Lara Adrian's Midnight Breed 8-Book Bundle (105 page)

That job was going to prove a lot harder if the secret realm of the Breed—and the escalating trouble within it—were suddenly exposed to humankind by way of a curious reporter who’d somehow wandered into the middle of all this.

“Got an interesting call from Prague tonight,” Gideon said. “Rio’s back on grid.”

Nikolai’s tawny brows crashed together. “He’s not in Spain? When did he get back to Prague?”

“Doesn’t sound like he ever left. He ran into some trouble there, in the form of an American reporter. She knows about the cave. She’s been inside the Ancient’s hibernation chamber. Took a bunch of pictures too, evidently.”

“What the fuck? When did all this go down?”

“I don’t have all the details yet. Rio’s working on getting the situation secured. He and the woman are on their way to Reichen’s place in Berlin as we speak. He’s going to report in once he arrives so we can determine how to best contain this potential disaster.”

“Shit.” Brock exhaled, running a hand over his dark brow. “Rio’s actually still breathing, eh? Gotta say, I’m surprised. Since he’s been AWOL for so long, I kind of expected he wasn’t coming back, you know what I’m saying? Edgy guy like that, seemed to me like a prime candidate to off himself.”

“Maybe he should have,” Kade put in, chuckling. “I mean, hell, we’ve got Chase and Niko to contend with already. Does the Order really need another raving lunatic in the ranks?”

Nikolai sprang on the other warrior like a viper. There was no warning, no hint that Niko was going to grab Kade’s throat in his hand and slam the big male up against the wall of the corridor. He was seething with defensive anger as he held Kade in a near death grip.

“Jesus Christ!” Kade hissed, clearly as shocked as anyone else by the unexpected reaction. “It was just a joke, man!”

Nikolai snarled. “Do you see me laughing? Do I look like I’m fucking laughing?”

Kade’s sharp silver eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything else to provoke him.

“I could give a damn what you say about me,” Niko growled, “but if you know what’s good for you, lay the hell off Rio.”

Gideon might have guessed this wasn’t about Kade unintentionally insulting Nikolai. It was about Niko’s friendship with Rio. The two warriors had been as close as true brothers in the time before the warehouse explosion that left Rio scarred and broken. Afterward, it was Niko who made sure Rio fed, Niko who dragged Rio’s ass out of the infirmary to train in the compound’s weapons facility as soon as the wounded warrior was able to stand up.

It had been Nikolai who argued the most vehemently every time Rio announced that he was too far gone to be useful and he was pulling out of the Order. In the nearly five months that Rio had been currently off grid, not a week passed that Niko didn’t ask if there had been any word from him.

“Niko, damn, buddy,” Brock said. “Ease up.”

The huge black warrior moved in, looking like he was about to peel him off Kade, but Gideon held him back with a look. Although Nikolai relaxed his grip, his anger was still a palpable force filling the hallway.

“You don’t know dick about Rio,” he told Kade. “That warrior has more honor than the both of us combined. So this is the last time I want to hear you talking shit about him. Understand?”

Kade nodded tightly. “Yeah. Like I said, it was just a damn joke. I didn’t mean any offense.”

Nikolai stared at him for a long moment, then stalked away in silence.

CHAPTER
Eight

D
awn was inching up over the horizon as the delivery truck from Prague wheeled into a gated, heavily secured lakefront estate on the outskirts of Berlin.

The Darkhaven was held by a Breed vampire named Andreas Reichen, a civilian, but also a trusted ally of the Order since he’d assisted with the discovery of the mountain cave a few months ago. Rio had only met him briefly that past February, but the German greeted him like an old friend as he came around to the back of the truck and opened the trailer door.

“Welcome,” he said, then sent an anxious glance up at the pinkening sky overhead. “You made excellent time.”

The male was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and a pristinely pressed white shirt that lay unbuttoned at the throat. With his thick chestnut hair loose around his shoulders, the perfect waves setting off his striking, angular features, Reichen looked like he’d just come off a photo shoot for a men’s designer ad.

One dark brow lifted slightly as he took in Rio’s negligent appearance, but he remained the consummate gentleman. With a nod, Reichen offered his hand in greeting as Rio climbed out of the truck. “No trouble along the way, I hope?”

“None.” Rio gave a brief shake of the vampire’s hand.

“We were stopped at the border into Germany, but they didn’t search the truck.”

“For the right price, they don’t,” Reichen said, smiling pleasantly. He glanced behind Rio into the darkened trailer, to where Dylan Alexander lay on the floor. She was curled up on her side and resting peacefully, her head cushioned by the lumpy edge of her backpack. “Tranced, I take it?”

