by Lara Adrian
The Rogue immediately began a cellular meltdown, dropping its blood-soaked victim onto the gravel as the kiss of Lucan’s blade ran like acid through the vampire’s corrupted nervous system. A few seconds later, all that remained of the Rogue was a puddle of putrid blackness seeping into the dirt.
Up ahead at the door, Dante, Tegan, and the three other warriors were locked and loaded, braced to start the real action. On Lucan’s “go,” the six of them poured into the warehouse with weapons at the ready.
The Rogues inside had no idea what had hit them until Tegan let a dagger fly and nailed one through the throat. As the Rogue shrieked and writhed toward a smoldering disintegration, its enraged companions lunged for cover, grabbing up weapons as they scrambled to evade the barrage of bullets and razor-sharp steel that Lucan and his brethren were now raining down upon them.
Two Rogues bit it in the first few seconds of engagement, but the remaining pair had fled deep into the warehouse’s gloomy corners. One of the Rogues blasted gunfire at Lucan and Dante from behind an old pile of crates. The warriors dodged the attack and sent a little love back at the Rogue, driving him out into the open where Lucan finished him off.
At his periphery, Lucan spotted the last of the suckheads trying to make an escape through a maze of tumbled storage barrels and scattered metal pipes in the rear of the building.
Tegan hadn’t missed it, either. The vampire went after the fleeing Rogue like a freight train, vanishing into the bowels of the warehouse in deadly pursuit.
“We’re clear,” Gideon shouted from somewhere in the smoke- and dust-filled darkness.
But no sooner had he said it than Lucan sensed a new threat closing in on them. His ears picked up the quiet scramble of movement overhead. The dingy skylights above the exposed ventilation ducts and steel trusses of the warehouse were nearly opaque with grime, but Lucan was sure that something was advancing across the roof.
“Heads up!” he called to the others just as the ceiling shattered, and seven more Rogues dropped down with weapons blazing.
Where had they come from? The intel on the lair was solid: six individuals, probably turned Rogue only recently, and operating independently, without affiliation. So, who had called in the cavalry to back them up? How did they know about the raid?
“Fucking ambush,” Dante growled, voicing Lucan’s thoughts aloud.
No way in hell this fresh wave of trouble was coming in purely by chance, and as Lucan’s gaze settled on the largest of the Rogues coming at them now, he felt black fury rise to a boil in his gut.
It was the vampire who had eluded him the night of the slaying outside the dance club. The bastard out of the West Coast. The Rogue who might have killed Gabrielle, and might yet one day soon if Lucan didn’t take him out right now.
While Dante and the others returned fire on the descending group of Rogues, Lucan gunned for that one target alone.
Tonight, he would finish it.
The suckhead hissed as he approached, the hideous face stretching into a grin. “We meet again, Lucan Thorne.”
Lucan gave a grim nod. “For the last time.”
Shared hatred made both males discard their guns in favor of more personal combat. In a flash, blades were drawn, one in each hand, as the two vampires prepared to battle to the death. Lucan threw the first strike. And took a vicious slice in his shoulder as the Rogue evaded the blow with stealth speed, having moved in a blink and appearing on the other side of him now, jaws open in triumph at the spilling of first blood.
Lucan leaped around with equal agility, his blades slashing whisper close to the Rogue’s big head. The suckhead glanced down to where his right ear now lay, severed at his feet.
“Game on, asshole,” Lucan snarled.
With a vengeance.
They flew at each other in a swirl of rage and muscle and cold, deadly steel. Lucan was aware of the battle taking place around him, the other warriors holding their own against the second round of warfare. But his main focus—all of his hatred—was centered on his personal grudge with the Rogue in front of him.
He felt his fangs stretch with the force of his anger, his pupils sharpening, until he knew that there could be little difference between his face and the one snarling back at him. They were equally matched in strength, but Lucan’s blood burned hotter than his opponent’s.
All Lucan had to do was think of Gabrielle, and of the terror this beast would inflict on her, and he was on fire with rage.
