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She wasn't his, and he had better put all thoughts of her aside to maintain his focus on the thing that truly mattered to him now--upholding his promise to avenge the innocent souls whom Roth destroyed. If he couldn't do that, then he was no good to himself or anyone else. Reichen drove for a while without speaking, working hard to ignore the fact that only a small space of leather and plastic separated him from Claire. At least he hadn't gone pyro back at Roth's office. Claire's blood was likely to thank for that small blessing. He'd felt the fires leap to life inside him when he sensed her distress a few blocks away from the place, but somehow, by the time he'd returned to face the agents who were hurting her, he'd managed to keep the flames from erupting. Barely. For all his reassurances that he would keep her safe, he knew that his destructive power posed a very real danger to her. The more he used it, the more slippery his hold on it became. He didn't know how long it might be before the fire trapped within him burned out of his control completely.
He couldn't care less what happened to him, but if the heat should snap its tether while Claire was nearby... Reichen looked at her pretty profile in the milky light of the dashboard. Her head was tipped down as she tried to smooth a nasty snag in her sweater. She concentrated on the imperfection, worrying the loose thread between her graceful, pianist's fingers, her loose ebony hair stirring in the low draft of the heat blowing out of the vent. "What is he afraid of?" she murmured. She glanced over, frowning now. "What is it that Wilhelm feels he needs to protect from you?" Reichen shook his head. "I don't know, and frankly, I can't say that it matters to me now. I don't care why he did what he did. All that's left is the fact that he must pay." She pivoted in her seat, her dark eyes shining, stubbornly suspicious. "He's threatened by you, Andreas. Not because of anything that happened these past two nights, but before that. Why else would he take such a drastic step and order an attack on your Darkhaven?" "I suppose he didn't appreciate me digging around in his affairs. He felt he needed to send a strong message to me." Claire nodded grimly. "And just what did he think you might find? I can't believe it had anything to do with that missing girl from the club. Not to warrant the kind of retaliation you described." "So, you believe me now?" he asked. She gave him a frank, unflinching look. "I don't want to, but after talking with Wilhelm tonight... it's harder for me to doubt you than it is to trust anything he says. You scared him, Andre. He's still afraid of what you might know or what you could do to him. The question is, why?
What is he protecting... or whom?" A knot of coldness formed in Reichen's gut as Claire spoke. He'd never asked himself why Roth came after him. He'd assumed it was due to a mix of old animosity and new opportunity when Reichen had unwittingly sent Helene into Roth's crosshairs. The why of it really hadn't seemed important. Not when rage and grief had been the only things Reichen had known in the aftermath of the slaughter. He'd been blinded by his fury. By the need for vengeance. He'd never stopped to consider the simple truth that Claire had just laid out for him so plainly. Roth had something very significant to hide. Something that went much deeper than his whispered gangster alliances with the crooks and politicians who tended to gravitate toward the Enforcement Agency. He was protecting a monumental secret. Something worth spilling the lives of more than a dozen people without a moment's hesitation. Worth even more than that, Reichen was certain now. As he stared ahead at the dark ribbon of road, a name crept into his mind like a serpent: Dragos. Good Christ. Could the two of them be connected in some way? Had he gotten too close to uncovering some kind of alliance between Dragos and Roth? If he'd had cause to contact the Order in Boston before, now he couldn't reach them fast enough. Reichen leaned on the accelerator, his thoughts flying as black as the night landscape zooming past the windows of the SUV A few minutes out of the city, he spotted an Internet caf?. He turned off the road and headed for the place, praying like hell that his instincts were wrong about Roth and Dragos being in league together. If his instincts were right? Ah, fuck.
