―Lucky dog,‖ Dante drawled. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Tess‘s chin got a thorough, enthusiastic washing. His expression was too carefully schooled, too grave when her eyes met his. ―There are... things we need to talk about, Tess. I had hoped you might never really be part of it, but I keep dragging you further in. After tonight, you need to understand what happened, and why.‖
Nodding in silence, she let go of Harvard and looked at Dante‘s bleak gaze. Part of her already knew where the conversation was going—
uncharted territory, for sure, but after what she‘d seen tonight, Tess knew that things she had long taken for granted as normal and real were somehow thrown off kilter.
―What were they, Dante? Those men who attacked me—they weren‘t normal men. Were they?‖
His head shook vaguely. ―No, they weren‘t men. They were dangerous creatures, blood addicts. We call them Rogues.‖
―Blood addicts,‖ she said, her stomach lurching at the very idea. She looked down at her wrist, where a bite mark glowed red, but healing, on her skin. ―My God. That‘s what they were doing, drinking my blood? I don‘t believe this. There‘s only one name for that kind of psychotic behavior, and it‘s vampire.‖
Dante‘s piercing, unwavering stare wasn‘t even close to a refutation.
―Vampires don‘t exist,‖ she told him firmly.
―This is reality we‘re talking about, after all. They can‘t really exist.‖
―They do, Tess. Not the way you might have been brought up to believe. Not as undead, soulless demons, but as a separate, hybrid species. The ones who attacked you tonight are the worst kind. They have no conscience, no capacity for logic or control. They kill indiscriminately and will continue to do so if they aren‘t brought under control soon. That‘s what I and the others in this compound are here for—to see to it that the Rogues are wiped out of existence before they become a pestilence unlike anything modern humankind has ever seen.‖
―Oh, come on!‖ Tess scoffed, wanting to disbelieve but finding it hard to reject Dante‘s outrageous claim when he had never looked or sounded more sincere. Or more deadly rational.
―Are you telling me that you‘re some kind of vampire slayer?‖
―I‘m a warrior. This is war, Tess. Things have only gotten worse now that the Rogues have Crimson on their side.‖
―Crimson? What‘s that?‖
―The drug Ben Sullivan has been peddling around town the past few months. It increases the desire for blood, reduces inhibition. It creates these killers.‖
―What about Ben? Does he know this? Is that why you went to his apartment the other night?‖
Dante nodded. ―He says he was hired to make the drug by an anonymous corporation this past summer. We suspect that corporation was likely a front for the Rogues.‖
―Where is Ben now?‖
―I don‘t know, but I intend to find out.‖
A coldness edged Dante‘s voice as he said it, and Tess couldn‘t help feeling a note of worry for Ben.
―The men who—the Rogues—who attacked me had been searching his apartment.‖
―Yes. They might have been looking for him, but we‘re not sure.‖
―I think I may know something about what they wanted.‖
Dante fixed her with a frown. ―How so?‖
―Where‘s my jacket?‖ Tess glanced around the bedroom but didn‘t see any of her clothes. She was wearing just a bra and panties under the sheets that draped her. ―I found something at the clinic the other day. A computer flash drive. Ben hid it in one of my exam rooms.‖
―What was on it?‖
―I don‘t know. I haven‘t tried to open it yet. It‘s in my jacket pocket—‖
―Shit.‖ Dante leaped to his feet. ―I‘ll be back in a few minutes. Will you be all right here alone?‖
Tess nodded, still trying to come to grips with everything that was happening, all the incredible, disturbing things she was learning about the world she thought she knew. ―Dante?‖
―Yeah?‖
―Thank you... for saving my life.‖
Something dark flashed in his whiskey-colored eyes, softening his harshly handsome features. He came back to her on the bed and tunneled his fingers through the hair at her nape, tipping her face up to his. His kiss was sweet, almost reverent.
