by Lara Adrian
Reichen did as he was told, willing to grasp at any advice if it would help alleviate some of his agony. It took several minutes before the worst of it passed. Once it had, he nodded weakly, relieved by the sliver of peace that followed the pain.
“Tell me about the pyrokinesis,” Tegan said when Reichen huffed out a breath and dragged himself up to a sitting position. “How have you managed it so well until now? Hell, we’ve known each other off and on for the better part of a couple centuries, and I had no clue about your ability.”
“I’m not proud of it,” Reichen murmured, an understatement if ever he’d uttered one.
Tegan’s expression was sober but not condemning. “You think I haven’t done things that I regret? It’s hard to walk through even a year of life without hurting someone or something when you didn’t intend it. If I started telling you about all the shit I’ve done wrong or wish I could take back… trust me, we don’t have that kind of time. So, why don’t you go first. Tell me about the pyro.”
It might only have been the warrior’s way of distracting him, enticing him to talk instead of anticipating the next round of agony, but whatever Tegan’s motives, Reichen found himself explaining how he’d lived most of his life with no knowledge of the curse that lurked inside him. He told Tegan how he’d first come to discover the fires through Roth’s treachery some scant thirty years ago … and how abhorred he’d been to realize for that first, godawful time what his pyrokinetic heat would do to anyone careless enough to get near him.
“I killed an innocent young girl, Tegan. In mere seconds, she was so charred I couldn’t even recognize her as human.” He felt sickened all over again—not from blood hunger but from a profound self-loathing that hadn’t dampened and likely never would. “After that, I was determined to never let my power surface again. And I worked damned hard to make sure it didn’t. Then Roth sent his death squad to my Darkhaven and there was nothing I could do to hold the fires back. He took away everything and everyone who mattered to me.”
“Almost everyone,” Tegan said, those shrewd gem-green eyes unflinching. “How long have you been in love with Claire?”
Reichen expelled a deep sigh. “So long, I don’t even recall what it was like not to be in love with her.”
“You’ve drunk from her, yeah?”
He nodded, seeing no point in denying it.
“How about after the pyro? You drink from her then?”
“Yes,” Reichen said, recalling that first time he’d put his fangs into her throat, the night in Roth’s office in Hamburg. It seemed like a lifetime ago to him now. “I drank from her the night after I went to Roth’s Darkhaven.”
“How’d you feel after you drank from Claire? How bad was the thirst after you had her blood inside you?”
Reichen considered it for a moment. “Better, I guess. Not as severe.”
He hadn’t noticed it then, but now he was certain that drinking from Claire had lessened his need to overload on blood. He craved her always, but in a much different way than the post-pyro urge that turned him into something close to an animal.
Reichen nodded. “I would do anything for her, Tegan. Including walk away from her, which I did a long time ago.”
“And now?” Tegan prompted.
“Now…”
Reichen frowned, thinking of the way he’d left things with her. She’d asked him only to be with her—the one thing he wanted more than anything else—but in his heart he knew he couldn’t give her that. Not when his power was so close to ruling him. Closer than he wanted to admit, even to himself. And then there was the fact that Wilhelm Roth and Dragos were still breathing, still walking free and able to carry out their evil designs.
Reichen’s power was terrible, but perhaps a necessary weapon in this worsening war. At least then it might serve a purpose—a noble one. He might then serve a purpose, something more than just his own wants and desires.
“One more fire and I really don’t know if I will be able to come out of it, Tegan. Each time my power rises, it becomes stronger. Less controllable. The blood thirst afterward is hellish enough, but the fire itself is death to anyone who gets near it. I don’t care what happens to me, but Claire—” He broke off abruptly, refusing to consider the thought. “She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in my personal hell.”
Tegan arched a tawny brow. “You really think she’s not already caught up in it? Just because you push her away doesn’t mean she’ll be any safer without you.”
“She saw my death, Tegan.”
“What?”
