Kiss of Midnight (27 page)

“That was kind of him.”

“Very kind. I couldn’t believe it when he came to find me and give me the news, along with his pledge that my child and I would always have a direct line to him and the rest of the Order if we ever need anything. It was the day of the funeral, just hours afterward, so his burns were still extremely severe. Yet he was more concerned about my welfare.”

“Lucan was burned?” Alarm snaked into her heart. “When, and how?”

“Just three days ago, when he carried out the funeral ritual for Conlan.” Danika’s fine brows lifted. “You don’t know? No, of course, you wouldn’t. Lucan would never mention a word of his act of honor, or the damage he suffered in doing it. You see, the Breed’s funeral tradition calls for one vampire to carry the body of the fallen to be received by the elements outside,” she said, gesturing to a shadowed corner of the chapel, where a dark stairwell was located. “It’s a duty of great respect, and of sacrifice, because once topside, the vampire who attends his brethren must remain with him for eight minutes as the sun rises.”

Gabrielle frowned. “But I thought their skin couldn’t tolerate solar rays.”

“No, it can’t. They burn severely and quickly, but none so much as the vampires who are first generation. The oldest of the Breed suffer the worst, even under the briefest exposure.”

“Like Lucan,” Gabrielle said.

Danika gave a solemn nod. “For him, the eight minutes of dawn must have been beyond bearing. But he did it. For Conlan, he willingly let his flesh burn. He might even have died up there, but he would let no one else carry the burden of laying my beloved Conlan to rest.”

Gabrielle thought back to the urgent phone call that had taken Lucan out of her bed in the middle of the night. He’d never said what it was about. Never shared any of his loss with her.

Pain twisted in her stomach when she thought of what he had endured by Danika’s description. “I spoke to him—that very day, in fact. From his voice, I knew something was wrong, but he denied it. He sounded so tired, beyond exhausted. You’re telling me that he was suffering from extensive ultraviolet burns?”

“Yes, he was. Savannah told me that Gideon found him not long afterward. Lucan was blistered from head to toe. He couldn’t open his eyes for the pain and swelling, but he refused any help in getting back to his quarters so that he could heal.”

“My God,” Gabrielle gasped, astonished. “He never told me, not any of this. When I saw him later that night—just hours later—he seemed perfectly normal. Well, what I mean is, he looked and acted like nothing was wrong with him.”

“Lucan’s nearly pure bloodlines made him suffer the most, but they also helped him heal more quickly from the burns. Even then, it wasn’t easy for him; he would have required a great deal of blood to replenish his system after so much trauma. By the time he was well enough to leave the compound to hunt, he would have been practically ravenous with hunger.”

And he had been. Gabrielle understood now. The memory of him feeding from the Minion he’d killed flashed through her mind, but it had a different context now, no longer the monstrous act it had appeared on the surface, but a means of survival. Everything was taking on a different context since she’d met Lucan.

In the beginning, she would have considered the war between the Breed and their enemies to be nothing more than one evil versus another, but now she couldn’t help feeling that it was her war, too. She had a stake in its outcome, and not just because her future was apparently linked to this strange otherworld. It was important to her that Lucan won not only the war against the Rogues, but also the equally devastating, very personal war he was struggling with in private.

She worried for him, and couldn’t dismiss the niggling fear that had been crawling up her spine since he and the other warriors left the compound for the raid.

“You love him very much, don’t you?” Danika asked as Gabrielle’s anxious silence stretched between them.

“I do, yes.” She met the other woman’s gaze, seeing no reason to hide the truth when it was probably written all over her face. “Can I tell you something, Danika? I have this awful feeling about what he’s doing tonight. And to make it worse, Tegan said he didn’t think Lucan was going to be alive much longer. The longer I sit here, the more afraid I am that Tegan might be right.”

Danika frowned. “You spoke with Tegan?”

“I ran into him—literally—a short while ago. He told me not to get too attached to Lucan.”

“Because he thought Lucan was going to die?” Danika let out a long breath and shook her head. “That one seems to enjoy putting others on edge. He probably said those things only because he knew it would upset you.”

“Lucan has said there is some bad blood between them. Do you think Tegan can be trusted?”

The blond Breedmate seemed to consider it for a moment. “I can tell you that loyalty is a large part of the warriors’ code. It means everything to these males, down to a one. Nothing in this world could make them violate that sacred trust.” She rose now, and took Gabrielle’s hand in hers. “Come on. Let’s go find Eva and Savannah. The wait will pass more quickly for all of us if we don’t spend it alone.”

CHAPTER
Twenty-six

F
rom their observation point on the roof of one of the harbor buildings, Lucan and the other warriors watched as a small pickup truck, spitting gravel under its polished chrome wheels, roared up to the front of their target location. The driver was human. If his sweaty, slightly anxious scent didn’t announce him, the country music blaring out of his open window surely would. He got out of the vehicle carrying a stuffed brown-paper bag that reeked of steaming fried rice and pork lo mein.

“Looks like our boys are eating in tonight,” Dante drawled, while the unsuspecting delivery man checked the flapping white ticket stapled onto his order and looked around the desolated wharf with dawning wariness.

The driver approached the warehouse’s entry door, shot another nervous look around, then swore into the darkness and jabbed the buzzer. There were no lights on inside the building, only a pool of yellow shining down from the bare bulb over the door. The battered steel panel opened, revealing the dark behind it. Lucan could see the feral eyes of a Rogue staring out as the delivery man blurted the take-out order total and thrust the bag into the wedge of blackness in front of him.

“Whaddaya mean, trade for it?” the urban cowboy demanded in a thick Boston accent. “What the hell—”

A large hand seized him by the front of his shirt, jerking him off his feet. He screamed, and in his flailing panic somehow managed to rip away from the Rogue’s grasp.

“Oops,” Niko hissed from his position near the ledge, “guess he just realized it wasn’t Chinese on the menu.”

The Rogue flew at the human in a blur of shadows, taking him down from behind, tearing open his throat with savage efficiency. Death was bloody and instantaneous. When the Rogue leaped up and began to heft its kill onto its shoulder to drag it inside, Lucan got to his feet.

“Time to move. Let’s go.”

In concert, the warriors hit the ground and headed at blinding speed for the Rogues’ warehouse lair. Lucan, leading the way, was first to reach the vampire and his lifeless human burden. He slapped a hard hand onto the Rogue’s shoulder and spun him around, at the same time drawing one of his slayers’ blades from a sheath at his hip. He sliced hard and with unerring aim and severed the beast’s head in one clean stroke.

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.