―Sit tight, angel. I‘ll be right back.‖
Elise put her hand against the smooth wall of the corridor and tried to catch her breath. Her other hand was pressed to her stomach, her fingers splayed across the wide red sash of her widow‘s garb. A heaving roll of nausea weakened her legs, and for a moment she thought she might throw up where she stood. Wherever that might be.
She had fled the compound‘s tech lab in a state of complete revulsion, appalled by what she had been shown. Now, after running blindly down one length of hallway, then another, she really had no idea where she‘d ended up. She only knew that she needed to get away.
She couldn‘t run far enough away from what she had just seen.
Sterling had warned her that the Order‘s satellite surveillance images of Camden were graphic, disturbing. Elise had been prepared, she‘d thought, but seeing her son and several other Rogues engaged in the wholesale slaughter of a human being had been beyond even her worst imaginings. It was a nightmare that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her living days.
Her spine leaning against the corridor wall, Elise let herself sink slowly to the floor. She couldn‘t hold back the tears or the ragged sobs that grated in her throat. Guilt was at the root of her anguish, the regret that she hadn‘t been more careful with Camden. That she had taken for granted that he was too good at heart, too strong, for something so heinous to befall him.
Her son could not be the Bloodlusting monster she saw on that computer screen. He had to be in there somewhere, still retrievable. Still salvagable. Still Camden, her golden, cherished child.
―You all right?‖
Startled by the deep male voice, Elise flinched, her teary gaze flicking upward. Gem-green eyes stared back at her from within a reckless fall of tawny hair. It was one of the two warriors who‘d come to the Darkhaven for Sterling earlier that evening—the coldly imposing one who had caught Elise and held her back when she tried to rush to Sterling‘s defense.
―Are you hurt?‖ he asked when she could only look up at him from her humiliating collapse on the corridor floor.
He strode toward her, his expression flat, unreadable. He was half undressed, wearing loose jeans that sagged down indecently on his lean hips and a white shirt that was completely unbuttoned, baring his muscular chest and torso. An astonishing display of
dermaglyphs
covered him from groin to shoulder, the density and intricacy of the markings leaving no doubt whatsoever that this warrior was first-generation Breed. Which meant he was among the most aggressive and powerful of the vampire race. Gen Ones were few in number; Elise, for her many decades of living in the Darkhavens, had never even seen one before.
―I‘m Tegan,‖ he said, and held out his hand to help her up.
The contact seemed too forward to her, even though she could hardly pretend that this male‘s huge hands hadn‘t been clamped down on her shoulders and her waist just a few hours before. She‘d felt the lingering heat of his touch for a long time after he‘d let her go, the outline of his strong fingers seeming burned into her flesh.
She got to her feet on her own power and brushed awkwardly at her wet cheeks. ―I am Elise,‖
she said, giving him a polite bow of her head. ―I am Sterling‘s sister by marriage.‖
―Are you recently widowed?‖ he asked, his head cocking to the side as that penetrating gaze of his drank in every inch of her.
Elise fidgeted with the long scarlet sash at her waist. ―I lost my mate five years ago.‖
―You still mourn.‖
―I still love him.‖
―I‘m sorry,‖ he said, his tone level, his face placid. ―And I‘m sorry about your son too.‖
Elise looked down, not ready to hear sympathy for Camden when she was still clinging to hope that he might return to her.
―It‘s not your fault. You didn‘t drive him to this, and you couldn‘t have stopped him.‖
―What?‖ she murmured, astonished that Tegan could know anything about her guilt, her secret shame. A few Gen Ones were gifted in mind reading, but she hadn‘t felt him probing her thoughts, and only the weakest humans were penetrable without some notice of psychic invasion. ―How could you possibly—‖
The answer came to her at once, the explanation for the strange buzzing of her senses when he‘d touched her earlier that night, the lingering heat his fingers had left on her skin. He had divined her emotions in that instant. He had stripped her bare without her will.
―I‘m sorry,‖ he said. ―It‘s not something I can control.‖
Elise blinked away her discomfiture. She knew what it was like to be cursed with such an ability. Her own psychic skill had made her a prisoner to the Darkhavens, unable to bear the bombardment of negative human thoughts that assailed her whenever she was among their kind.
