by Lara Adrian
Page 6
It seemed as polished and brittle as the glass that overlaid it. "Where does Roth conduct his business here?" he asked her, turning away from frozen, perfect Claire to look at the woman who stood behind him now, well out of arm's reach. "If he has computers here, or any type of files, I want to see them. " "You won't find anything like that here," she said, simply stated fact. "Wilhelm does all of his personal business from the Hamburg Darkhaven and an office he keeps in the city. . . as far as I know. We've never discussed his business affairs. " Reichen grunted, unsurprised. He was already moving past another room off the hallway, glancing in at the casually sophisticated furnishings of a living room, then passing by an intimate ballroom that seemed a cavern of mirrored walls, polished parquet flooring, and a creamy, elegantly carved ceiling. In back was an ebony grand piano, its multiple reflections gleaming in all the surrounding polished glass. "Good to see some things haven't changed," he muttered. Claire glanced into the ballroom but looked confused. "The piano," he said. "You have a gift for music, as I recall. " Her frown faltered slightly as she stared at him. "Oh, I don't. . . I haven't played in a long time. I suppose I got busy with other, more important things. Music isn't really a part of my life anymore. " "No, I guess not," he said, aware of how caustic it sounded. "Is there anything left of you that I would remember, Claire?" A long silence spread between them. Reichen expected her to walk away, or maybe run away, out the front door and into the daylight where he couldn't follow. But she stood her ground, pierced him with her deep brown eyes. Tenacious as ever. "How dare you. I didn't ask you to storm into my life and tear it apart, but here you are. I don't have to explain anything to you, or justify where life has taken me. " No, she didn't, and he knew he was being unfair here. Having those answers wasn't going to bring him any closer to Wilhelm Roth, either. Not that any of those arguments meant a damn thing when Claire was just an arm's length away from him and seething with an anger he'd seldom seen in her but rightly deserved. "We both moved on, didn't we, Andre?" "You certainly did. " "What did you expect me to do? You were the one who left, remember?"
He thought about the abrupt way he'd left things with her: unfinished, unexplained. He thought about his reasons, ironically none of which mattered anymore. Certainly not after what had happened last night. "I couldn't stay. " "You couldn't even tell me why? One day we were together and the next you were gone without a word. " "I had things to work out," he said. God, he hated that he was still able to feel the punch of uncontainable fear--of shock and overwhelming self-revulsion--that had forced him to run away from everything and everyone he knew and loved. After what happened to him the last time he saw Claire, he'd had no choice but to leave her. He hadn't wanted to harm her, and he couldn't trust himself to be near her, or near anyone, until he'd managed to control the horrific power that had been awakened in him for the first time all those years ago. By that time, he had already lost her to Roth. He gave her a negligent shrug. "I did come back, Claire. " "More than a year later," she replied curtly "Or so I heard, after friends in the Darkhavens told me you had finally turned up, back in Berlin again. " She shook her head, regret shining in her gaze. "I didn't think you would ever come back. " "So you didn't wait. "
"Did you give me any reason to?" "No," he said, letting the word slide slowly off his tongue. There was more he wanted to say, things he probably owed her to say, but it was all pointless talk now. Claire was right. They'd both moved on. They'd both lived very separate lives, and despite the fact that those lives were converging now, in violence and bloodshed, nothing he could say would change a thing about the past or what might have been. He was here for one reason: to avenge the wrong that Wilhelm Roth had delivered on him. Reichen started walking again. Claire trailed him, hanging back now as though she didn't want to get too close. "What are you doing?" "I told you. Looking for any intel on your mate's whereabouts. " "And I told you--you won't find anything of his here. This is my home, not his. " Reichen heard the peculiar comment but he was already moving on. He saw a room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and headed for that open door. "Andreas," Claire said from behind him. "Please, stop this. The library is my space.
