by Lara Adrian
Adrenaline and despair sent her flying over the debris-strewn ground, through the thick growth of trees that was illuminated with unearthly orange light from the fire that seethed where the old barn had stood not a minute ago. She felt Tegan following behind her. The other warriors were moving in, too, silent and cautious. One of the Breedmates murmured a soft prayer for Andreas, tender words that Claire could hardly bear to hear.
She walked closer to the roaring heat. It was overwhelming, hitting her like a furnace thrown open in her face. Still, she kept moving toward it, transfixed by the earthen crater of rubble and smoldering ash that had collapsed inward with the blast.
“Andreas,” she called softly. Then louder, hoping he could hear her. Hoping for a miracle. “Andreas!”
When she would have gone even closer, close enough that the flames would have touched her, Tegan’s hands came down gently on her shoulders. “Come on, Claire. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Andre!” she cried, stubbornly refusing to give up.
A new plume of sparks belched upward from within the molten core of the crater, making the rubble shift and groan. She felt the warrior’s grasp on her tighten, and she knew he was prepared to carry her out of there if she delayed another second. But Claire didn’t budge. She called to Andreas again, her voice hitching on a sob as another deep rumble sounded from belowground.
Then she noticed something odd about the smoldering pit of cinders and churning flames …
Deep within its core, something was moving.
“Holy hell,” Tegan said, obviously spotting the same thing she had. “Holy fucking hell. It can’t be—”
“Andreas,” Claire gasped, awestruck and incredulous, and so very, very relieved.
She watched the rubble give way and melt around him as he climbed out of the center of the inferno and rose to stand on the edge of the crater, his body aglow with the white-hot power of his extraordinary, terrifying gift. Smoke billowed above him in great black clouds. Flames roared and undulated from behind him like a seething volcano, yet he stood there unscathed.
“Thank God,” she whispered, her heart soaring.
But then she realized something about him was terribly wrong.
The heat that enveloped him—the same heat that had proven impervious to bullets that first night she’d seen him like this—might have been the only thing that spared him from the killing force of the explosion, but the glow that surrounded him was brighter than ever. Hotter than the fires that roared all around him from the blast.
His gaze was vacant as it traveled from Claire to the others gathered there. Light poured out of his eye sockets, searing and inhuman. Merciless.
Claire took a step toward him, hesitant now. “Andreas? Andre…can you hear me?”
That flat, burning gaze swung back to her now. Heat blasted her, pushing her several paces in retreat. He wasn’t looking at her, she realized, but through her. He didn’t see her there, no more than he saw the rest of the warriors—his friends—standing before him in stunned silence. Claire recognized the danger he posed like this, even if he was too far gone to recognize it for himself now.
She had to break through to him. “Andre, it’s me, Claire. Talk to me. Tell me you know me. That you’re all right.”
He snarled, low and deadly, in the back of his throat. She didn’t let it scare her. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she took a step toward him.
“Jesus Christ,” Tegan hissed from nearby. He moved to block her path. “Claire, I don’t think you should—”
A fireball sailed through the air, crashing into the ground at Tegan’s feet.
“Andre, no!”
Tegan leapt out of the way of the assault, taking Claire with him. Andreas roared then, and let fly a sudden hail of flaming orbs. Chunks of dark earth ripped loose as the baseball-size blasts hit the ground, driving everyone back. Claire screamed for him to stop, and for a moment she thought he would. He looked at her, then suddenly lifted his hands to the sides of his head and staggered unsteadily on his feet. The glow around him dimmed as he pressed his palms hard against his temples, his face contorting in a grimace of pain.
When Claire glanced beside her, she saw the reason why.
Renata held him in a fixed, unblinking stare. As the Breedmate had done to the Gen One assassins a short time ago, now she blasted Andreas with the power of her mind. He went down on one knee, the rippling heat that traveled his body flickering like a strobe.
