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He was already gone.
Tegan hoofed it back into the city, moving with the preternatural speed that made the Breed all but invisible to human eyes. He was glad for the long run from Reichen's lakeshore Darkhaven. He was glad for the chill snap in the air that helped clear his head after the near catastrophe with Elise.
But he was glad most of all for the thick clot of humanity that was prowling the darkened streets of Lichtenberg in Berlin's depressed Eastern District. Row upon row of twenty-story concrete high-rise eyesores towered over this former East Berlin sector, which only added to the general malaise of the place. There were few tourists here at this hour of night. Only grim-faced locals hurrying from late-shift jobs or the grimy brewhauses that catered to the working-class poor--folks who weren't leaving the GDR in this lifetime, wall or no wall.
Tegan scanned his surroundings with a hunter's eye. He was hardwired to look for Rogues, but he could tell at a glance there were no suckheads in the vicinity. While Boston had been practically overrun with the Bloodlusting bastards courtesy of Marek's recent reappearance, Berlin and most other major cities had been reporting only minimal Rogue activity for years.
And damn if that didn't suck ass.
Because right now, Tegan would have welcomed a good hard fight with his enemies-- several, if he had his choice about it.
He had to force his aggression to heel as he stalked down one of the desolate streets that would lead him deeper into the district. He watched for his night's prey, ignoring a pair of human women who gave him the once-over as they stumbled out of a bar and into his path. He walked around them with an annoyed snarl.
He wouldn't feed from a female.
He hadn't in all this time...not since Sorcha's death.
It was his choice, something he'd adopted as self-imposed punishment for failing the innocent girl who had been so wrong in trusting him to keep her safe from his enemies. But somewhere along the way, Tegan's aversion to drinking from females, let alone binding himself to another Breedmate, had become an act of desperation.
It had become an act of plain survival.
His hungers ran too deep. And he knew from experience how easy it was to lose control. He'd tasted Bloodlust once before, and he could never allow himself to get close to it again.
That he'd been so tempted by Elise tonight had rattled him hard. He'd never wanted to take a female--to his mouth or to his bed--in a long span of time that had somehow become centuries. He'd been alone by his own will, bonded to nothing but his mission to wipe out the Rogues.
But now...?
Fuck, he ground out savagely from between clamped teeth and fangs.
Now he was about two seconds away from hauling ass back to the Darkhaven where Elise was probably cowering in terror from what he might have done to her--to them both--if he'd given in to the impulse to drink from her.
Instead, he plowed forward, his sights locking on to a trio of skinheads in black leather and chains. The white laces on their jackboots practically glowed in the scant light shed by the intermittent streetlamps overhead. They hooted at an elderly woman in a headscarf who was coming toward them up the sidewalk. Her dark eyes dropped to avoid facing the threat, and when she started to cross the street to get out of their way, the gang of neo-Nazis loped after her, taunting her with ugly racial slurs. They shoved her into the alcove of a nearby building, and one of them made a grab for her purse. The woman screamed and held on, and suddenly she was being dragged into the adjacent alley where the situation was sure to escalate.
Tegan moved in quickly, feeling battle rage transform him.
The first skinhead didn't know what hit him until he was thrown several yards into the street. Wisely, he got up, took one look at Tegan, and started running in the opposite direction. His companions took a bit more convincing. While one pulled the old woman farther into the alley by her purse strap, the other one drew a switchblade and made a jab at Tegan.
He missed.
But then it's damn hard to hit a target that's standing in front of you one second, then suddenly behind you the next, wrenching your arm out of its socket. The skinhead howled in agony, dropping the blade as he crumbled to his knees on the pavement.
Tegan's breath rolled out of his mouth in cloudy plumes, and his hands itched to finish the asshole, but the one who really needed killing was the one pounding his fists into a defenseless old woman a few yards away.
Get the fuck out of my sight, he snarled down at the whimpering human, peeling his lips back from his fangs to make sure the kid got a good eyeful of the hell he'd be dealing with if he decided to stick around. Ah, shit! the human gasped, reading Tegan loud and clear. He scrambled to his feet and took off running, his dislocated arm dangling uselessly at his side.
Tegan wheeled around and stalked into the alleyway where the last of the skinheads had finally wrestled the purse away from the old lady. He dug through the leather bag, dumping out the scant contents. He tore out the lining and let it fall to the ground.
Where's your cash, bitch? You've got to be hiding something in here to hold on as tight as you did!
The woman crawled forward to retrieve a small framed photo from the slushy pavement. My photograph, she wailed, her German tinged with an Arabic accent. It's all I have left of my husband. You've ruined it!
The skinhead laughed. Oh, my heart is breaking for you. Nasty foreign scum.
Tegan came up on the guy like a ghost. He clamped his hand around the back of the skinhead's neck and steered him away from the woman. In his periphery, he saw her collect her meager belongings and hurry out of the alley.
Hey, ubermensch, Tegan hissed about an inch away from the human's ear. You ever get tired of terrorizing old women? Maybe you wanna hit a hospital next, eh? Bet you could really do some damage on the children's ward. Or would the cancer wing be more your speed?
Fuck you, the thug seethed back at him in English. Maybe I show you the morgue, asshole.
