the comfort of his room. She refused to give him the show he expected, wouldn’t scream or cry.
He’d once told her that she would beg for mercy, but she’d be damned before she did. She was Reginleit the Radiant, an ageless daughter of gods.
“Shall we get started?” Dixon asked the others, her eyes glittering above her mask as if with fascination. “We have a lot to cover in a short amount of time.”
Bone saws and scalpels were lined up on a table. When Regin saw the shining metal of a chest cracker, her bravado faltered. She turned to the camera. “Chase, you have to remember me! You’ll regret the living hell out of this if you let it happen!”
One of the scientists casually remarked, “Commander Webb has expressed a particular interest in this one.”
Regin shrieked, “I’m going to eat Commander Webb’s heart!” Her stress made the lights flare. All the technicians hunched down, their eyes darting.
“Dr. Dixon, her pulse is two fifty and climbing.”
When Dixon raised a scalpel, Regin gazed at the camera. “I can withstand this, Chase. But can you?”
TWENTY-NINE
Declan woke to a pounding on his inner chamber door.
Vincente, no doubt. He turned bleary eyes to the clock. It cannot say half past five. He’d slept almost twelve hours?
Dreamless hours in a deep black void.
He flushed with a queasy kind of shame to see the needle still in his arm. Plucking it out, he eased to his feet. Dizziness washed over him as he lurched toward the bathroom.
A single dose had rocked him. Every other day at least.
More pounding on the door.
Declan yelled, “I’ll be there in a goddamned minute.”
In the bathroom, he stopped and stared at the countertop where he’d touched the Valkyrie. With narrowed eyes, he recalled her telling him, “I can’t do this.”
Hadn’t she pulled back from him?
Yet even if she’d decided not to go through with her plan, how much of that night was real? He wondered if she’d desired him or merely reacted to a man’s touch. She’d said she hadn’t been with a man in two centuries, but surely that had been one of her many lies. …
He faced the mirror, barely recognizing his reflec-tion. Pupils dilated, skin clammy. He turned away in disgust, then stepped into the shower stall.
Under scalding water, he scrubbed his body, washing away all the traces of his hunt, of his twelve-hour stupor. He rolled his shoulders back, but couldn’t work out the tension knotting there.
When he hung his head under the spray, pressing his palms against the tile, his gaze fell on his track marks. As bad as I was in Belfast. Declan hadn’t thought of himself as an addict since then, but now there was no denying it. He could shoot up for the rest of his life, chasing what he’d felt with the Valkyrie.
He’d tasted peace with her. Somehow, she was the key. To be denied her … ?
Christ, what did he even want from her? Having never been satisfied in this area of his life, he had no idea what he needed. No target to aim for.
All he knew was that he wanted more of Regin. More time with her, more contact …
More.
He’d waited his entire life for this, comprehended with perfect clarity that he’d waited for her. I can’t go back to an existence like before. Grim. Soulless. Strain. I won’t. He’d eat a bullet first.
Which meant he had to make a choice. He either accepted Regin as his, while accepting her nature and what she was.
Or he ended himself.
He exhaled a long breath as he admitted the truth to himself—he didn’t see her as he did the rest. No longer. The Neo hunt had only crystallized what he’d already wrestled with.
When Declan looked at her, he didn’t think of her as some vile detrus; he thought of her as … his.
He could accept her. He gazed down at the scars covering his body. Regin would never accept him.
You’ve come full circle now, Dekko. How ironic.
Hating those marks so bitterly, he threw back his head and bellowed with misery, slamming his fist into the tile. Want her so fuckin’ much.
The pain in his hand felt welcome. So he did it again and again till the tile cracked and shards piled around his feet.
He raised his face to the spray. Take her, escape this place. He could make her love him. Somehow. He’d had better odds. But then he’d come back from worse ones, too.
Turn his back on his duty? On Webb, the only friend he had in the world?
Slow down… just think this over. Tonight, after he completed the interrogation, he would go running, giving himself a chance to contemplate everything. He’d cover the entire island if he had to, but he would make a decision.
He dried himself, then dressed in his fatigues, boots, and pullover. Last came the hated gloves. They were too tight today, especially over his bloodied right hand.
Everything felt confining, as if his skin itched. He loosened the strap on his watch. Ten minutes till six.
He stormed from the room, nearly leveling Vincente on his way out. As Declan strode down the corridor, the man followed.
“Magister Chase, I’ve been knocking and calling for hours.”
“Not now.” He spied Webb waiting at the door of the interrogation room.
“This is urgent—”
“Right on time, as usual, son,” Webb said, before immediately dismissing Vincente. “That will be all.”
The guard left with a cryptic glance at Declan.
“We’ve heard good things about your hunt,” Webb continued. “A pristine job, and back early, too.”
Declan had always soaked up the man’s praise. Now guilt surfaced. I’m thinking of betraying him? The man who’d given him a home, a job, purpose. “Thank you, sir.”
“We have high hopes for Slaine’s questioning. Don’t let me down.”
“No, sir.”
Webb slapped him on the back.
As Declan entered the interrogation room, he was struck anew by the massive size of the creature, by its vampire fangs and demon horns. No, Regin didn’t look like a monster or a murderer, but this large male did.
“Why have you taken me?” the demon demanded in thickly accented English, renewing his efforts to get free.
“All in good time, Slaine.” Declan felt sweat beading his upper lip. Christ, that hit was still roiling in him, and he hadn’t eaten all day. His hands shook. Would Slaine notice?
Dixon entered then, ready to collect samples from the demon.
“His blood’s been drawn,” Declan told her. “The second your lab’s done, you’ll destroy it.” If a mortal drank that blood …
“But his orders—”
“Destroy it!”
She nodded, but she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Paranoia flared again.
Once Dixon collected the vial
s and left, Slaine said, “What do you want with me?”
“There’s much interest in you. In your genesis. Today, you’re going to tell me all about it. And tomorrow, my physicians will examine you, to see what makes you faster, stronger.”
“So you can make more like me?”
“So we can make sure your kind is never miscreated again.”
“Maybe you should just … cry?” Natalya said as she sat on the edge of Regin’s bunk.
Regin lay on her side, curled up as much as the ghastly wound allow. Under her shirt, pasty skin had swelled up around an angry line of seeping staples. Her skin was dim all over. “Leave me alone,” she said in a deadened tone. With effort, she turned to her other side away from the fey.
Ignore the metal wire holding your ribs together, ignore the staples in your skin.
Natalya was undeterred, actually beginning to stroke her hair. “Crying can be therapeutic. Or so I’m told. Never have done it myself. But I do know the pain will fade soon.”
Regin wasn’t afflicted only with physical pain—though that had been worse than any she’d ever known; humiliation seethed inside her as well. For her entire adult life, she’d been a creature with which one didn’t fuck. Now she was defeated, and at the hands of a man who should’ve defended her.
How the demons and vampires in the ward had gloated!
“Did they put every part back under the hood, Valkyrie?”
“Nice piercings.”
“Surgical steel’s your color.”
Both allies and enemies had witnessed her at her lowest. Even the ones who hadn’t seen her still knew how intensely she’d reacted. As Natalya had told her, “You were like a nuclear reactor. Your lightning and thunder shook the building.”
Regin had yearned to be strong, had been resolved. Which was why her reactions had stunned her. After a thousand years of knowing herself, suddenly she’d been altered.
In that operating room, she’d behaved in ways she’d never anticipated. Like a stranger might. Not like a stalwart Valkyrie would.
“Chase promised me I would beg,” Regin muttered. “He was … right.” A Valkyrie, begging mortals for mercy. Shame scalded her.
“The magister was there?”