He fed that fury, driving the Rogue back with blow after relentless blow. He didn’t feel the strikes he took on his own body, though there had been many. He forced his opponent down. Readied himself to deliver the final, killing blow.
With a roar, he sliced deep into the neck of the Rogue, liberating the huge head from its savaged body. Arms and legs spasmed as the vampire collapsed in a convulsing heap on the floor. Lucan’s fury was still hammering hard in his veins; he flipped his blade over in his hand and drove it hard into the suckhead’s chest, speeding the disintegration of the corpse.
“Holy hell,” Rio said from somewhere nearby, his voice wooden. “Lucan—above you, man! Got another one in the rafters!”
It happened in an instant.
Lucan wheeled around, battle fury tearing through every muscle in his body. He threw a glance up to where Rio had indicated. High above his head, another Rogue vampire was crawling through the trusses of the warehouse ceiling, holding something that looked like a small metal football under his arm. A small red light on the device blinked quickly, then began a steady burn.
“Get down!” Nikolai raised his customized Beretta and took aim. “Dude’s about to drop a fucking bomb!”
Lucan heard the sudden blast of the gunshot.
Saw the Rogue take Niko’s slug right between its glowing yellow eyes.
But the bomb was already airborne.
Half a second later, it blew.
CHAPTER
Twenty-seven
Gabrielle sat up with a start, jolted out of a fitful doze on the sofa in Savannah’s living room. The women had been gathered there for the past few hours—taking comfort in one another’s company—with the exception of Eva, who sometime ago had gone to the chapel to pray. The Breedmate had been edgier than the rest of them, spending the good part of the evening pacing and chewing her lip with anxious impatience.
From somewhere above the labyrinth of corridors and rooms, muted sounds of movement and clipped male voices carried down into the living room. The muffled hum of the elevator vibrated the thick air as the vehicle began its descent to the main floor of the compound.
Oh, God.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
“Lucan.”
Gabrielle pushed aside the chenille throw that covered her and swiveled to put her feet on the floor. Her heart was racing, squeezing tight in her breast with every frantic beat.
“I don’t like the sound of this, either,” Savannah said, sliding a tense look around the room.
Gabrielle, Savannah, and Danika poured out of the apartment to greet the warriors, none of them saying a word, hardly breathing as they hurried toward the arriving elevator.
Even before the steel door slid open, it was apparent from the urgent sounds within that bad news was coming.
Just how bad, Gabrielle had not been prepared for.
The stench of smoke and blood hit her nose like a physical blow. She winced at the foul odor of war and death as she strained to get a clear picture of the situation in the elevator car. None of the warriors were coming out. Two were down on the floor of the car, three others were crouched around them.
“Get some clean towels and blankets!” Gideon shouted to Savannah. “Bring as many as you can, baby!” As she sprang into action, he added, “We’re gonna need some wheels, too. There’s a gurney in the infirmary.”
“On it,” Niko answered from within the elevator.
He leaped over one of the two ravaged forms lying supine on
the floor. As he passed, Gabrielle saw that his face and hair and hands were black with soot. The warrior’s clothing was torn, his skin peppered with easily hundreds of bleeding abrasions. Gideon bore similar contusions. Dante, too.
But their wounds were nothing compared to the massive injuries sustained by the two Breed warriors who had been carried, unconscious, off the streets by their brethren.
Gabrielle knew from the leaden weight in her heart that one of them was Lucan. She crept forward, and caught her breath to see her fears realized.
Blood pooled beneath him, spilling wine-dark out onto the white marble of the corridor. His boots and leathers were shredded, as was most of the skin on his arms and legs. His face was an ugly mess of soot and crimson cuts. But he was alive. He curled back his lips and hissed through extended fangs when Gideon had to move him in order to apply a makeshift tourniquet to stanch a gash on his arm.
“Shit—I’m sorry, Lucan. It’s pretty deep. Jesus, it won’t stop bleeding, either.”