It's private. You won't find anything important in--" "Then you won't mind if I have a look," he said, more intent than ever since she was practically insisting that he stay out. What was she hiding in there? He strode past towering shelf after shelf packed with books, past the small sofa and the end table where a ginger-jar lamp still glowed from the night before. Farther into the room, he saw a dark walnut desk in a mild state of disarray, as if the work had been abandoned in haste. And beyond the desk, spread out on a wide worktable, was some kind of architect's scale model. Reichen guessed it to be some kind of Darkhaven project--something that would probably result in another photograph of Claire and her perfect smile, posing as the perfect mate next to Roth and a number of his cronies. But as he neared the model, the hairs at the back of his neck began to rise. He knew this piece of land. He knew the shape of it, the look of it. . . the feel of it. It was his. The lakefront wedge of property on the model was the site of his Darkhaven. Or, rather, it had been, before Roth's treachery and Reichen's own despair had left it in ruined rubble. "What the hell is this?" Claire came up beside him, her expression anxious. "Andreas, everyone thought you were dead. There were no heirs alive to claim the property. It was going to be auctioned among the rest of the Berlin vampire community--" "This was my land. " His voice took on an odd shake. "This was my home. "
"I know," she said quickly. "I know, and I couldn't let it be sold. When some of us in the region held the memorial service for you and your family a few weeks ago and I learned no one had come forward to claim the land, I purchased the property myself. No one knew. I wanted to put something special on it. I hoped it could be a kind of sanctuary in remembrance of the lives that were lost. " Reichen stared at the model of the tranquil park with its reflection pools and walking trails and meticulously plotted flower beds. The design was lovely. Perfect. Claire had done this. . . for him. He was astonished. Struck speechless. "It probably wasn't my place to do it," she said. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't stand the thought of your home--and your kin's lives--being forgotten or sold off to the highest bidder. It didn't seem right.
Then again, what I did probably doesn't seem right to you, either. " Reichen stood there, silent, unmoving To say he was shocked by Claire's act of compassion was understatement in the extreme. He was moved--more deeply than he had been in more years than he cared to remember. He stared at the architect's model, seeing all the detail, all the care and thought that had been put into the design. For him, and for the memory of his kin. He slowly turned to Claire, knowing his face must have been as rigid as stone by the way she took a step back. Good, he thought. Good. Keep her away. Because all he wanted to do in that moment was drag her hard into his arms and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. But she was Roth's mate. His enemy's mate. And he was still dangerous, still too near the razor's edge of hunger. If he touched Claire now, he didn't trust himself to stop there. If he'd been honorable at one time in his life, the fire that had been reawakened inside him three months ago had all but devoured that part of him.
He was a threat to Claire, in far more ways than one. "I need to be alone," he muttered, a throaty snarl of sound. He meant that; he couldn't be around her right now. He didn't want to think about the brief but indelible past he'd had with her, or how swiftly his body--his weak-willed heart, as well--still responded to the mere presence of her. He didn't want to look at her now, as she was moving closer to him, her expression tender and caring, her hand held out as if she wanted to touch him. Something he craved in that moment with every selfish fiber of his being. His pulse hammered hard in his veins. His mouth was wet with hunger for her, his sex going tight and heavy with desire. Only a single pace separated her from him now. He stopped breathing as she lifted her hand up and gently placed it against his chest. "Andreas, I'm sorry.
Chapter Six
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Lucan Thorne pressed his mouth against the warm, soft skin just behind his Breedmate's left ear. Standing with her in the living room of their private quarters within the subterranean compound that belonged to the Order, he found it hard to let Gabrielle out of his arms. Instead, he held her, willfully neglecting his duties as the leader of the band of Breed warriors for another moment to enjoy the pleasure of feeling her close. He let his tongue play over the little crimson birthmark that hid on the tender patch of creamy flesh behind her ear, the very spot his fangs had pierced a short while ago as he and Gabrielle had made love. "If you keep it up," she murmured, "we're going to be in here all night. " He grunted, smiling as he continued to nuzzle her neck. "Not a half-bad idea. And you should know that keeping it up is never a problem when I'm around you. "
