Dreams of a Dark Warrior (26 page)

broken his word to her.

Vincente strode by then. In a low tone, the man said, “He’s only going to a new cel now. Worry for

yourselves.”

Regin sagged against the glass.
Gods, just give me one more chance to take Chase down. Just one

more …

As Declan strode through the facility, finalizing preparations for Webb’s arrival this week, he decided it was time to bring the Valkyrie round once more.

His trap had been sprung for Malkom Slaine; now al he could do was wait. He’d compiled and edited

the information Regin had given him about the Valkyrie, bersekers, and any impending apocalypses.

And by now, enough time had passed that he likely wouldn’t throttle her on sight.

Their last meeting had infuriated him; his subsequent dream—wet as it’d been—had only compounded

his resentment.
Spend up to my chin. …

Once again, the Valkyrie had sent him reeling. And again, he’d found his footing. If she meant to

convince him he was a berserker, she’d have to do better than her tales, her induced dreams.

He would require irrefutable proof. Until then, he’d fight it every step of the way.
Going down swinging

—

“Magister Chase,” Vincente cal ed from behind him.

Declan slowed his steps.

“You’ve, uh … you received a message, sir.”

“I’l check it when I get back to my office.”

“The message didn’t come through the usual channels.” He handed Declan a sealed transcript folder.

“Then where’d it come from?”

“It was recorded. From the listening device you planted in Louisiana. I matched it to an Aston Martin,

red, current year, Orleans Parish tag.”

“So? Someone must have driven that car, and we picked up a conversation. Those bugs are voice-

activated.”

“The car wasn’t started. And only one person was inside it. Just read the transcript, sir. I suggest in

private.”

“I have another task at hand. Tel me who it’s from, and I’l decide.”

Vincente lowered his voice. “It’s from a Valkyrie named Nïx. She left the message specifical y for you,

using your own bug.”

How the hel had Nïx found the hidden device? He could only imagine what she would have to say to

him.

Without a word, Declan turned back toward his office, ripping open the folder as soon as the door

closed behind him.

He started to read. …

—Begin transcript—

Testing. Hel o, hel ooo, anybody out there? Check, check, one, two. Soft pee. Puh, puh.

Resonance! Sooooooft pee. Alpha bravo disco tango duck.

This is Nïx! I’m the Ever-Knowing One, a goddess incandescent, incomparable, and

irresistible. But enough about what you think of me. It’s a beautiful day in New Orleans. The wind

is out of the east at a steady five knots and clouds look like rabbits … But enough about what

you think of me!

Now, down to business—

Squirrel!

Where was I? [Long pause] Why am I in Regin’s car? Bertil, you crawl right back out of that

bong this minute!

Oh, I remember! I am hereby laying down this track for Magister Declan Chase. If you are a

mortal of the recorder peon class, know that Dekko and I go waaaaay back, and he’l go berserk

(snicker snicker) if he doesn’t receive this transmittal. …

Chase, riddle me this: what’s beautiful but monstrous, long of tooth but sharp of tooth and soft

of mind, and can never ever tel a lie?

That’s right. The Enemy of Old can be very useful to you. So use him already.

P.S. Your middle name’s about to be spel ed r-e-g-r-e-t.

And with that, I must bid you adieu. Don’t worry, we’l catch up
very soon. …

[Muffled] Who’s mummy’s wittle echolocator? That’s right—you are!

—End transcript—

Declan sank back in his chair, muttering,
“Jaysus.”
Why in the hel would she communicate with him?

And she’d al uded to him being a berserker.
Fighting it all the way down …
Why would she say she’d be seeing him soon? Perhaps she planned some kind of incursion to free Regin?

Regret about what?

He cal ed Vincente to his office. “Did anyone else see this?”

“Only the one who transcribed the message.”

“Bury it.” Declan scowled at the transcript. “And bring me Lothaire.”

TWENTY-TWO

G
ods, Magister,” Lothaire said as soon as a cadre of guards left him in Chase’s office, “try to contain that.”

From behind his desk, the magister demanded, “Contain what?”

Lothaire’s cuffed hands fisted behind his back. “That frenzied energy rol ing off you in waves.” It

distracted him from his seething need to disembowel the man.

Chase had a look in his eyes, an almost
demented
light. The man was losing it. “I don’t know what

you’re talking about, vampire.” His visage was pale, his scars seeming more prominent.

Hate scars. I’m physically flawless—why can’t everyone be?
Everywhere Lothaire went, people

stopped and stared. Of course, then they usual y ran. “You don’t? Ah, if only I could lie so easily.”

The magister didn’t address that, merely observed, “You appear … saner today.”

“Alas, you are remarkably less so.”
Demented and not quite mortal.
What was he? Lothaire had

contemplated this for days. “It seems we are to meet in the middle.”
I don’t have
time
to be

maddened
—
because of you.

“But you’re not healing as I would have expected,” Chase observed.

The torture had left Lothaire wasted. “That’s because Magister Chase’s hospitality leaves much to be

desired.” The Order provided no blood for vampires—Lothaire hadn’t fed in weeks. And without blood, he

was barely regenerating.