“Help … Rio.” The words came out in a dark growl, a direct command, even though he was lying flat on his back. “I’m good”—he broke off with a pained snarl—“Damn it … want you to … look after … him.”
Gabrielle kneeled down beside Gideon. She held out her hand to take the end of the binding from him. “I can do that.”
“You sure? It’s ugly. You really gotta get your hands right in there to pull it tight.”
“I’ve got it.” She nodded toward Rio, who lay nearby. “Do as he says.”
The injured warrior on the floor beside Lucan was plainly in agony. He, too, was bleeding profusely from torso wounds and horrific damage to his left arm. The mangled limb was wrapped in a blood-soaked rag that might have been a shirt. His face and chest were burned and lacerated beyond recognition. He started moaning, low in his throat, a piteous sound that brought hot tears to Gabrielle’s eyes.
When she blinked them away, she found Lucan’s pale gray eyes locked on her. “Nailed … the bastard.”
“Shh.” She smoothed sweat-dampened strands from his battered brow. “Lucan, just be still. Don’t try to talk.”
He ignored her, though, swallowing on a dry throat and then pushing the words out. “From the nightclub … son of a bitch was there tonight.”
“The one who got away from you?”
“Not this time.” He blinked slowly, his look as fierce as it was stark. “Can’t ever … hurt you now…”
“Yeah,” Gideon drolly piped from where he was working on Rio. “And you’re damn lucky to be alive for it, hero.”
Gabrielle’s throat constricted further as she gazed down at him. For all his protestations that his duty came first and that there never could be a place for her in his life, Lucan had been thinking of her tonight? He was bleeding and injured, partly because of something he did for her?
She picked up his hand and held it to her, cradling the part of him that she could, pressing his bent fingers close against her heart. “Oh, Lucan…”
Savannah ran up with an armful of the requested supplies. Niko followed closely behind, pushing the rolling hospital bed ahead of him.
“Lucan first,” Gideon told them. “Get him into a bed, then come back for Rio.”
“No.” Lucan groaned, a sound of determination more than pain. “Help me up.”
“I don’t think you sh—” Gabrielle said, but he was already trying to raise himself up from the floor.
“Easy, big guy.” Dante stepped in, putting a strong hand under Lucan’s arm. “You got laid pretty low out there. Why don’t you take a breather, let us wheel you down to the infirmary.”
“Said I’m good.” With Gabrielle and Dante each holding a hand, Lucan hoisted himself to a sitting position. He panted a bit, but remained upright. “Took a few hits, but damn it … gonna walk to my own bed. Not letting you … drag me there.”
Dante glanced at Gabrielle and rolled his eyes. “You know he’s thickheaded enough to mean it.”
“Yeah. I know he is.”
She smiled, grateful for the stubbornness that kept him strong. Lending the support of her body, she and Dante put their shoulders under his arms and held on to him as Lucan began a slow crawl up to his feet.
“Over here,” Gideon told Niko, who moved the gurney into position for Rio, while Savannah and Danika did what they could to stanch his wounds, remove his soiled, tattered clothing and the unneeded bulk of his weapons.
“Rio?” Eva’s voice was pitched high as she ran into the chaos, her rosary beads still clutched in her hand. She came up on the open elevator and instantly shrank back, choking on her breath. “Rio! Where is he?”
“He’s hanging in there, Eva,” Niko said, moving away from the loaded gurney to intercept Eva. He steered her away with firm hands before she could get too close to the carnage. “There was an explosion tonight. He took the worst hit.”
“No!” Her hands came up to her face in horror. “No, you’re wrong. That’s not my Rio! It can’t be!”
“He’s alive, Eva. But you’re going to have to be strong for him.”
“No!” She started screaming in wild hysteria, trying to force her way near her mate. “Not my Rio! God, no!”
Savannah came around and took Eva under her arm. “Come away now,” she said gently. “They know how to help him.”