"You're terrible, you know that?" He caught her earlobe between his teeth and gave it a little nip. "That's not what you said twenty minutes ago under the shower with me. Or before then, in our bed, when you had your long, beautiful thighs wrapped around my bare, bucking ass. Then you didn't think I was so terrible. You were too busy coming and screaming my name, telling me to never stop. " He didn't even try to conceal his masculine pride. Not that he needed to, when his arousal was definitely obvious in both the emerging of his fangs and the hard rise in his dark jeans. Beneath his gray T-shirt, he could feel his dermaglyphs pulsing in response to his desire for her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, or did you say at one point that I was a god? An amazing fucking god, was, I believe, your exact opinion. " "Arrogant bastard," she scoffed, but he could hear the humor in her tone. Her soft laughter melted into an inhaled, tremulous hiss as he grazed the tips of his sharp canines down along the curve of her shoulder. He splayed one hand into her thick auburn hair and she tilted her head to give him better access to her neck, her fingernails scoring into his shoulders as his free hand delved beneath her loose knit shirt and the waistband of her yoga pants. She shivered as he trailed his mouth and tongue along the delicate line of her throat, mewled a sweet little cry as his fingers dipped into the velvety cleft of her sex. She was still wet, still hot and gloriously responsive to his touch. "Lucan," she gasped. "Oh, my God. . . my God. . . " "Yeah, that's better," he growled, catching her mouth in a deep kiss as he brought her to a swift, shuddering climax. When she was recovered, Gabrielle lifted a wry but sated look at him. "Does your ego know any bounds, vampire?" He smirked, cocking a dark brow. "Probably not. " With a roll of her eyes, she grabbed his hand to lead him out of their quarters. He could have stayed there all night and not tired of loving her, of pleasuring her. But nightfall belonged to the Order, and to the crucial work that demanded all hands on deck--even the females of the compound, who were proving to be invaluable partners in a battle against an evil few could imagine. An evil that seemed intent on nothing less than all-out war. At least the evil now had a name: Dragos.
In the past several months, the Order had uncovered a lot about the second-generation vampire and the operation he'd been running for decades--centuries, in fact--while hiding behind multiple aliases and shadowy, covert alliances within the general population of the Breed. But there was much they didn't know, as well. Suspicions too grim to leave unanswered. It was the Order's current mission to uncover Dragos's alliances, locate his base of operations, and cripple his efforts before he could gain any more critical ground. They'd had some recent success there, the latest being the disruption of a gathering outside Montreal, where Dragos and a number of his associates had convened this past summer. The Order had not yet been able to discover the purpose of the gathering, but the unexpected arrival of several warriors to the place where the group had been meeting had forced Dragos and his coconspirators to scatter. The disruption of that gathering had also netted the Order a very unexpected ally--two, if the Gen One assassin who'd been bred and raised to serve Dragos and had since come on board with the Order could be trusted. Lucan still wasn't entirely sold on the vampire called Hunter. The male was as cold as a machine, secretive and aloof. Not that his unusual upbringing, denied any comforts and raised in total seclusion from another living soul except for the Minion assigned at birth as his handler, could hardly be expected to produce an easygoing team player.
Hunter had given no outward cause to mistrust him, but he still seemed to Lucan a lone wolf of dubious origin, and one whose loyalty had not yet been tested. But the other new ally to come out of the developments in Montreal was an unquestionable boon to the Order. Her name was Renata, and she had come to the Order as the Breedmate of Nikolai. As Lucan and Gabrielle walked past the weapons room on their way to the tech lab at the other end of the compound's labyrinth of corridors, he saw Niko and Renata inside, competing to obliterate twin targets at the end of the range. Leave it to a gearhead like Niko to pair up with a female who knew her way around automatic weaponry. But the couple's shared interests went much deeper than metal and explosives; they were also guardians to an orphaned young Breedmate named Mira, whom they'd rescued from a dangerous situation in Montreal and taken under their wing as their own child. With Niko and Renata at the range was Tegan, one of the longest-standing members of the Order, and the warrior's Breedmate, Elise. When Tegan saw Lucan and Gabrielle walking past, he said something close to Elise's ear, kissed her, then came outside to the corridor. He gave Gabrielle a nod of greeting, but when his gem-green gaze lit back on Lucan, he was all grim business. "You talk to Gideon yet tonight?" Lucan shook his head. "We were just on our way to the tech lab now to see him. Why do I get the feeling this is not going to be a good night?" "Bad news out of Germany" Tegan said, raking a hand through his tawny hair. "No doubt you recall the explosion that took out Andreas Reichen's Darkhaven?" "Yeah. " Lucan recalled, all right. The Order lost one of its best civilian allies--a true friend--the night that Reichen and his family were killed in the freak blast that leveled his estate.