When she let up, Andreas was panting and shuddering. But the glow still enveloped him. And as he lifted his head, the roar that ripped out of his mouth shook the entire forest with feral, deadly fury.
CHAPTER
Thirty-three
The fire owned him.
He knew this, knew it from the moment the bunker had exploded all around him but didn’t take him down with it. He knew he was too far gone, even as he’d crawled out of the ashes and rubble intact, his body protected by the furious heat that only seemed to grow stronger, brighter, more uncontrollable by the second. He had lost the battle with his terrible ability, with himself, just as he’d feared would happen.
The others gaping at him in the flame-drenched darkness of the woods knew it, too. Especially her, the female whose welling, dark brown eyes tore at something deep within him. He loved her. Not even the madness of the unrelenting heat could burn away that fact.
She lived in his heart, this female.
His female.
His mate, something primal and anguished howled from inside him.
He loved her deeply, completely, but knew he could not have her. Not now.
Not ever again.
He threw his head back and roared at the thought, and his voice turned loose a ball of white flames. The orb pitched high, then smashed into the ground a half-dozen feet from him, showering the area in sparks and clumps of upheaved loam.
“Andreas, please,” his woman cried. “Let us help you.”
Fire danced all around her. Tears filled her eyes, her hands trembling as she held them out to him through the smoke and pale, floating ash that was raining down like snowflakes from the canopy of trees above.
“Andre, look at me. Hear me. I know you can.” She stepped toward him, ignoring the sober warnings of more than one of the males in her company. “I’m not ready to let you go,” she said fiercely, words that seemed to echo back at him like a memory.
Had he heard them in this very spot earlier tonight? Had he been the one to say them to her?
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter. She and the others with her—friends, his instinct called them—were not safe around him now. They had to go.
Except she wasn’t about to leave him there. He could see that plainly enough in the stubborn tilt of her jaw. He growled with fury, and felt the swell of another ball of heat building in his gut.
Incredibly, she moved even closer to him.
A vision flashed through his mind as he watched her take yet another step toward him. He saw a little girl with sandy pigtails and a gentle smile holding her hand out to him in a gesture of kindness. He saw a bright, innocent face offering him help and compassion…just before the fire that lived within him leapt out to consume her.
He’d killed something precious and pure once before. He would not do it again.
Bellowing his self-contempt, he sent a small volley of fireballs at the ground in front of him. A low barrier of flames twisted and crackled, driving her back. It wasn’t enough. He needed her gone—needed to know that she was far away from his destructive power.
He needed all of them gone now.
He threw more fire, forcing the entire group to pull back. As they gradually retreated, he saw the tear-streaked, beautiful face of the woman—his woman—fixed on him through the climbing wall of flames that separated them.
“No, Andre,” she mouthed. “No. I’m not going to let you do this.”
Heat gusted from the dancing flames in front of Claire and the others. Behind
the wall of undulating fire, she watched Andreas’s face. His eyes were filled with torment and pain. With madness, too. Heartbreaking, bleak resolve smoldered in his gaze.
He was giving up.
He was trying to drive her away from him, so he could deal with his suffering—most likely his death as well—alone.
No, Claire thought, firmly rejecting the idea. No goddamn way was she going to accept that. Not after all they’d been through. Not when she’d been waiting for him, had never stopped loving him, all this time.
There had to be some way to break through to him. There had to be some way to help him.
“Renata,” she said, turning to look at the other Breedmate. “You did something to him a few minutes ago with your mind. It dimmed some of the heat surrounding him—”
“Yes,” Renata agreed. “I saw it, too.”
“I need you to do it again now.”
Nikolai stepped over, his expression grave. “Renata’s talent is lethal, Claire. It’s not something you want to mess around with, trust me. If she turns it loose on Reichen again, it might—”
“Might what? Kill him?” Claire felt hysteria bubble up inside her. “Look at him. He’s already dying. If we don’t do something fast, then the pyro will kill him.”