Eva’s broken sobs filled the corridor and pierced Gabrielle with a private anguish that was a mix of relief and stone-cold fear. She worried for Rio, and it shattered her heart to think what Eva must be feeling. Gabrielle knew some of that hurt herself because it could have been Lucan in Rio’s place. A few bare millimeters—mere fractions of a second—might have been all that determined which of the two warriors would be lying in a deepening pool of blood, fighting for his life.
“Where’s Tegan?” Gideon asked, keeping his attention rooted on his own fast-moving fingers as he continued to inspect and treat the fallen warrior under his care. “Has he come back yet?”
Danika shook her head, but shot an anxious glance at Gabrielle. “Why would he be here? Wasn’t he with all of you?”
“We lost track of him soon after we hit the Rogue lair,” Dante put in. “Once the explosion went off, our main goal was getting Lucan and Rio back to the compound as quickly as possible.”
“Let’s roll here,” Gideon said, taking the head of Rio’s gurney. “Niko, help me get this thing moving.”
Questions about Tegan were eclipsed as everyone scrambled to do what they could for Rio. They all made their way down to the infirmary, Gabrielle, Dante, and Lucan moving the slowest along the corridor as Lucan swayed on his feet, holding fast to both of them and working to keep himself steady.
Gabrielle braved a glance at him, wanting so badly to caress his bruised and bleeding face. As she looked at him, heart twisting, his dark lashes flicked up, and he met her eyes. She didn’t know what passed between them in that prolonged instant of quiet amid the chaos, but it felt warm and right, despite everything that was terrible about the night’s events.
When they reached the room where Rio was being tended to, Eva stood at the side of the gurney, hovering over his broken body. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she moaned. “It shouldn’t have been my Rio. Not like this.”
“We’ll do everything we can for him,” Lucan said, his breath rasping heavily from his own injuries. “I promise you, Eva. We won’t let him die.”
She shook her head, staring down at her mate on the bed. As she pet his hair, Rio murmured incoherent words, semiconscious, and in obvious pain. “I want him out of here at once. He should be taken to the Darkhavens. He needs medical care.”
“He’s not stable enough to be moved from the compound,” Gideon told her. “I have the training and the equipment to treat him here for now.”
“I want him out of here!” Her head snapped up, her glittering gaze flitting from one warrior to another. “He’s no good to any of you now, so let me have
him. You don’t own him anymore—none of you. He is all mine now! I only want what is best for him!”
Gabrielle felt Lucan’s arm tense at the hysterical outburst. “Then you need to stay out of Gideon’s way, and let him work,” he said, slipping easily into the role of leader despite his own battered condition. “Right now, the only thing that matters is keeping Rio alive.”
“You,” Eva said, her voice dry as she leveled a teary glare at him. Her eyes took on a wilder sheen, her face transformed into a mask of pure hatred. “It should be you dying right now, not him! You, Lucan. That was the deal I made! It was supposed to be you!”
A chasm opened up in the infirmary, swallowing all sound but the stunning truth of what Rio’s mate had just confessed.
Dante and Nikolai’s hands went to their weapons, both warriors prepared to strike at the slightest provocation. Lucan lifted his hand to stay them, his eyes holding fast to Eva. He really didn’t give a damn that her venom was aimed squarely at him; if he’d been some kind of target for her rage, he had survived it. Rio might not. Any one of his brethren present on the raid tonight might not have survived Eva’s betrayal.
“The Rogues knew we were going to be there,” Lucan said, his voice held all the more cool by the depth of his fury. “We were ambushed at the warehouse. You arranged it.”
Low growls sounded from the other warriors. If the confession had come from a male, there would have been little Lucan could do to keep his brethren from attacking with lethal force. But this was a Breedmate, one of their own. Someone they had known and trusted as kin for more than one lifetime.
Now Lucan looked at Eva and saw a stranger. He saw madness. A deadly desperation.
“Rio was to be spared.” She bent over him, cradling his bandaged head in the crook of her arm. He made a noise, something raw and wordless, as Eva tugged him into her embrace. “I didn’t want him to be able to fight anymore. Not for you.”
“So you would see him maimed instead?” Lucan asked. “This is how you care for him?”
