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This is my own business, she said, knowing he probably heard her shortness of breath, which she was unable to fully conceal. It's personal.
For crissake, Elise. It's fucking suicide.
She flinched at the warrior's profanity, unaccustomed to hearing rough language. Quentin had never uttered anything harsher than an occasional damn in her presence, and then only when he was in the worst of states over frustration with the Agency or restrictive Darkhaven policies. He'd been a perfect gentleman in all ways, gentle even though she knew that as one of the Breed, his strength was immeasurable. Tegan was a crude, deadly contrast to her departed mate--one she'd been raised to fear growing up as a ward of the Darkhavens from the time she was a young girl. To Quentin and the Enforcement Agency he'd been a part of, Tegan and the rest of the Order were considered dangerous vigilantes. To many in the Darkhavens, the warriors were simply a cadre of savage, medieval-minded thugs who'd long outserved their purpose as defenders of the vampire nation. They were merciless--some would say lawless--and even though Tegan had saved her life tonight, Elise couldn't help feeling wary of him, as if there was a wild animal loose in her home.
She watched him thrust his big hand into the box of Minion communication devices, heard the clatter and slide of plastic and polished metal as he inspected the collection.
The GPS chips on these are already disabled. He leveled a narrow, dubious look at her. You knew to shut them off?
She gave a faint nod. I have a teenage son, she replied, then winced as the words left her lips. Lord, it was still so automatic to think of him alive, especially at times like this, when her body was weakened from psychic fatigue. I had a teenage son, she corrected quietly. Camden didn't like me being able to keep tabs on him, so he used to turn off his cell phone's GPS when he went out. I learned how to reactivate it, but he always found me out and shut it back off.
Tegan made a noise in the back of his throat, something low and indistinct. If you hadn't crippled these tracking devices, there's a real good chance you'd be dead by now. Better than good-- it's a fucking certainty. The one who made the Minions you've been hunting would have found you, and you don't want to know what he is capable of.
I'm not afraid of dying--
Dying, Tegan scoffed, cutting her off with a sharp, exhaled curse. Dying would be the least of your worries, female, trust me. You may have gotten lucky with a few careless Minions, but this is war, and you're way out of your league. What happened tonight should be evidence enough of that.
What happened tonight was a mistake I won't make again. I went out too late in the day and took too long. Next time I'll be sure I'm finished and home before nightfall.
Next time. Tegan pinned her with a sharp scowl. Jesus Christ, you really mean that.
For a long while, the warrior only stared at her. His steady gem-green eyes were unreadable, unemotional. The schooled lines of his face gave no indication of his thoughts. Finally, he gave a shake of his tawny head and pivoted away from her to gather up the collection of Minion cell phones. He stuffed them into the pockets of his coat, his rough movements flashing a staggering array of weaponry that he wore beneath the folds of the black leather.
What are you going to do? Elise asked as the last of the devices disappeared into a deep inside pocket. You're not going to turn me in, are you?
I damn well should. His flinty gaze raked her dismissively. But what you do isn't any of my concern so long as you keep your ass out of my way. And don't expect the Order to ride to your rescue the next time you get in over your head.
I won't. I don't...expect anything, I mean. She watched him head for the door, feeling awash in relief that she would soon be alone to contend with the tidal wave of pain that was roaring up on her swiftly. As the warrior opened the door and stepped out into the ratty hallway, Elise summoned what remained of her voice. Tegan, thank you. This is just...something I have to do.
She fell silent, thinking of Camden, and all the other Darkhaven youths who'd been lost to the poison of the Rogues. Even Quentin's life had been cut short by a diseased member of the Breed who'd gone Rogue and attacked while in custody of the Agency.
Elise couldn't bring any of the lost lives back; she knew that. But each day that she hunted, each Minion she eliminated meant one less weapon in the Rogues' arsenal. The pain she suffered for the task was nothing compared to what her son and the others must have endured. True death for her would be in being forced to sit within the shelter of the Darkhaven and do nothing while the streets ran red with the blood of the innocent.
That, she couldn't bear.
This is important to me, Tegan. I made a promise. I mean to uphold it.
He paused, slid a flat glance over his shoulder. It's your funeral, he said, and pulled the door closed behind him.
Chapter Four
Tegan threw the last of Elise's hunting souvenirs into an isolated stretch of the Charles River and watched as the dark water rippled out and the cell phone vanished into the drink. Like all the rest that he and the other warriors had confiscated on their patrols, the encrypted cell phones would be of no use to the Order. And he sure as hell wasn't about to leave them with Elise, GPS chips disabled or not.
Christ, he could not believe what the woman had been up to. Even more incredible was the fact that she'd been carrying out her lunatic vendetta for what had to be weeks, maybe even months. Obviously her brother-by-marriage had no idea, or the by-the-book ex?Darkhaven Enforcement Agent would have put a swift stop to it. Everyone in the Order knew that Sterling Chase had once had feelings for his brother's widow-- probably still did. Not that it was any of Tegan's business. Nor was Elise's apparent death wish.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his unbuttoned coat, Tegan stalked back to the street, his breath rolling between his lips in a cloud of misting steam. It was snowing again in Boston. A blustery curtain of fine white flakes fell onto a city already frozen from weeks of an unusually frigid winter. Tegan knew it had to be pushing single digits with the windchill, but he didn't feel the cold. He could hardly remember the last time he'd felt discomfort of any kind. Longer still, the last time he'd felt pleasure.
Hell, when was the last time he'd felt anything at all?
He remembered pain.
He remembered loss, the anger that had once consumed him...long, long ago.
He remembered Sorcha and how much he'd loved her. How sweetly innocent she was and how completely she had trusted him to keep her safe and protected.
God, how he'd failed her. He would never forget what had been done to her, how savagely she'd been abused. To survive the blow of her death, he had learned to detach from his grief, from his raw fury. But he could never forget. Would never forgive.
More than five hundred years of slaying Rogues, and he wasn't even close to calling things square.