If they were right, then he had just nailed the lid shut on not only his coffin, but Claire's, as well. He brought her inside the caf?, to an empty workstation and table as far away from the rest of the patrons as he could find. Using some of the euros he'd lifted off the dead agents, Reichen bought Claire a bowl of soup and a sandwich, and purchased himself an hour's time on the computer. While she went to work on her meal, he opened an Internet browser on his rented workstation and brought up the secured emergency access site address that belonged to the Order. It was a generic-looking page, basic black, with an unlabeled prompt blinking on the screen as it waited for input. Reichen typed in an access code and password that Gideon back in Boston had given him some months ago, when he'd first begun his remote work for the Order. He hit the enter key and waited, uncertain if the unique ID he'd been assigned was still valid, as the prompt disappeared and he was left staring at the empty black screen. "What's it doing?" Claire asked, leaning close to him. Reichen shook his head, guessing that the warriors might have written him off as dead in the three months he'd been out of contact since the destruction of his Darkhaven. "This site links up to the Boston compound. It's fully encrypted and continuously monitored by the Order. Once I'm verified, we should get a response from Gideon." No sooner had he said it than the prompt reappeared, asking for method of contact. Reichen typed in one of the numbers from the Agency cell phones, advising that the line was stolen, most likely compromised, and far from secure. Gideon's response was instantaneous: Acknowledged, and not a problem. Calling on a scramble right now. The cell phone started ringing. Reichen answered, speaking his name and a string of security words at the computerized request that stated simply: Identify.
"Guess it's a damn good thing I got lazy and kept your access data in the system," Gideon said as the call connected. "Jesus. Good to hear your voice, Reichen. Word out of Germany was we'd lost you. I see you're calling in from Hamburg. What the hell's been going on over there?" Reichen tried to condense the past several weeks into a succinct explanation of events, laying it all out, from the attack on his home by Wilhelm Roth to the systematic, often fiery payback he'd been delivering on the vampire and his known associates ever since. He told him that Roth and his Enforcement Agency cronies were on his tail and that the situation had just gotten even more complicated now that Claire was on the run with him. And he couldn't leave the subject of Claire without confessing to what he'd done to her in Roth's office. "For crissake, Reichen," the warrior hissed on the other end of the line. "She's his blood-bonded mate. You know he'd be within his rights to kill you for that. Hell, he could take your head in front of every Darkhaven leader in the whole vampire nation and no one would condemn him for it." "Yes, I know." He couldn't keep from looking over at Claire and thinking how far south her life had gone in the couple of days since she'd been in his company.
"I don't care what Roth might try to do to me. It's Claire who needs protection right now. Roth is more than upset, and I wouldn't put it past him to take his anger out on her. Just tonight his agents tried to haul her into custody on his orders. One of them hit her with a taser before I had a chance to disable him." Gideon blew out a sharp sigh. "Jesus. This Roth is a real prince, eh?" "He's about as dirty as they come," Reichen said. "And there's more. I'm beginning to suspect he might be involved in something much bigger than his usual shady dealings. There's a possibility he could be mixed up with Dragos." "Ah, fuck... you got proof, or are you going on your gut?" "Gut for now, but it sure as hell wouldn't surprise me." "Okay," Gideon said. There was a sudden clack of fingers flying over a keyboard as the warrior in Boston spoke. "First things first, we have to get both of you out of Hamburg. I'm arranging for your pickup right now, but unfortunately we won't be able to get wings on the ground over there until tomorrow night.
You got somewhere you can hole up in the next few hours before sunrise to wait for your ride?" Reichen considered his options, which were few to nonexistent. "Nothing solid over here right now, I'm afraid. Roth's got his fingers in the pockets of too many people. Any one of them could turn us in to him." "Understood. All right, listen. You're only about three hours by train away from Denmark. If we arrange safe haven for you there with a friend of the Order, do you think you can handle making the trip on your own?" "We'll make it," Reichen said, determined that they would. His gunshot wound was mending rapidly now, and his strength was on full power. If he had to make the trip to Denmark on foot, carrying Claire in his arms, by God, he'd do it. More typing clatter sounded in the background. "I'm sending the message out to our contact as we speak," Gideon said. "Should only take a minute or two to hear back." "Gideon," Reichen broke in. "I cannot thank you enough." "No thanks necessary. You've had our back more than once. We've got yours now." There was a slight pause on Gideon's end, then a low chuckle. "Okay, we just got confirmation out of Denmark. Your contact will meet you at the train station in Varde. She knows to watch for you. Look for a statuesque blonde with a toddler son on her hip. Her name is Danika." Reichen listened, then gave Claire a reassuring nod. "All right. We're on our way there now." Dragos jolted awake from a nightmare, cold sweat beading on his brow. He sat up in his bed and blinked at his surroundings, relieved to find that he was still in his lavish headquarters. Still lord and master of the hidden, underground domain he'd had carved out of a large tract of Connecticut granite and bedrock more than a century ago. It was all still here. The nightmare wasn't real. Not yet, anyway. And never would be, if he had anything to say about it.