She looked at Renata, desperate for even the slimmest chance of saving Andreas. “Please … please, try.”
Renata gave a curt nod, then looked away to fix her attention on the formidable tower of heat and flames that was Andreas. She stared unblinking, focused like a laser. Claire felt the air beside her shift almost imperceptibly as an unseen current leapt outward from Renata’s mind and seized on its target.
He reared back the instant it hit him.
Claire’s heart lurched as he threw his head back and howled, all of his muscles going taut as cables. He grabbed both sides of his head and doubled over as Renata held him in the debilitating psychic grasp of her strong mind. Andreas shuddered and roared … and as he struggled, the glow that swamped him began to fade.
“Keep going, Renata! Oh, my God, I think it’s working.”
Claire heard more than one of the warriors curse from nearby, where they all stood watching, everyone as transfixed as Claire was as the mental blast Renata delivered continued to douse Andreas’s heat. He dropped to his knees, buckled over, still holding his head in his hands. He looked to be in complete agony, but the heat traveling his limbs and torso had lessened even more.
“Please, Andre … hang on,” she whispered, her heart shredding to see him suffer so. Her nerve faltered. Just when she was about to tell Renata to stop, Andreas pitched forward and collapsed in a heavy, boneless sprawl.
“Claire, stay back!” someone shouted, but she was already running toward him.
She dodged the flames that still burned in places on the ground and raced to Andreas’s side. Energy crackled over his skin, raising goose bumps on her arms, but the glow was gone. The heat was cooled.
“Andre,” she sobbed, folding her legs and dropping down beside him on the ground.
She lifted his head onto her lap and stroked his bloodless cheek and brow. He was cold. Unmoving
Oh, God.
“Andre, can you hear me?” She cradled his broad shoulders and bent to press her face against his. “Andreas, please don’t die. Please … come back to me.”
She kissed him all over, holding him tight. Praying she’d done the right thing. Hoping he was still in there somewhere, and that the gamble she’d taken with his life hadn’t been the worst mistake she would ever make.
“Andre, I love you,” she murmured, dimly aware that Renata and Dylan and the warriors had all gathered around them now. “You can’t leave me. You can’t.”
Tegan knelt down beside her and put his hand on the side of Andreas’s neck. “He’s alive. He’s breathing, but he’s out cold. Got a strong pulse, at least…”
“Thank God,” Renata whispered, clutching Niko in a tight embrace as she looked down at Claire in kinship and shared concern.
“We have to get him out of here,” Tegan said. He glanced up at Renata. “Will you be able to keep him under control if he comes to on the ride back to Boston?”
She nodded. “Whatever it takes, yeah. I’ll cover him.”
“Come on, Claire.” The warrior nudged her gently as he crouched to heft Andreas’s heavy bulk onto his shoulder as he would care for any one of his fallen brothers in arms. “I’ll carry him back to the Rover. Everything’s going to be okay now.”
Claire nodded numbly and fell in alongside him as they all made the short trek from the smoldering forest and obliterated bunker to the waiting vehicles.
She wanted to believe Tegan, but when she looked at Andreas’s unresponsive, ashen face, she couldn’t help feeling that where Andreas was concerned, everything was still a long way from okay.
CHAPTER
Thirty-four
Dragos snapped his cell phone closed and jammed it into the pocket of his cashmere dress coat. He stared up at the starlit sky above an industrial park off I-90 in Albany, New York, and hissed a violent oath. Wilhelm Roth wasn’t answering his calls.
Which meant that Wilhelm Roth was dead.
The fact that Dragos’s cameras and communication systems at his Connecticut headquarters had all gone offline and ceased working meant that the bunker had been detonated as planned. He could only hope that Roth had managed to ensure that a number of the Order’s members had been blown to pieces along with the hastily abandoned lab.
As for Roth himself, Dragos hadn’t actually cared if his German lieutenant survived the lab’s destruction; it was the matter of a moment to find another right arm to carry out his mission.