“The little girl, Mira, showed her a vision of my death earlier today. Claire told me she saw the flames and the smoke. Saw herself running toward the fire, into the heat, to try to save me.”
“Jesus.”
Reichen nodded grimly. “You understand, of course, I can’t let her do that. She can’t be anywhere near me, not when the fire is in control. Harming her is the one thing I could not bear. I want her safe from Roth, as well. I don’t care how long it takes me to hunt down the bastard, I will find him, and I will see him dead.”
“Yeah, about that,” Tegan said. “You might get your chance sooner than later. It’s actually the reason I came looking for you. We got an update from Claire and the others a few minutes ago.”
Alarm spiked through Reichen’s blood, even stronger than the thirst that was still stabbing at him. “What happened? Is she all right?”
“Claire’s fine. Nothing’s wrong, but she did pick up on Roth’s presence a couple hours south of here. It was getting stronger the farther they drove into Connecticut, so they’re chasing it down, hoping to triangulate a location on him before sundown.”
“Roth is in Connecticut now? Where, exactly?” Reichen swallowed hard, every muscle tense. He felt the kindling flickers of his fury begin to awaken. He recognized the need to tamp them down, but his concern for Claire overrode all other rational thought. “Damn it, I don’t want her getting close to that son of a bitch!”
“Relax,” Tegan said evenly, taking quick, obvious note of the heat that had started to crackle under the surface of Reichen’s skin. “Claire is in no danger on this op, I promise you. They’re only mapping things out from the road, and they’ll be heading back for Boston in a few hours with whatever intel they find.”
Reichen simmered down, letting himself sag back against the wall. He cursed roundly and dropped his head between his updrawn knees. He could feel Claire in his blood, his bond to her giving him the assurance he needed that she was, in fact, okay. She was a calmness beneath the torrent raging in his own veins, cool water soothing the dry heat of the fire waiting for the opportunity to devour him.
“What if this has gone too far, Tegan?” His voice sounded wooden and hollow, even to his own ears. “What if after everything we’ve been through, after everything I’ve tried to do to protect her, it’s not enough? What if the vision she saw proves to be right? The one thing I can’t protect her from is me. What if Claire gets too close one day, and the heat destroys her?”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Tegan said. “What if she’s the only thing that might save you from yourself?”
Reichen stared at the hardened Gen One warrior who’d once struck down sixteen Rogue vampires in a feat of legendary, single-handed efficiency. Tegan had never been the warmest of individuals, but there was a tranquil wisdom in his eyes now—a soulful knowledge that hadn’t been present even when Reichen had seen him last, almost a year ago in Berlin. Love for his Breedmate, Elise, had transformed him somehow, made him stronger while at the same time it had smoothed away some of his roughest edges.
But Tegan and Elise had different obstacles they’d had to overcome. Reichen’s relationship with Claire had been complicated nearly from the beginning. Now it had become one impossibility after another.
“I can’t risk it,” Reichen said. “I won’t risk it. If I go down, damn it, I go down alone.”
Tegan exhaled sharply and bared his teeth in a smile that wasn’t quite friend
ly. “Blaze of glory, eh?”
“Something like that,” Reichen replied.
The warrior abruptly stood up and cast an assessing look on him. “You may think you’re keeping Claire out of harm’s way by shoving her aside right now, but the only one you’re protecting is yourself. If you go down, whether it’s the pyro or the Bloodlust that gets you, it’s going to kill that female, and you know it. You just want to make sure you’re not around to see it.”
Reichen didn’t try to deny the accusation. Not that Tegan gave him the chance. He backed away from where Reichen sat, then strode out of the weapons room, hitting the light switch on his way out and plunging the place back into darkness.
Wilhelm Roth was on a phone call with Dragos when his veins came alive with awareness of his erstwhile Breedmate. Remarkably, it seemed Claire was not far. In fact, by the way his pulse was stirring from his blood bond to her, he was damn well certain that Claire was within some twenty miles of where he stood … and moving closer all the time.