In the several weeks since he'd first glimpsed the vision of his humiliating defeat--a vision that had been revealed to him in the witchy eyes of a young girl presumably now ensconced with the Order--Dragos had been plagued by nightmares. He couldn't shake the sight of his lab lying in smoke-filled shambles, all of his precious equipment shattered and destroyed... and the UV light cage empty, its monstrous occupant--Dragos's secret weapon--no longer held inside. Worst of all was the pitiful vision he'd seen of himself: beaten, begging, on his knees pleading for mercy. "Never," he bit off sharply, as though he could banish the child seer's revelation with his fury alone. He got out of bed and threw a silk charmeuse robe over his naked body as he stalked out of his bedroom to the adjacent study. A large touch-screen computer monitor sat on an antique, ornate desk that had once belonged to a human emperor. Dragos ran his finger over the smooth surface of the screen, bringing up a video feed from his laboratory. Ah, yes, he thought, disturbed by the depth of his relief Everything is still there. The glow from the tightly spaced vertical UV bars stung his hypersensitive eyes, but he didn't care. He zoomed in on the lethargic, half-starved creature contained inside the cell--the creature who shared the same bloodline as he. The lethal otherworlder who was, in fact, his grandfather. Not that bloodlines mattered to him personally. The Ancient's powerful blood cells and DNA, on the other hand, had proven instrumental to Dragos's goals. After decades of work, after centuries of patience spent in hiding, arranging his pieces just so as he waited for the right time to make his move, Dragos's crowning hour was almost at hand. He'd be damned if he was going to let the Order snatch it out of his grasp before he had a chance to seize the glory that was meant to be his. Steps were already under way to prevent the vision he'd witnessed from coming true. He was making a few changes to his operation. Taking expensive and somewhat drastic measures to protect his assets. And he wasn't at all content to sit by and let the warriors in Boston continue to disrupt his work. The Order was a problem he did not need--one he could not afford to risk when he was so close to knowing victory.
They'd invited war when they raided his gathering outside Montreal this past summer, sending him and his private inner circle of high-ranking Breed associates fleeing into the woods like rats off a sinking ship. It had been a public sucker-punch that undermined his authority, not to mention cost him precious time. He would see the warriors pay for that. But Dragos had another problem, too. He brought up the teleconferencing program on his computer and dialed Wilhelm Roth's quarters at the other end of the stronghold. The German vampire, a hard-edged director of the Hamburg Enforcement Agency, was doubtless unaccustomed to playing the subordinate, and Dragos took some amusement in the notion that the midmorning wakeup call would grate the male. To his credit, he picked up the call before the second ring, efficient as always. It was one of his saving graces as far as Dragos was concerned. That, and the fact that Roth was ruthless in his ambitions. "Sire," he said, his face moving in front of the monitor in his chambers.
"How can I serve?" "Status," Dragos demanded, staring hard at his lieutenant. Roth cleared his throat. "Everything is arranged. The operation's first strike began last evening. It should not be long before we have engagement." Dragos grunted his approval. "And the other matter?" There was a moment's hesitation, but that was all. Dragos wondered if Roth knew that his honesty right now was the only thing keeping him alive. Roth cleared his throat. "I am dealing with something of a... a personal situation in Hamburg, sire." "Yes," Dragos said, no need for coyness. He'd heard all about the devastating assault on two of the German's residences from other contacts overseas. He'd also heard that Roth's Breedmate was missing. After a confrontation with Enforcement Agents at Roth's private office in Hamburg, she was presumed to have been abducted by the vampire who evidently had something of a bone to pick with Roth. A vampire with rumored ties to the Order. Dragos's jaw went tight with anger as he considered the many ways a scenario like that could land a lot of troubles on his doorstep. "What do you intend to do, Herr Roth?" "It will be handled, sire." "See that it is," Dragos hissed. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the female is a liability now.
