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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
Tegan'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. Tegan's gaze followed Marek's casual gesture to the source of the death stench in the room. Director Kuhn's headless torso lay on the floor next to a broad-bladed, blood-soaked sword.
Marek shrugged. He outserved his purpose. All of the quivering, hapless sheep inhabiting the Darkhavens have outserved their purpose, wouldn't you agree? They've forgotten their roots, if they really ever understood them. How many generations have been spawned since the illustrious first that you and I are both a part of? Too many, and each generation has grown weaker, their blood diluted with feeble homo sapiens genes. It's time to start fresh, Tegan. The Breed needs to sever its atrophied branches and begin a new reign of Gen One power. I want to see the Breed thrive. I want us to be kings--the way it should be.
You're insane, Tegan growled. And you only want power for yourself. You always did.
Marek scoffed. I deserved to rule. I was eldest, not Lucan. I had the clearer vision for how our race should evolve. The humans should be hiding from us, living to please us, not the other way around. Lucan didn't see it that way. He still doesn't. His humanity is his greatest weakness.
And yours has always been your arrogance.
Marek grunted. What was yours, Tegan? His tone was a bit too light, too taunting in its casualness. I remember her, you know...Sorcha.
Tegan hated like hell to hear that innocent girl's name on his enemy's lips, but he swallowed the rage that was building inside him. Sorcha was gone. He'd finally let her go, and Marek would not be able to goad him with her memory.
Yes, she was your weakness. I knew that when I went to her that night. You remember, don't you? The night she was abducted from your home while you were out on patrol with my brother on one of his endless missions?