But sharing a similar affliction with this warrior didn‘t make her any more comfortable in his presence. And worry over Camden—the raw misery she felt when she thought about what he was doing out there, swept up in the violence of the Rogues—made her anxious to be alone.
―I should go,‖ she said, more to herself than to Tegan. ―I need to... I have to get out of here. I can‘t be here right now.‖
―Do you want to go home?‖
She shrugged, then shook her head, uncertain what she needed. ―Anywhere,‖ she whispered. ―I just need to go.‖
Closer now, moving without even the slightest stir of the air around him, Tegan said, ―I‘ll take you.‖
―Oh, no, I didn‘t mean—‖
She shot a glance back down the corridor, in the direction she‘d come from, thinking that she probably should try to find Sterling. A bigger part of her was thinking that she wasn‘t at all sure she should be in this warrior‘s company now, let alone considering going off with him somewhere unescorted.
―You afraid I‘m going to bite you, Elise?‖ he asked, his lazy, sensual mouth quirking at one corner, the first indication she‘d seen in him that he actually might feel any emotion at all.
―It‘s late,‖ she pointed out, casting about for a polite excuse to deny him. ―It must be getting close to dawn. I wouldn‘t ask you to risk exposure—‖
―So I‘ll drive fast.‖ Now he smiled, a full-on grin that said he knew full well she was trying to dodge him and he wasn‘t about to permit it. ―Come on. Let‘s get the hell out of here for a while.‖
God help her, but when he held his hand out to her, Elise hesitated only for a second before she took it.
CHAPTER Thirty-two
D
ante was gone longer than a few minutes, and the waiting made Tess anxious. She had so many questions, so much to sort out in her mind. And despite the internal, enlivened buzzing of her body, on the outside she felt strung out, antsy.
A hot shower in Dante‘s spacious bathroom helped wash away some of that feeling, and so did the fresh change of clothes that he had left for her in the bedroom. With Harvard watching from his curled-up position on the bed, Tess put on the tan cords and brown knit shirt, then sat down to slip on her shoes.
Scuff marks and small splatters of blood were vivid reminders of the attack she‘d suffered. An attack, Dante would have her believe, perpetrated by inhuman creatures with a thirst—an addiction—
to blood.
Vampires.
There had to be a more logical explanation, something grounded in fact, not folklore. Tess knew it was impossible, yet she knew what she had experienced. She knew what she had seen, when her first assailant leaped off Ben‘s apartment balcony on foot and dropped to the ground, as fluid as a cat. She knew what she had felt, when that man and another who joined him hauled her off the sidewalk and into the old shed. They had bitten her, like rabid animals. They had punctured her skin with huge fangs and drawn her blood into their mouths, feeding off her like something out of a horror movie.
Like the vampires Dante had proclaimed them to be.
At least she was safe now, wherever Dante had brought her. She looked around the large bedroom with its simple, understated furnishings. The furniture was masculine, with clean lines and dark finishes. The only indulgence was the bed. The king-size four-poster dominated the room, its glossy black silk sheets as soft and sleek as a raven‘s wing.
Tess found similar tasteful appointments in the adjacent living room. Dante‘s quarters felt comfortable and unfussy, like the man himself. The whole place seemed homey, but it didn‘t feel like a house. There were no windows on any of the walls, just expensive-looking contemporary art and framed photography. He had mentioned this place was a compound, and now Tess wondered precisely where she was.
She walked out of the living room to a tiled foyer. Curious, she opened the door and peered out onto a corridor of glossy white marble. Tess looked up the long hallway, then down the other side. It was empty, just a curving tunnel of polished stone. On the floor, inlaid into the snowy marble, was a series of symbols—interlocking geometric arcs and swirls rendered in obsidian. They were unusual and intriguing, some of them forming similar patterns to the beautiful multihued tattoos Dante sported on his torso and arms.