If she's in enemy hands, then she is nothing more than a weapon to be used against you. And against me." Roth stared, his shrewd eyes narrowed. "She has no idea where I am. I've never confided in her about anything of importance. Besides, she knows her place when it comes to my affairs." "And how long do you think it will take her captor to find you through your blood bond with her?" Dragos asked. "If they use her to find you, they find me, as well." "That won't happen, sire." "I require a permanent solution to this," Dragos said, knowing what he asked of the male. "Are you prepared to carry that out, Herr Roth?" The German smiled coldly. "Consider it done, sire." Dragos nodded. "Good. Obviously, so long as the female is breathing, your presence is poison to this operation. Remove yourself to Boston until you can assure me that you've eliminated this problem. Be gone by sundown, Herr Roth." The vampire inclined his head in a deferential nod. "Of course, sire. As you wish."
Chapter Eleven
Afew hours after they left the Internet caf? in Hamburg to board a train to Denmark, Claire and Andreas were being escorted to a rural village Darkhaven, courtesy of the Order. Their contact, a beautiful blond Breedmate named Danika, had taken them into her living quarters like family of her own--all warmth and hospitality, no questions asked. "I hope you don't mind cozy," she said as she walked them into a cheery kitchen located off the back door. "We've only got one spare bedroom and bath, but you're welcome to it." The farmhouse where Danika lived with her baby boy, Connor, and one other mated couple was small by Darkhaven standards. Usually members of the Breed population lived in mansions or large brownstones, sometimes the occasional high-rise apartment building. Darkhavens generally comprised tight-knit communities of a dozen or so inpiduals, everyone looking out for one another like kin, even if they were unrelated by blood. But Danika's living arrangements weren't the only unusual thing about her. She was mother to a very young child, a sweet baby boy with her fair coloring and the unmistakably strong genes of a father who was Breed. She hadn't mentioned a mate, and there seemed to be an air of wistfulness about the woman, especially when she was looking at her son. Like now, when little Connor was leaning out of Danika's arms to point emphatically at Andreas. The boy's big blue eyes were wide and eager, while Andreas's gaze was shadowed by the furrow of his brow.
"I'm sorry," Danika said to him. "It's the dermaglyph peeking over the top of your collar. Connor has become fascinated by them in the past couple of weeks." Andreas grunted and gave a nod to the Breed youngster. "He recognizes his own kind already. Smart boy." Danika beamed. "Yes, he is." Claire watched in quiet surprise as Andreas pushed up his sleeve to reveal more of his Breed skin markings, to Connor's obvious delight. The vampire toddler reached out with his pudgy little hand and patted the beautiful swirls and arcs that ran along Andreas's muscled forearm. "Da," he exclaimed. "Da! Da!" "Oh!" Danika's milky complected cheeks went instantly bright pink. "No, sweetheart, this isn't your father. Oh, God... I'm sorry. How embarrassing." Claire laughed and Andreas chuckled, too. "It's all right," he said. "I assure you, I've been called much worse." Danika smiled, but that trace of sorrow was back in her eyes. "Connor's father, Conlan, was a warrior with the Order. He was killed on a mission in Boston before Connor was born." "I'm so sorry," Claire murmured, realizing how fresh the loss still was, since Danika's son was probably not even two years old. Danika gave a mild shrug, cleared her throat. "After I lost Conlan, I went to Scotland--his homeland--to have Connor. I thought I might stay there permanently and raise our son in the highlands Conlan loved so much, but being in his country without him only made me miss him more. I came back home to Denmark last year." Andreas smoothed his broad palm over the top of Connor's pale blond head. "He would be proud of you, Danika, no matter where you choose to raise his son."
