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Dante turned around slowly in the long hallway. "I guess you could say my status got a bit fucked up."
"No shit," the other vampire replied, taking him in with a shrewd glance over the top of square-cut pale blue shades. He chuckled, shaking his spiky crown of blond hair. "Gad, you look like hell. And you smell like toxic waste. What the devil happened to you?"
"Long story." Dante gestured to his shredded, bloodied, sodden clothing, which was rank with brine, sludge, and God knew what else from his trip down the Mystic River. "I'll fill everyone in later. Right now I need a shower."
"Industrial strength," Gideon agreed. "But cleanup is gonna have to wait awhile. We've got company in the lab." Annoyance sparked in Dante. "What kind of company?"
"Oh, you're gonna love this." Gideon gestured with his head. "Come on. Lucan wants you present for input."
Exhaling a long breath, Dante fell in step alongside Gideon. They walked up another twisting length of the corridor, heading for the tech lab, the surveillance and intel hub where the warriors held most of their meetings. As the glass wall of the lab came into view, Dante saw the three other vampire warriors who were like kin to him: Lucan, the Order's dark leader; Nikolai, the brash gearhead of the group; and Tegan, the eldest next to Lucan, and the deadliest inpidual Dante had ever known.
The Order was missing two other members of late. Rio, who had been severely injured by a Rogue ambush a few months ago and remained in the infirmary at the compound, and Conlan, who was killed by Rogues around the same time, in an explosion that took place on one of the city's train lines.
As Dante scanned the assembly of warriors, his gaze lit on one unfamiliar face. Evidently, this was the company Gideon had mentioned. The vampire male had the clean-cut looks of an accountant--right down to the dark suit and white shirt, crisp gray tie, and glossy black oxford shoes. His golden-brown hair was short, impeccably styled, not a strand out of place. Although the male was sizable beneath all that spit and polish, he brought to mind one of those chiseled pretty boys that you see in human magazine ads, hawking designer clothing or expensive cologne.
Scowling, Dante shook his head. "Tell me that's not one of the new warrior candidates."
"That," said Gideon, "is Agent Sterling Chase, of the Boston Darkhaven."
A Darkhaven law-enforcement agent. Well, that made some sense. Certainly explained the vampire's buttoned-up, useless-bureaucrat appearance. "What's he want with us?"
"Information. Some kind of alliance, from what I gather. The Darkhaven has sent him here in the hopes of obtaining the Order's help."
"Our help." Dante scoffed, skeptical. "You gotta be kidding me. It wasn't so long ago that the general population of the Darkhavens were condemning us as lawless vigilantes."
Walking beside him, Gideon glanced over with a smirk. "Dinosaurs who'd outlived their time and ought to be forced into extinction was, I believe, one of the more polite suggestions."
Ironic, considering the populations of those sanctuaries existed directly because of the warriors' continued efforts in fighting the Rogues. In the dark ages of man, long before Dante's eighteenth-century birth in Italy, the Order had acted as sole protector of the vampire race. Then, they were revered as heroes. In the time since, as the warriors hunted down and executed Rogues all over the globe, putting down even the smallest uprisings before they had a chance to take root, the Darkhavens had relaxed into a state of arrogant confidence. Rogue numbers had been few in modern times but were growing again. Meanwhile, the Darkhavens had adopted laws and procedures for dealing with Rogues as mere criminals, foolishly believing that incarceration and rehabilitation were viable solutions to the problem.
Those of the warrior class knew better. They saw the carnage up close and personal, while the rest of the population hid in their sanctuaries, pretending they were safe. Dante and the rest of the Order were the Breed's only true defense, and they chose to act independently--some might argue in defiance of-- impotent Darkhaven law.
"Now they're asking for our help?" Dante fisted his hands at his side, in no mood to deal with Darkhaven politics or the fools who peddled them. "I hope Lucan's called this meeting so we can prove we're savages and kill their friggin' messenger."
Gideon chuckled as the glass doors of the lab whisked open in front of them. "Try not to scare Agent Chase away before he's had a sporting chance to explain why he's here, will you, D?"
Gideon strode inside. Dante followed, giving a nod of respect to Lucan and his brethren as he entered the spacious control room. He turned his gaze on the Darkhaven agent, holding it steady as the civilian vampire rose from his chair at the conference table and looked upon Dante's bloodied, battered condition in barely concealed disgust.
Now he was damn glad he hadn't paused to tidy up before coming in. Hoping to offend further, Dante strolled up to the agent and held out his grimy hand in offered greeting.
"You must be the warrior called Dante," said the low, cultured voice of the Darkhaven representative. He accepted Dante's outstretched hand and clasped it briefly. The agent sniffed almost imperceptibly, fine nostrils flaring as they picked up on Dante's certain stench. "A privilege to meet you. I am Special Investigative Agent Sterling Chase, of the Boston Darkhaven. Senior Special Investigative Agent," he added, smiling. "But I've no wish to stand on ceremony, so please, all of you, feel free to address me as you will."
Dante merely grunted, biting back the choice form of address that leaped to his tongue. Instead, he dropped into the seat next to the agent, holding him in a cool, unwavering stare.
Lucan cleared his throat, all it took for the eldest of the Breed to resume command of the gathering. " Now that we're all here, let's get down to business. Agent Chase has brought some disturbing news from the Boston Darkhaven. There's been a rash of young vampires going missing lately. He'd like the Order' s help in recovering them. I've told him we will.">"I am not a man, Tess. I am something... else."
She might have scoffed at that if he hadn't sounded so deadly serious. So deadly calm.
He was crazy.
Right. Of course he was.
Off the chain, raving lunatic, psycho crazy.
That was the only explanation she could come up with, staring in wide-eyed dread as he closed the space between them, the sheer power and size of him forcing her toward the wall at her back.
"You saved me, Tess. I didn't give you a choice, but your blood healed me." Tess shook her head. "I didn't heal you. I'm not even sure your wounds were real. Maybe you thought they were, but--"
"They were real," he said, a faint, rolling accent in his deep voice. "Without your blood, they might have killed me. But in drinking from you, I've done something to you. Something that I can't take back."
