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Reichen shook his head. Dead end, literally, I'm afraid. Odolf went from bad to worse as it turns out. He slid further into Bloodlust--went into violent convulsions. He even started foaming at the mouth. The attendant I spoke with said it was very strange, as if Odolf had gone rabid. A few hours later, they were wheeling him down to the morgue.
Shit. Tegan exchanged a glance with Lucan, his hackles rising. The report had Marek written all over it. What about this foam Odolf was spitting? Was it pinkish, foul smelling?
Reichen frowned. I don't know. I could make some more inquiries, do some more investigating--
No, forget it. I'll take it from here, Tegan said. 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 inpidual 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--