"Thank you for saying so." She smiled shyly, charmed, Claire was guessing by the soft look she gave him. And Andreas was charming, particularly as he took the little boy into his big arms to let him closer explore the glyphs that so intrigued him. Claire saw a glimmer of the man she remembered from before--the carefree, charismatic man she'd fallen helplessly in love with all those years ago. Since he'd come storming back into her life two nights ago, Claire thought that man she'd known and adored was long gone. She thought that part of him had been consumed by the flames that had taken his kin and left him the sole survivor, hellbent on revenge. To think she had actually condemned him once for not being serious enough about life ... about her. She'd grown to fear his elusive, devil-may-care ways. She'd worried that he might never be content with just one woman, and maybe he hadn't been after all. She'd certainly heard of his numerous female companions over the years, mortal women, all of them. She knew he had never taken a Breedmate of his own and settled down to have his sons with her, and Claire had long nurtured a secret gladness that he had remained un-bonded all this time. As for her own ill-chosen mate, her loveless match with Wilhelm Roth had produced no offspring either--a blessing, now that she was coming to understand more about Wilhelm's treachery. Despite Andreas's outward recklessness and rakish leanings back when Claire had known him best, he would have made some woman a wonderful mate. She saw that now, in the way he spoke so kindly to Danika and how he took to her son with such ease. Claire looked at him now and wondered how they'd let so much time--so many mistakes and missteps--get in their way. She wondered how long it would take for her to forget this vibrant, magnetic side of him again, once the dust and ash settled on the perilous journey they found themselves on together. How could her life ever go on in light of all she was learning about Wilhelm and all she yearned to have once more with Andreas? "My goodness, I can't believe it's nearly dawn already,"
Danika said, her melodic voice breaking through the heavy weight of Claire's thoughts. "You must be exhausted. Would you like to see where you'll be sleeping?" Claire nodded, afraid her feelings had shown all over her face, for the way the other Breedmate was looking at her with such tenderness and sympathy. She schooled her features into a placid, unreadable mask--a skill she'd perfected during her years as Wilhelm Roth's mate. "What I could really use is a nice hot bath," she said, feeling Andreas's gaze fix on her, even though it had seemed a perfectly reasonable request. "Of course," Danika replied. She glanced to Andreas, who was still holding the delighted Connor. "Would you mind watching him while I show Claire upstairs?" "No problem," he said, his eyes pinning Claire with an intensity that made her blood sizzle in her veins. "Take whatever time you need. The little guy and I will be fine on our own." Claire felt his hot stare following her, as palpable as a lingering caress, as Danika led her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor of the house. "The bathroom is here," the tall blond female said, gesturing to the open door of a full bath at the top of the stairs. "No one uses this part of the house, so please consider it yours. Here is the bedroom at the end of the hallway." Claire could hardly contain her contented sigh as she walked into the inviting chamber with its golden hardwood floors, dark cherry furnishings, and king-size, quilt-covered bed. It had been a long time since she'd been in a room that exuded such homespun, simple warmth. "I set out a sleep shirt for you, and you'll find plenty of towels in the bathroom.
I don't know what you might be used to at home, but I hope you'll be comfortable enough here." "It's lovely," Claire replied. She drifted over to the massive bed and trailed her fingers across the careful needlework on the quilt's beautiful teal, gray, and cream Nordic design. "This room reminds me of my family's home in Rhode Island." Danika smiled. "Oh, then you're American?" She walked over to a tall, footed armoire and opened the cabinet's burnished- brass-handled doors. "I didn't think you sounded like a German native. No accent at all." "No. I came to Europe many years ago, to study music, actually." Claire walked over to help the other woman retrieve a couple of extra pillows and a folded wool blanket. "I suppose I was very idealistic then, like many young people. As for me, I was torn between my love of the piano and my personal need to do something important with my life, like saving the world." "I'm not sure the world can be saved," Danika said, turning a solemn blue gaze on her. "There's so much corruption and tragedy everywhere you look. Good people die all the time, even the ones whose only faults are striving to do good work and make things better for others." Claire nodded. "My parents were those kind of people.
