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"I don't know," Megan replied. "I asked her how it was going and she just said she's not seeing him anymore."
"Good," Gabrielle said, so very relieved. "That's really good news."
"So, what about you? What's so important that you can't come out for dinner tonight?">Dangerous thinking, no matter how he chose to look at it.
He let the discussion about the raid continue, agreeing that they needed to start hitting the Rogues where they lived, rather than picking them off individually as they ran across them in the street. "We'll meet back in here at sundown to suit up and head out."
The group of warriors began conversing amongst themselves as they dispersed, Tegan sauntering along at the rear.
Lucan considered the stoic loner, who took such damnable pride in the fact that he didn't need anyone. Tegan willfully kept himself detached, isolated. But he hadn't always been like that. Once, he'd been a golden boy, a born leader. He could have been great - had been, in fact. But all of that changed in the course of one terrible night. From there, a steep downward spiral began. Tegan hit bottom and had never recovered.
And although he had never admitted it to the warrior, Lucan would never forgive himself for the role he had played in that fall.
"Tegan. Hold up."
The vampire paused with obvious reluctance. He didn't turn around, just stood there in silence, his back held at an arrogant angle as the other warriors filed out of the training facility and into the corridor. When they were alone, Lucan cleared his throat and spoke to his Gen One brethren.
"You and I have a problem, Tegan."
He exhaled sharply. "I'll go alert the media."
"This issue between us isn't going to go away. It's been too long, too much water over the dam. If you need to settle the score with me - "
"Forget it. It's ancient history."
"Not if we can't bury it."
Tegan scoffed, turning to look at him at last. "You got a point here, Lucan?"
"I just want to say that I think I'm starting to understand what it cost you. What I cost you." Lucan slowly shook his head, ran a hand over his scalp. "T, you have to know that if there had been any other way... If things could've gone down differently..."
"Jesus Christ. Are you trying to apologize to me?" Tegan's green eyes were hard enough to cut glass. "Spare me the concern, man. You're about five-hundred years too late. And sorry doesn't change a fucking thing, does it?"
Lucan clamped his jaws together, stunned to feel true anger rolling off the big male, instead of the usual cool apathy.
Tegan hadn't forgiven him. Not even close.
After all this time, he didn't think it likely that he ever would.
"No, T. You're right. Sorry doesn't change anything."
Tegan stared at him for a long moment, then turned away and stalked out of the room.
Live music screamed out of refrigerator-sized amplifiers at the front of the private underground nightclub - although "music" was a generous description of the band's pathetic caterwauling and discordant guitar riffs. The group moved robotically on the stage, slurring their words and dropping far more beats than they hit. In a word, they sucked.
But then, who could expect the humans to perform with any sort of expertise when they were playing before a crowd of bloodthirsty, feeding vampires?
From behind his concealing shades, the leader of the Rogues narrowed his eyes and scowled. He had a thrashing headache when he'd arrived a short while ago; now his temples felt as if they were about to explode. He leaned back against the cushions of his private booth, bored with the gory festivities. A slight lift of his hand brought one of his sentries jogging over. He waved dismissively toward the stage.
"Someone put them out of their misery. Not to mention mine."
The guard nodded, then hissed in reply. He curled back his lips to reveal huge fangs protruding from a mouth that was already watering at the mere mention of more carnage. The Rogue loped off to carry out his orders.
"Good dog," murmured his powerful Master.
He was glad for the sudden trill of his cell phone, and a reason to get up for some air. A new racket had begun on-stage, now, as the band came under the sudden assault of a pack of frenzied Rogues.
With the club erupting in full-on anarchy, the leader strode to a private backstage room, and took the ringing cell phone from his inside suitcoat pocket. He had expected to see the untraceable number of one of his many Minions, most of whom had been dispatched to gather information on Gabrielle Maxwell and her apparent involvement with the Breed.