Beneath his shirt, ash remained where his flesh should be. There were gaps in the skin that should be

covering his ribs.

So hungry I can count my ribs.
He almost laughed.
Not so flawless at present.
But Chase would carry his marks to the grave.
I will heal once I feed.

If only Lothaire could take down Chase and drink him. His fangs throbbed at the thought, his gaze rapt

on the man’s neck.

Chase noticed. “You sick son of a bitch. You think to take my blood?”

“When I truly want it, you’l know. Because my fangs wil be shoved deep in your neck.” Lothaire

shrugged, turning to survey Chase’s office.

The only discernible hint of his personality was that there was no hint of his personality. Lothaire strode to one of the windows, gazing out over the rainy landscape.
She
was out there in the world. Both his doom and his salvation. He wondered how strong this glass was.
Drink Chase, break the window. …

But he couldn’t leave this place without his ring. “What do you want, Magister?”

“You’re the oldest immortal here, and it’s said you know more secrets about the Lore than almost

anyone.”

“True and true.” For eons, Lothaire had crept through the night to drink his enemies down. And with

each drop of blood taken from the flesh, he’d harvested knowledge.

His victims were legion.

“Most important, you’re a natural-born vampire, so you can’t lie. And I need information.”

“Why should I assist you?”

“I’l torture you otherwise,” Chase said so easily, stil thinking himself the master of his domain and al within it. But not for long.

“Perhaps I’l make you go through the motions,” Lothaire said. “I did relish your frustration when you

couldn’t get me to talk last time.” Even when those lights had melted his flesh from his bones. …

“Then so be it.”

Foolish!
the Endgame admonished.
If you don’t survive the Gilded One, then your female will be in
jeopardy.
And to survive, Lothaire needed supplies from this magister. “I do wonder why you’ve not tried to bargain with me? Immortals enjoy a good bargain.”
I know this well.

Lothaire’s nemesis Nïx might be the Ever-Knowing, but he was the Ever-Doing—forever col ecting

debts. Over the mil ennia, he had amassed an army’s worth of debtors.

And every move I make serves my Endgame, the ultimate prize.

“What do you want?” Chase asked.

“My ring.”

“Out of the question.”

“Keeping it here invites the wrath of an unimaginable power.” La Dorada, the Gilded One, a sorceress

of pure evil.
The waters recede more each day. …

Just before his capture, Lothaire had spent weeks traveling into the deepest part of the Amazon,

fol owing the Valkyrie archer Lucia and her werewolf lover as they sought Dorada’s hidden tomb. At the

last instant, Lothaire had swooped in to steal that ring directly off Dorada’s mummified body, knowingly

triggering the tomb’s floodgates and waking her from her slumber.

He smirked now. He’d left the Valkyrie and the wolf in the lurch to deal with the cataclysmic aftermath.

“An unimaginable power?” Chase exhaled impatiently. “I suppose I’l just have to chance it. Unless

you’re ready to tel me what the ring does.”

“No. I am not.” Lothaire’s smirk faded.
Now
I
am left in the lurch, imprisoned here for Dorada to find,
trapped without the ring.

She would bring her vicious guards here with her. “I wil answer one of your questions—unrelated to me

or my ring—if you have twenty pounds of sodium chloride placed in my cel .”

That earned a double take from the unbalanced magister. “You want … table salt? Why?”

“Why? I believe that is a question related
to me
.”

Chase glowered. “I can’t authorize your request.”

“You can authorize anything you want. Remember, everything goes through you. This is
your
realm.

Cal your hulking minion, and order him to stow salt in my cel . It’s that simple.”

“I give you my word it’l be done.”

“But you don’t
keep
your word, Magister Chase. You promised the witch that she and her ward would

be released if she brings you the demon Malkom Slaine. But we both know they won’t be freed, even if

she succeeds. You would be stupid to do so.”

Chase didn’t even have the grace to flush. At length, he radioed Vincente. “I want twenty pounds of salt

placed in Lothaire’s cel . You heard me. See it done.”

Lothaire inclined his head. “Ask your question.”

“Are there reincarnations? I need to know if reincarnates exist.” Chase very much wanted an answer

to his question. And he very much wanted it to be
no
.

Curious. “Of course there are reincarnations.”

Chase sank back in his chair, his face paling even more.

“I even know a few. They owe me debts of honor.” But then, most of the key players in the Lore did.

When their accounts come due, the world will quake. …

Lothaire studied Chase’s expression: consternated and alarmed, with a touch of bel igerence. From

the whispers in the ward, Lothaire had learned that Chase was particularly interested in Regin. Now a

query about reincarnates?

“And with your question, Magister Chase, al becomes clear to me. The final piece of the puzzle.
You

are the legendary berserker who returns for Regin the Radiant.” He grinned, baring fangs. “How ironic to

say this, but
ne za chto
—welcome. Welcome to the Lore. …”

TWENTY-THREE

I
could be a part of their world.
One of Lorekind—a term Declan had always derided.

As he strode toward Regin’s cel —with nothing but a pair of cuffs and burning intent—paranoia rode