My mother left a very comfortable life in New England to help bring clean water and medical supplies to a small country in Africa. She met my father, a young doctor from Zimbabwe, while she was working overseas. They fell in love almost instantly, but at that time, marriage wasn't an easy thing to obtain for a white American woman and a black man from Africa. When my mother became pregnant with me, she returned to the States until I was born. My father stayed behind to continue his work and wait for us to come back to be a family. A few months later, conflict broke out in the region. My mother couldn't bear to be away from him while the village they'd worked so hard to build up was being threatened by war. She went back to Africa, and within a month of her arrival they were both killed when rebel forces shot up their camp." "Oh, Claire." Danika pulled her into a caring embrace. "How awful for you and the rest of your family. I'm so sorry." It had been a long time since she'd thought about losing her parents--a couple known to her only by pictures and stories her grandmother in Rhode Island had shared with her as she was growing up, parentless and different, yet a child of privilege in Newport's high society. Now all her relatives in the States were gone.>In the several weeks since he'd first glimpsed the vision of his humiliating defeat--a vision that had been revealed to him in the witchy eyes of a young girl presumably now ensconced with the Order--Dragos had been plagued by nightmares. He couldn't shake the sight of his lab lying in smoke-filled shambles, all of his precious equipment shattered and destroyed... and the UV light cage empty, its monstrous occupant--Dragos's secret weapon--no longer held inside. Worst of all was the pitiful vision he'd seen of himself: beaten, begging, on his knees pleading for mercy. "Never," he bit off sharply, as though he could banish the child seer's revelation with his fury alone. He got out of bed and threw a silk charmeuse robe over his naked body as he stalked out of his bedroom to the adjacent study. A large touch-screen computer monitor sat on an antique, ornate desk that had once belonged to a human emperor. Dragos ran his finger over the smooth surface of the screen, bringing up a video feed from his laboratory. Ah, yes, he thought, disturbed by the depth of his relief Everything is still there. The glow from the tightly spaced vertical UV bars stung his hypersensitive eyes, but he didn't care. He zoomed in on the lethargic, half-starved creature contained inside the cell--the creature who shared the same bloodline as he. The lethal otherworlder who was, in fact, his grandfather. Not that bloodlines mattered to him personally. The Ancient's powerful blood cells and DNA, on the other hand, had proven instrumental to Dragos's goals. After decades of work, after centuries of patience spent in hiding, arranging his pieces just so as he waited for the right time to make his move, Dragos's crowning hour was almost at hand. He'd be damned if he was going to let the Order snatch it out of his grasp before he had a chance to seize the glory that was meant to be his. Steps were already under way to prevent the vision he'd witnessed from coming true. He was making a few changes to his operation. Taking expensive and somewhat drastic measures to protect his assets. And he wasn't at all content to sit by and let the warriors in Boston continue to disrupt his work. The Order was a problem he did not need--one he could not afford to risk when he was so close to knowing victory.
They'd invited war when they raided his gathering outside Montreal this past summer, sending him and his private inner circle of high-ranking Breed associates fleeing into the woods like rats off a sinking ship. It had been a public sucker-punch that undermined his authority, not to mention cost him precious time. He would see the warriors pay for that. But Dragos had another problem, too. He brought up the teleconferencing program on his computer and dialed Wilhelm Roth's quarters at the other end of the stronghold. The German vampire, a hard-edged director of the Hamburg Enforcement Agency, was doubtless unaccustomed to playing the subordinate, and Dragos took some amusement in the notion that the midmorning wakeup call would grate the male. To his credit, he picked up the call before the second ring, efficient as always. It was one of his saving graces as far as Dragos was concerned. That, and the fact that Roth was ruthless in his ambitions. "Sire," he said, his face moving in front of the monitor in his chambers.