What the hell was she up to?
He checked the clock in Dragos’s lab and scowled to see that it was just past one in the afternoon. Broad daylight.
Had she and Reichen not turned to the Order for help, after all? Or had the warriors for some reason denied them sanctuary at their compound?
Roth could think of no reason Claire would be in the area in the middle of the day—presumably without the protection of Reichen or any of the warriors from Boston.
Could she actually be foolish enough to seek him out again on her own?
Roth might have laughed at such idiocy if not for the fact that his current objective for Dragos depended on Claire leading the Order straight into his hands. If she was coming alone, she would be fucking up the entire plan.
“You’re suddenly very quiet, Herr Roth. Anything amiss?” Dragos asked. His voice had to compete with a din of noise in the background on the other end of the line, a metallic roar that didn’t quite mask the fury that rode just below the surface of the vampire’s outward calm. “You were telling me how everything is in place, just as we arranged.”
“Yes, sire,” Roth replied. “But there is… something odd.”
“Oh?” The tone was as level as a blade poised above a head soon to roll. “Do tell.”
“It’s Claire. I sense her on the move, sire. I believe she may be getting close to the lab’s location. I’m certain she must sense me, the same as I am aware of her. It’s my guess that she has decided to come looking for me.”
“What time is it?” Dragos asked, his question pierced by the sudden blast of a horn and a muffled voice squawking unintelligibly over some manner of warehouse loudspeaker.
“It’s early afternoon, sire. A few minutes past one.”
Dragos grunted, contemplating in silence for a long moment. “If your lovely Breedmate is coming to find you, by all means, let’s help her get there. Give the Minions on ground-level security a description of the female. Tell them I want them to go out and find her, bring her into the facility.”
“But the plan,” Roth interjected. “I thought we needed her to lead the Order to us.”
“Yes,” Dragos hissed. “And she will. Her pain will draw the male who’s bonded to her, and he will ensure that the Order comes along.”
“Torture?” Roth suggested, torn between delight at Claire’s imminent pain and his own shared agony, since his blood bond to her would absorb everything that she was subjected to, as well.
Dragos chuckled on the other end of the line. “I’ll leave the specifics of her treatment up to you, Herr Roth. Contact me as soon as you learn anything more.”
“Yes, sire,” Roth answered.
He flipped the phone closed and began to imagine the many slow, sadistic ways he could make Claire scream.
CHAPTER
Twenty-six
Claire dried her hands on a brown paper towel as she came out of the public restroom of a small gas station situated on a rural stretch of two-lane blacktop somewhere near the northwestern border of Connecticut. At midafternoon, the sun was already beginning its descent toward the tops of the brushy pines and the leafless oaks that covered the hilly forested region of the state. She squinted, shielding her eyes from the blinding orange rays and wishing they had a few more hours to continue their search.
They were so close now; she could feel it all the way to her marrow. For the past couple of hours, she and Renata and Dylan had been circumnavigating the area where the blood bond Claire had now grown to hate beat the strongest. They were tightening the noose on Wilhelm Roth mile by mile, systematically narrowing down the range of locations where the Order was likely to find him. Another couple of hours combing the area and Claire was certain they’d have his location nailed to within an easy square mile.
If only the late-autumn day could stretch a bit longer, she thought, impatient as she tossed the used paper towel in a trash can and walked the short distance back to the Order’s black Range Rover parked at the gas pumps. Renata was filling the tank for the return trip to Boston, her stance cautiously casual as she leaned against the vehicle and watched the digital gauges clock on the pump’s display. Claire didn’t miss the fact that the female’s right hand was crossed over the front of her body and hidden beneath the folds of her dark trench coat, no doubt either resting on the butt of a pistol or wrapped around the hilt of one of her blades. She was as vigilant as any of the warriors, and, Claire imagined, just as deadly when the situation warranted lethal force.
