Midnight Awakening (39 page)

Lucan knew exactly where this was heading. “You don’t suppose that Rogue was fed Crimson…”

“Only one way to find out. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“It will be dawn in about that long,” Lucan warned.

Tegan glanced up at the still-dark sky, the moon well into its westward slide. “Then we better stop yakking about it so I can get out of here. I’ll catch you all back at the Darkhaven.”

“Tegan. Goddamn it—”

He heard Lucan’s terse oath behind him, but he was already across the blacktop and moving through the airport complex to the streets outside.

Director Heinrich Kuhn was in his office at the containment facility, writing up disposal documents for the body of his recently deceased patient, when the frantic call came in from security. There had been a perimeter breach. A Breed male—Gen One warrior, by the size and power of him—had infiltrated both the exterior and interior gates and was now somewhere loose in the facility.

“Shoot to kill, sir?” asked the head of security, anxiety edging his voice.

“No,” Kuhn replied. “No, he is not to be killed. But apprehend him by any means, then bring him to me.”

Kuhn hung up the phone. He had no doubt as to who the intruder might be. He’d been warned that the Order would not be far behind once word of Petrov Odolf ’s death began to circulate. He regretted that he’d permitted the warrior called Tegan into the facility in the first place—him and the Enforcement Agency female both. It was his job to protect his patients, from distress outside and from within themselves. In that, he’d failed Petrov Odolf, though no more than when he’d permitted the final visitor in to see him.

It was fear of that last individual that set the director to pacing his office now. Somehow, against everything he knew to be right, he’d let himself be recruited into a collusion that had ended with Petrov Odolf ’s hideous suffering and eventual death. Kuhn had been promised a similar personal experience if he didn’t prove useful to his new, lethal acquaintance.

Maybe he would be wise to slip out before the situation escalated any further. It was perilously close to dawn, after all, and he really had no wish to sit around waiting for more trouble to land on his doorstep.

Too late,
he thought, not a second later.

Kuhn wasn’t sure precisely when he felt the first stir of the air around him, but as he turned to face the closed doors of his office, he found himself staring into cold, deadly green eyes.

“Guten morgen, Herr Kuhn.”
The warrior’s smile was chilling. “I hear we’ve had a few problems here in your little Bedlam.”

Kuhn inched back behind his desk. “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

In a fluid, instant motion, the warrior leaped across the room and landed in a crouch on top of the desk. “Petrov Odolf is dead. That slip your mind?”

“No,” Kuhn replied, realizing he had just as much to fear from this male as he did the one who killed Odolf. “It was unfortunate, but he was very ill. Worse than I suspected.”

The director carefully slid his hand along under the edge of his desk, searching for the button that would sound a silent alarm. He’d hardly had the thought before a sharp blade lifted his chin.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to see the body.”

“What for?”

“So I will know whether or not you need to die.”

“Oh, God!” Kuhn wailed. “Please don’t hurt me! I had no choice—I swear to you!”

“You swear.”

The answering scoff was crisp with contempt. The dagger at Kuhn’s throat eased up, only to be replaced by the clamp of hard fingers. There was a heat that traveled through him from that punishing connection—a draining sense of invasion that buzzed like gnats in his brain.

The cold green eyes boring into his wide gaze went narrow. “You lying son of a bitch. You and Marek—”

The crack of Kuhn’s office door being smashed off its hinges split the air. There was a sudden report of gunfire, staccato blasts that came from no less than four armed security guards as they poured inside and opened fire on Kuhn’s assailant.

The warrior roared as the guards hit their mark all at once. As soon as the grip on Kuhn’s throat began to ease, he backed away—as far as he could get out of the massive vampire’s reach. He watched in stricken relief as the warrior slumped, then rolled off the desk onto the floor.

A wordless snarl curled out of the slack mouth, the ruthless eyes rolling back into the warrior’s skull. Kuhn gathered his courage now and approached the fallen beast. He stared down at the collection of tranquilizer darts that protruded from his body.

“Are you all right, sir?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes,” Kuhn replied, even though he was still trembling from the altercation. “That will be all for now. I don’t want this incident recorded in any way, do you understand? As far as anyone here is concerned, it didn’t happen. I will see that the intruder is removed from the premises.”

When the guards had gone, Heinrich Kuhn took out the cell phone he’d been given and dialed the sole number that was programmed into the device. When the low voice answered on the other end, Kuhn told him, “Something interesting just arrived. Where would you like me to deliver it?”