"How can I serve?" "Status," Dragos demanded, staring hard at his lieutenant. Roth cleared his throat. "Everything is arranged. The operation's first strike began last evening. It should not be long before we have engagement." Dragos grunted his approval. "And the other matter?" There was a moment's hesitation, but that was all. Dragos wondered if Roth knew that his honesty right now was the only thing keeping him alive. Roth cleared his throat. "I am dealing with something of a... a personal situation in Hamburg, sire." "Yes," Dragos said, no need for coyness. He'd heard all about the devastating assault on two of the German's residences from other contacts overseas. He'd also heard that Roth's Breedmate was missing. After a confrontation with Enforcement Agents at Roth's private office in Hamburg, she was presumed to have been abducted by the vampire who evidently had something of a bone to pick with Roth. A vampire with rumored ties to the Order. Dragos's jaw went tight with anger as he considered the many ways a scenario like that could land a lot of troubles on his doorstep. "What do you intend to do, Herr Roth?" "It will be handled, sire." "See that it is," Dragos hissed. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the female is a liability now.
If she's in enemy hands, then she is nothing more than a weapon to be used against you. And against me." Roth stared, his shrewd eyes narrowed. "She has no idea where I am. I've never confided in her about anything of importance. Besides, she knows her place when it comes to my affairs." "And how long do you think it will take her captor to find you through your blood bond with her?" Dragos asked. "If they use her to find you, they find me, as well." "That won't happen, sire." "I require a permanent solution to this," Dragos said, knowing what he asked of the male. "Are you prepared to carry that out, Herr Roth?" The German smiled coldly. "Consider it done, sire." Dragos nodded. "Good. Obviously, so long as the female is breathing, your presence is poison to this operation. Remove yourself to Boston until you can assure me that you've eliminated this problem. Be gone by sundown, Herr Roth." The vampire inclined his head in a deferential nod. "Of course, sire. As you wish."
Chapter Eleven
Afew hours after they left the Internet caf? in Hamburg to board a train to Denmark, Claire and Andreas were being escorted to a rural village Darkhaven, courtesy of the Order. Their contact, a beautiful blond Breedmate named Danika, had taken them into her living quarters like family of her own--all warmth and hospitality, no questions asked. "I hope you don't mind cozy," she said as she walked them into a cheery kitchen located off the back door. "We've only got one spare bedroom and bath, but you're welcome to it." The farmhouse where Danika lived with her baby boy, Connor, and one other mated couple was small by Darkhaven standards. Usually members of the Breed population lived in mansions or large brownstones, sometimes the occasional high-rise apartment building. Darkhavens generally comprised tight-knit communities of a dozen or so inpiduals, everyone looking out for one another like kin, even if they were unrelated by blood. But Danika's living arrangements weren't the only unusual thing about her. She was mother to a very young child, a sweet baby boy with her fair coloring and the unmistakably strong genes of a father who was Breed. She hadn't mentioned a mate, and there seemed to be an air of wistfulness about the woman, especially when she was looking at her son. Like now, when little Connor was leaning out of Danika's arms to point emphatically at Andreas. The boy's big blue eyes were wide and eager, while Andreas's gaze was shadowed by the furrow of his brow.
"I'm sorry," Danika said to him. "It's the dermaglyph peeking over the top of your collar. Connor has become fascinated by them in the past couple of weeks." Andreas grunted and gave a nod to the Breed youngster. "He recognizes his own kind already. Smart boy." Danika beamed. "Yes, he is." Claire watched in quiet surprise as Andreas pushed up his sleeve to reveal more of his Breed skin markings, to Connor's obvious delight. The vampire toddler reached out with his pudgy little hand and patted the beautiful swirls and arcs that ran along Andreas's muscled forearm. "Da," he exclaimed. "Da! Da!" "Oh!" Danika's milky complected cheeks went instantly bright pink. "No, sweetheart, this isn't your father. Oh, God... I'm sorry. How embarrassing." Claire laughed and Andreas chuckled, too. "It's all right," he said. "I assure you, I've been called much worse." Danika smiled, but that trace of sorrow was back in her eyes. "Connor's father, Conlan, was a warrior with the Order. He was killed on a mission in Boston before Connor was born." "I'm so sorry," Claire murmured, realizing how fresh the loss still was, since Danika's son was probably not even two years old. Danika gave a mild shrug, cleared her throat. "After I lost Conlan, I went to Scotland--his homeland--to have Connor. I thought I might stay there permanently and raise our son in the highlands Conlan loved so much, but being in his country without him only made me miss him more. I came back home to Denmark last year." Andreas smoothed his broad palm over the top of Connor's pale blond head. "He would be proud of you, Danika, no matter where you choose to raise his son."