Nodding to Renata as she approached, Claire climbed into the SUV and gently closed the passenger door behind her, careful not to wake Dylan, who was taking a quick doze in the backseat. It had been a long day, made even longer by the fact that none of them had gotten much sleep before they’d left the compound that morning. Claire was exhausted, but she couldn’t stand the idea of giving up before they’d gotten a solid lock on Roth. She reached around the seat to pick up the map that they’d been working from, which was now highlighted in color-block patches of yellow, green, and orange, to indicate the range of areas where her sense of Roth had been the strongest.
“Where the hell are you?” she whispered low under her breath, tuning out the ding of the station bell as a car pulled into the full-service pump next to her. She put all her concentration into that beat of dark, visceral awareness that ticked in her pulse, trying not to think about the fact that Roth must be sensing her in much the same way.
Did he know how close she was to finding him right now? He must, surely. Only the simple fact that the sun had yet to set gave her any kind of comfort when she thought about the fury she would face if she ever fell into his hands again. He would kill her, she was certain. But not before he took his anger out on her and made her wish she was dead.
Rattled by the thought of him, Claire pivoted in her seat again to stow the map.
It was then she noticed the two men getting out of the car beside her. They were big men, both dressed in black from their zipped-up leather jackets to the fatigues tucked into the tops of their combat boots. They looked her way as she watched them, and a chill settled deep in Claire’s bones. Their eyes were cruel, strangely vacant.
And this wasn’t the first time she’d seen the pair of human males today.
Claire had noticed them just a couple of hours earlier, when she and Renata and Dylan had paused at a greasy-spoon diner for lunch in a neighboring town. Hard to miss all that dark clothing and barely concealed menace. Hard to miss the way the two men studied her now, then exchanged a wordless look with each other before one of them went around back to get something out of the trunk.
She jumped when Renata opened the driver’s-side door. “We’ve got a tail.”
“I know,” Claire said as Renata dropped into the seat, closing the door with one hand and turning the key in the ignition with the other. “I saw them earlier. They were staring at us then, too. There’s something wrong with them—with their eyes. It’s making my skin crawl.”
“That’s because they’re Minions,” Renata said matter-of-factly as she threw the SUV into gear.
From the backseat, Dylan sat up and sucked in a quick breath. “Oh, shit. You guys, we’ve got company.”
“Yeah, we’re on it,” Renata replied, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Buckle up.”
Dylan started to say something more, but then Renata stomped on the gas and the Range Rover’s tires peeled rubber on the pavement. They screamed out of the gas station and onto the tree-lined, curvy two-laner.
In seconds, the Minions were right behind them.
Claire pivoted around to gauge their distance. “They’re coming up fast. Oh, my God, they’re going to ram—”
The sudden jolt of impact made the Rover jump and jostle on the road. To Renata’s credit, she held the wheel steady, correcting the vehicle when it started to veer sharply into the other lane. She sped up, gaining a couple of car lengths before the sedan came roaring up on them again, trying to force them off the road.
“There’s a small access lane up ahead on the right,” Dylan said, her voice raised to be heard over the whine of the engine and the pounding air of urgency that filled the cabin. “Turn in there, Renata. It’s just past that dead tree stump. Do you see it?”
“I see it,” Renata said, “but I don’t want to risk turning off and getting us trapped in the middle of the forest. Hang on. I think I can outrun these bastards.”
“We won’t be trapped,” Dylan insisted. “You have to do it now!”
Claire glanced back at the auburn-haired Breedmate and saw the certainty in her gaze. “How can you be sure of that?”
“Because the ghost of the dead Breedmate sitting back here next to me is telling me it’s our best chance of surviving.”
Claire felt her eyes go wide.
“Good enough for me in that case,” Renata said, and eased up on the gas only enough for her to make the turn off the road and onto the bumpy woodland path that Dylan had indicated.
“Keep going,” Dylan instructed. “Just follow this thing until I tell you to stop.”