Rio nodded. He’d put her out about an hour into the trip, when her endless, probing questions and the swaying motion of the truck had been too much for him to deal with. Even though he’d fed earlier that night, his body was still in need of nourishment and not yet operating on all cylinders. To say nothing of his other problems.

He had spent most of the five-plus-hour drive fighting off nausea and blackout—a weakness he wasn’t about to risk exposing to the woman he’d just forcibly abducted. Better that she spend the duration of the trip in a light, psychically induced doze than have her make some desperate bid to overpower him and attempt an escape while they were in transit.

“She’s attractive,” Reichen said, a casual observation that didn’t even begin to do the female justice. “Why don’t you take her inside. I have a room prepared for her upstairs. One for you as well. Third floor, end of the hall to the right.”

Reichen waved off Rio’s murmured thanks. “You are welcome to stay as long as you require, of course. Anything you need, just ask. I’ll be along with her things as soon as I compensate my Czech friend for doing this favor on such short notice.”

As the German went around to the front of the truck to pay the driver, Rio climbed back inside to retrieve his sleeping captive. She stirred lightly as he lifted her into his arms and carried her outside. He walked briskly toward the mansion and up the short climb of steps that led into the opulent foyer.

None of the Darkhaven’s residents were around, even though it wouldn’t have been unusual to see some of the civilian vampires or their female mates who lived together as a community in the vast estate. Reichen had probably made sure the house would be quiet for Rio’s arrival, devoid of curious eyes and ears. Not to mention, protecting those same civilians from being identified by someone like Dylan Alexander.

A goddamn reporter.

Rio’s jaw clamped tight at the thought of the damage the woman in his arms could do. Just a stroke of her pen—or keyboard, as it were—and she could put this Darkhaven and the hundred or so others like it in Europe and the United States in terrible danger. Persecution, subjugation, and, ultimately, wholesale annihilation were certain outcomes if humankind were to have proof of vampires living among them. Aside from some assorted, mostly incorrect, vampire folklore widely dismissed as fiction by modern man, the Breed had kept itself hidden from discovery for thousands of years. It was the only way they’d survived this long.

But now, through his own carelessness—his weakness—Rio might have undone all of that in one reckless moment. He had to make it right, no matter what it might take to stanch the bleeding wound this woman’s story could cause.

Rio carried her through the empty foyer and up the massive staircase at the center of the elegant mansion. At the third floor landing, he followed the walnut-paneled hallway to the end of the line and opened the guest room door on his right. It was dim inside; like any Darkhaven residence, the windows were outfitted with electronic, UV-blocking shades to shut out deadly sunlight. Rio brought Dylan into the room and placed her on the large four-poster bed.

She didn’t look so dangerous like this, coming to rest there in the middle of the plush, silk-covered mattress. She looked innocent, almost angelic in her silence, her skin as clear as milk except for the spatter of tiny freckles that marched across her cheeks and the bridge of her small nose. Her long red hair fell around her head and shoulders like a halo of fire. Rio couldn’t resist touching one of the molten strands that had fallen over her creamy cheek. The tendril rasped against his callused fingers, which looked so dark and unclean against the coppery silk.

He had no right to touch her—no good reason to sift the beautiful lock between his fingers, marveling at the resilient strength contained within so much mesmerizing softness.

There was no cause at all for him to bend his head down to where she lay, passive only because he made her so, and to breathe the appealing scent of her into his lungs. Saliva surged into his mouth as he held himself very still over her, his face mere inches from the side of her neck. His thirst rose swiftly, along with a hot, swelling need.

Madre de Dios.

Had he really thought her to look like no threat to him now?

Wrong again,
he thought, recoiling from her bedside as her eyelids fluttered with waking consciousness. The lull of the trance was dissipating; it would fall away completely once Rio wasn’t in the room to hold the effect in place.

She stirred a bit more and he turned away from her briskly. He’d better get out of there, before he revealed himself any further with the current, rather obvious presence of his fangs.

When he looked up, he found Andreas Reichen standing in the hall outside the open door. “Do you find the room suitable, Rio?”

“Yes,” he replied, stalking over to take the backpack and pocketbook from the German’s hands. “I’ll keep these with me for now.”

“Of course. As you wish.” Reichen stepped back as Rio came out to the hallway and closed the guest room door. The German handed him a key for the lock beneath the antique crystal knob. “The window shades are centrally controlled, and the glass behind them is equipped with alarms. Outside, the estate grounds are secured by motion detectors and a perimeter fence. But these measures were designed to keep people off the property, not in. If you think the woman is a flight hazard, I can post a guard at the door—”

“No,” Rio said as he turned the key in the lock. “It’s bad enough she can ID me. The fewer individuals we bring into this, the better. She’s my responsibility. I’ll make sure she stays put.”