Lucan knew something was wrong even before the night gave way to dawn. Now, a couple of hours toward noon, he could only assume the worst. It wasn’t unusual for Tegan to go solo on his own personal missions, but this time he was off grid completely. He hadn’t returned from the containment facility. He hadn’t reported in, and there wasn’t even so much as a cell phone signal to indicate where he was or what kind of shit he might be into.

Calls to the facility had been useless. According to everyone Lucan spoke with, Tegan had never arrived. As for getting some intel on Odolf ’s death, all inquiries were being personally handled by the director of the place, one Heinrich Kuhn, who would not be reachable until he reported back to work at nightfall.

Lucan didn’t appreciate the bureaucratic stalemate, particularly when he was getting a very bad feeling that Tegan was in trouble.

“Still nothing?” Dante came out of the room where the rest of the Order and Reichen were covering the night’s upcoming trip to Prague. The warrior exhaled a low sigh when Lucan gave a shake of his head. “I know this mission is critical, Lucan, but damn. I don’t feel good about leaving Tegan behind.”

“We’re not.” Lucan met the serious stare of his brethren. “I need you and Chase to head up the mission. I’m going to stay behind and locate Tegan.”

“How are you gonna go about doing that? We’ve got no idea where he is, or if he’s even still in the city. It’ll take you forever if you’re planning to go door-to-door.”

Lucan shook his head. “I think I know of a better way to find him.”

CHAPTER
Thirty-two

T
egan’s mind came awake before the rest of his body. His throat burned, still raw and coated with the residue of whatever drug had been shot into him by Kuhn’s guards. He was no longer in the containment facility; his nose told him that much. Instead of the clinical stench of that place, he smelled old wood and brick, a hint of fresh paint as well, coming from somewhere overhead…

And nearby, the odor of a recent death. The cloying scent of spilled, coagulating Breed blood—a lot of it—hung like a thick shroud.

He didn’t have to attempt to move his limbs to know that he was restrained. The weight of heavy manacles and chains hung from his wrists and ankles, his body drawn spread-eagle between two large wooden beams.

Overhead, coming from outside whatever structure it was that imprisoned him, he heard the chatter of crows as they flew by. Even though it was dark where he was being held, it was daylight outside, his brain reasoned as the cawing grew distant. He must have been here—wherever here was—for hours.

He cracked one eyelid open, hardly able to lift it. His vision swam, instant vertigo making him sag deeper into his restraints.

“Awake at last,” mused a voice Tegan recognized, even in his half-drugged state. “Those idiots employed by Kuhn almost killed you with their tranquilizer darts. And that is a privilege I intend to save for myself.”

Tegan didn’t respond. He wouldn’t have, even if he’d been able to make his sluggish tongue form words. Marek deserved no respect whatsoever.

“Wake up,” came the terse command. “Wake the fuck up, Tegan, and tell me where he is!”

Hard fingers gripped a handful of his hair, lifted his head roughly when he didn’t have the strength to do it on his own. A heavy, closed-fisted blow landed on the side of his face, but he barely registered it through the fog of his sedation.

“Need a little convincing, do you?”

Footsteps sounded across a creaking, plank wood floor as Marek left him to slump and walked a few paces away. He came back a moment later. Tegan’s head was yanked back. Something was pressed beneath his nose. When the fist connected with his gut, he sucked in his breath.

The involuntary reaction brought the sting of fine powder traveling up his nostrils and in through his open mouth. He coughed, choking on the foul substance, and knew at once what Marek had just fed him.

“There we are. A little Crimson ought to speed things up.”

Marek backed away as Tegan tried to spit the drug out. It was no use. He could feel the Crimson seeping into his sinus passages, clinging to the back of his throat. Like an electrical current shot straight into his brain, the drug made him spasm and shudder. He felt it absorbing into his bloodstream, heat traveling along his strung-up limbs. When the initial quake subsided, Tegan opened his eyes and fixed a murderous stare on his captor.

Marek crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. “Back online already, eh?”

“Fuck you.” He tried to bring his arms down, but the chains held fast. His head was clearing, but his physical strength was still subpar at best. It was going to take time—or a stronger, riskier hit of Crimson—to shake off the effects of the tranqs.

“Where is he, Tegan? Have you found the hiding place yet?” Marek’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but Tegan felt the furious heat of his stare. “I know the Order has the journal. I know you’ve seen the riddle. And I know you spoke with Petrov Odolf. What did he tell you about it?”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes,” Marek agreed civilly. “Overdosed on Crimson, as you no doubt suspected when you went to see Herr Kuhn over here.”