And so he had.
Dragos moved away from his Minion-chauffeured sedan to inspect the work of Roth’s replacement. The second-generation Breed male who’d been recruited from the West Coast was overseeing the movement of Dragos’s assets—a diversification made necessary by the aggravating and persistent interference of the Order.
But Dragos hadn’t come this far without anticipating a few speed bumps in his operation. Alternatives had been explored and provided for years ago, and now it was merely a matter of rearranging the pieces that he already had in play. The Order had cost him only a few days—a couple of weeks at most—then he would be right back in business once again.
Stronger than before.
Unstoppable, no matter what disturbing things he had seen in the witchy eyes of the child seer all those weeks ago in Montreal.
“Are we ready to move out yet?” he asked his lieutenant.
The big vampire nodded curtly where he stood behind one of several semi-trailer trucks that had been loaded and were waiting to roll out of the industrial park to their appointed destinations. The double doors of the one nearest his lieutenant were partially open yet, revealing the anxious faces of the Breedmates who’d been removed from their cells in the lab for transportation elsewhere. They knew better than to scream or try to escape. The industrial park was owned by Dragos, manned by his Minions.
Besides, the chains and shackles that bound the women to one another would prevent any of them from getting very far, even if they were foolish enough to attempt it.
“Seal them up and get them out of here,” Dragos said, watching in satisfaction as his lieutenant swung the doors closed and set the heavy steel bolt and locks. A quick thump of the vampire’s fist on the back of the truck sent the thing rolling with one of Dragos’s Minions at the wheel.
Farther on in the yard, several more trucks awaited their departure orders. Dragos walked past the ones containing his many millions of dollars’ worth of state-of-the-art laboratory equipment, his gaze fixed on the large white trailer at the far end of the line.
It was a refrigerated container, specially equipped for preserving the fragile cargo that was locked and sedated inside. Two Gen One assassins had been stationed within the trailer to stand guard over the contents; another pair would ride up front with th
e Minion driver and Dragos’s West Coast associate to ensure the shipment encountered no problems en route to the rail yard, where the next leg of the container’s long journey would begin.
“Everything is ready, sire.”
“Excellent,” Dragos said. “Contact me as soon as you arrive in Seattle to make the last connection.”
“Yes, sire.”
Dragos watched as the fleet of trucks lurched into motion and exited the yard.
The Order may have disrupted his operation, but he was far from defeated.
With a confident smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Dragos walked back to his waiting car. He climbed into the backseat and waited in boredom as the driver closed the door behind him then hurried back around to get behind the wheel.
Tonight the lair he’d gone to great pains and expense to construct was gone, but Dragos preferred to think of it as a necessary step in the evolution of his plans. Now he would begin a new phase in his operation, and he could hardly wait to get started.
Dragos leaned his head back against the soft leather seat and watched through the rear window as a thread of pale clouds skittered across the milky moon overhead.
Andreas didn’t wake up once during the three-plus hours it took to drive back to the Order’s headquarters.
Nor the entire next day.
Claire heard Tess use the word “coma” in conversation with Gabrielle and Savannah when the three women had been preparing the private apartment for him in the compound early that morning. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t worry her, and the longer he stayed unconscious, the deeper her dread became.
This slow, helpless waiting was even worse than watching him rail and struggle against his pyrokinesis. Claire held his hand as he lay unmoving on the bed. She knew he was in there. She could feel his blood moving beneath his skin, could see the occasional flicker of his closed eyelids when she spoke to him.
“Is there anything else you need?” Tess asked gently, drying her hands on a paper towel from the bathroom. Dante’s mate was trained in veterinary medicine and had possessed an even greater psychic gift for healing with her touch before her current pregnancy had inhibited her talent. Now she laid her hand softly on Claire’s and offered a kind, compassionate smile. “You really should eat, you know. And get some rest.”