“Very well. I’ve had the adjoining suite prepared for you. You’ll find the wardrobe fully stocked with brand-new men’s attire. Help yourself to anything you like. There’s a bath and sauna in the suite as well, if you’d, ah, like to freshen up.”

“Yeah.” Rio nodded. His head was still pounding from the long ride in the back of the truck. His body was taut and edgy, hot all over, and he couldn’t blame any of that on the trip or his rocky state of mind. Behind his closed lips, he ran his tongue over his still-present fangs.

“A shower sounds great,” he told Reichen.

Preferably an ice-cold one.

If Dylan was confused before she and her abductor left Prague, their arrival in what she could only assume was somewhere in or around Berlin made things all the muddier to her. When she woke up in the middle of a large, silk-covered bed in a darkened room that looked like an upscale European bed-and-breakfast suite, she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing.

Where the hell was she? And how long had she been here?

Even though she felt fully awake and alert, there was a kind of cloudiness to her senses, like her head had been wrapped in thick cotton.

Maybe she was still dreaming.

Maybe she was still somehow in Prague and none of what she recalled had actually happened at all. Dylan turned on a nightstand lamp, then got off the bed and walked over to the tall windows on the other side of the luxurious room. Behind the beautiful drapes and curtain sheers, a tightly fitted panel shade covered the glass. She looked for a pull-cord or some other means to open it, but she couldn’t find anything. The blind was completely immobile, as though it was locked in place over the glass.

“The shade is electronic. You won’t be able to open it from in here.”

Startled, Dylan spun around at the sound of the deep, but now familiar male voice.

It was him, sitting in a delicate antique chair in the opposite corner of the room. She knew the unmistakable dark, accented voice, but the man staring at her from the shadows didn’t look anything like the filthy, ragged lunatic she expected to see.

He was clean now, and wearing fresh clothes—a black button-down dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, black trousers, and black loafers that were probably Italian and probably very expensive. His dark hair gleamed from a fresh washing, no longer the dingy hanks that hung limply into his face but swept back now in glossy espresso-brown waves that set off the unusual color of his intense, topaz eyes.

“Where am I?” she asked him, taking a few steps closer to where he sat. “What is this place? How long have you been sitting there watching me? What the hell did you do to me that I can hardly remember coming here?”

He smiled, but it couldn’t be called friendly. “Barely awake and already starting in with the questions. You were a lot easier to take when you were sleeping.”

Dylan wasn’t sure why she should feel insulted by that. “Then why don’t you let me go if I annoy you so much?”

The smile quirked a little, softening the grim line of his mouth. Good God, if not for the scars that ran from temple to jaw on the left side of his face, he would have been drop-dead gorgeous. No doubt he had been, before whatever accident had happened to him.

“I would like nothing better than to let you go,” he said. “Unfortunately, the decision of what to do with you is not mine to make alone.”

“Then whose is it? The man you were talking to in the hallway before?”

She’d only been half-conscious, but she’d been awake enough to hear the exchange of two male voices as she was placed in the room—one of them belonging to the man glaring at her now, the other clearly German based on the accent. She glanced around at the wealth of antique furniture and fine art, at the ten-foot ceilings and ornate crown moldings, all of which practically screamed multimillion-dollar estate. And then there were those light-blocking, Pentagon-grade window shades.

“What is this place—headquarters to some kind of government spy ring?” Dylan laughed, a bit nervously.

“You’re not going to tell me you’re part of a well-funded foreign terrorist cell, are you?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No.”

“No, you won’t tell me, or no, you aren’t a terrorist?”

“The less you know, the better, Dylan Alexander.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he said it, then he shook his head. “Dylan. What kind of name is that for a female?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “Don’t blame me, I had nothing to do with it. I happen to come from a long line of hippies, groupies, and tree-huggers.” He just looked at her, those dark brows lowering over his eyes. He didn’t get it, apparently. The reference seemed to go right past him, like he had never bothered with pop culture and probably had better things to do with his time. “My mom named me Dylan—you know, as in Bob Dylan? She was really into him around the time I was born. My brothers were named after musicians too: Morrison and Lennon.”

“Ridiculous,” her captor replied, scoffing under his breath.

“Well, it could be worse. We’re talking the mid-seventies, after all. I had just as good a chance of being named Clapton or Garfunkel.”

He didn’t laugh, just held her in his piercing topaz gaze. “A name is no insignificant thing. It frames your world as a child, and it lasts forever. A name should mean something.”

Dylan shot him a sardonic look. “This coming from a guy named Rio? Yeah, I heard your German friend call you that,” she added when he pinned her with a narrowed gaze. “It doesn’t seem that much better than Dylan, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you. And that’s not my name. Only a small portion of it.”

“What’s the rest of it?” she asked, genuinely curious, and not just because it seemed like a good idea to gather whatever information she could about this man who was holding her captive.