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All the worse for him, being of the first generation of vampires spawned on Earth. Gen One appetites--physical, carnal, and otherwise--burned the strongest.
Tegan crept along the edge of the building, then leaped down onto the roof of another, his eyes rooted on the movement of people below, searching for the weak member in the herd. But he didn't comb the crowds merely to satisfy his own needs: find a human with an open flesh wound, and he knew for a fact that any Rogues within a mile radius would not be far behind.
Except now that he was zeroing in on the source of the blood scent, he realized that what he smelled had an increasingly stale edge to it. It was spilled blood. Not fresh at all, but several minutes old.
Following the metallic odor, Tegan's gaze lit on a short, slight figure in a long hooded parka who was hurrying up the main thoroughfare, past the train station. There was an anxious clip to the person's gait, an obvious desire not to be noticed in the low tilt of the head as it cut away from a crowd of pedestrians and headed for an empty side street.
What the hell have you been up to? Tegan murmured under his breath as he tracked the inpidual.
Male or female, he couldn't be sure under all that dark, quilted down. Either way, the human was about to get some very unwanted company.
Tegan saw the Rogue an instant before it came out of hiding near a Dumpster several yards ahead of the human. He couldn't hear the words being said, but he could tell by the vampire's swagger and glowing amber eyes that it was taunting the person--just having a little fun before it made its move. Two more Rogues came around the corner from behind now, hemming the human in.
Damn it, Tegan growled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
He'd never had much use for the shiny brand of honor that demanded his kind act as unsung saviors to the humans who inhabited the planet with them. Even half-human himself, as was all of the Breed, Tegan had long ago given up needing to be the hero. He'd seen too much bloodshed, too much senseless slaughter and tragic waste from both sides.
His purpose now and for the past five hundred years--since the brutal torture and death of the only woman he'd ever loved--was simple enough: take out as many Rogues as possible, or die trying. He didn't really give a shit which came first.
But there was an ancient part of him that still bristled at the thought of grossly unfair odds, like the situation taking place on the street below.
The human in the bloodstained parka was being surrounded. Like sharks moving in for a kill, the Rogues started closing ranks. The hooded head came up suddenly, pivoted around to note the threat closing in from behind. Too late, though. No human stood a chance against one Bloodlusting suckhead, let alone a pack of three.
With a curse, Tegan advanced his position and jumped to a lower rooftop above the alleyway.
Just as the Rogue in front of the human lunged into action.
Tegan heard a sharp intake of breath--a female gasp of terror--as the Rogue grabbed for its prey. It seized the front of the woman's hood and threw her down on the snow-covered pavement, letting loose a howl of savage amusement as she took the hard fall.
Jesus Christ, Tegan hissed, already drawing a large blade from the sheath at his hip.
With a running leap, he dropped down from the ledge of the building, landing smoothly on the ground in a low crouch. The two Rogues nearest him split up, one taking cover while the other shouted that they were under attack. Tegan silenced the warning in mid-sentence, slicing his length of titanium-edged steel across the suckhead's throat.
A few yards ahead of him in the alleyway, the female was on her stomach, scrabbling to get away from her assailant. She had a weapon too, Tegan was surprised to see, but the Rogue noticed it at the same time and kicked it out of her hand. The Rogue planted the heavy sole of his boot on the center of her back, pinning her to the ground with his heel jammed hard into her spine.
Tegan was on him at once. He threw the Rogue off the woman, driving the snarling vampire into the side of the brick building and holding it there with his forearm wedged under the suckhead's chin.
Get out of here! he shouted to the human as she started to drag herself up off the ground. Run!
She flung a frightened look over her shoulder--the first glimpse Tegan got of her face. His gaze locked on to a pair of huge, pale lavender eyes. The woman stared at him from over the top of a dark knit scarf that could hardly disguise the delicate beauty beneath it.
Holy shit.
He knew her.
And she wasn't just a random human female; she was a Breedmate. A young widow from one of the vampire nation's Darkhaven sanctuaries in the city. Tegan didn't know her well. He hadn't seen her for several months, not since the night he'd taken her home from the Order's compound after she'd learned her only son had gone Rogue.
It was the last he had seen of her, but it hadn't been the last time he'd thought about her.
Elise.
What the hell was she doing here?
Tegan's flat stare held Elise transfixed for a moment that seemed to stretch out endlessly. She saw a flash of recognition in the warrior's unblinking gaze, felt the cold blast of his fury emanating toward her across the distance that separated them.
Tegan, she whispered, astonished to see that it was him coming to her rescue. She'd first met the terrifying warrior around the time that her son had gone missing. Tegan had been the one to take her home from the Order's compound after she'd learned Camden had fallen in with the Rogues. He'd shown her kindness in that late night ride back to her Darkhaven home, and although she hadn't seen the warrior in the four months since, she hadn't forgotten his unexpected compassion.