"Thank you for saying so." She smiled shyly, charmed, Claire was guessing by the soft look she gave him. And Andreas was charming, particularly as he took the little boy into his big arms to let him closer explore the glyphs that so intrigued him. Claire saw a glimmer of the man she remembered from before--the carefree, charismatic man she'd fallen helplessly in love with all those years ago. Since he'd come storming back into her life two nights ago, Claire thought that man she'd known and adored was long gone. She thought that part of him had been consumed by the flames that had taken his kin and left him the sole survivor, hellbent on revenge. To think she had actually condemned him once for not being serious enough about life ... about her. She'd grown to fear his elusive, devil-may-care ways. She'd worried that he might never be content with just one woman, and maybe he hadn't been after all. She'd certainly heard of his numerous female companions over the years, mortal women, all of them. She knew he had never taken a Breedmate of his own and settled down to have his sons with her, and Claire had long nurtured a secret gladness that he had remained un-bonded all this time. As for her own ill-chosen mate, her loveless match with Wilhelm Roth had produced no offspring either--a blessing, now that she was coming to understand more about Wilhelm's treachery. Despite Andreas's outward recklessness and rakish leanings back when Claire had known him best, he would have made some woman a wonderful mate. She saw that now, in the way he spoke so kindly to Danika and how he took to her son with such ease. Claire looked at him now and wondered how they'd let so much time--so many mistakes and missteps--get in their way. She wondered how long it would take for her to forget this vibrant, magnetic side of him again, once the dust and ash settled on the perilous journey they found themselves on together. How could her life ever go on in light of all she was learning about Wilhelm and all she yearned to have once more with Andreas? "My goodness, I can't believe it's nearly dawn already,"
Danika said, her melodic voice breaking through the heavy weight of Claire's thoughts. "You must be exhausted. Would you like to see where you'll be sleeping?" Claire nodded, afraid her feelings had shown all over her face, for the way the other Breedmate was looking at her with such tenderness and sympathy. She schooled her features into a placid, unreadable mask--a skill she'd perfected during her years as Wilhelm Roth's mate. "What I could really use is a nice hot bath," she said, feeling Andreas's gaze fix on her, even though it had seemed a perfectly reasonable request. "Of course," Danika replied. She glanced to Andreas, who was still holding the delighted Connor. "Would you mind watching him while I show Claire upstairs?" "No problem," he said, his eyes pinning Claire with an intensity that made her blood sizzle in her veins. "Take whatever time you need. The little guy and I will be fine on our own." Claire felt his hot stare following her, as palpable as a lingering caress, as Danika led her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor of the house. "The bathroom is here," the tall blond female said, gesturing to the open door of a full bath at the top of the stairs. "No one uses this part of the house, so please consider it yours. Here is the bedroom at the end of the hallway." Claire could hardly contain her contented sigh as she walked into the inviting chamber with its golden hardwood floors, dark cherry furnishings, and king-size, quilt-covered bed. It had been a long time since she'd been in a room that exuded such homespun, simple warmth. "I set out a sleep shirt for you, and you'll find plenty of towels in the bathroom.
I don't know what you might be used to at home, but I hope you'll be comfortable enough here." "It's lovely," Claire replied. She drifted over to the massive bed and trailed her fingers across the careful needlework on the quilt's beautiful teal, gray, and cream Nordic design. "This room reminds me of my family's home in Rhode Island." Danika smiled. "Oh, then you're American?" She walked over to a tall, footed armoire and opened the cabinet's burnished- brass-handled doors. "I didn't think you sounded like a German native. No accent at all." "No. I came to Europe many years ago, to study music, actually." Claire walked over to help the other woman retrieve a couple of extra pillows and a folded wool blanket. "I suppose I was very idealistic then, like many young people. As for me, I was torn between my love of the piano and my personal need to do something important with my life, like saving the world." "I'm not sure the world can be saved," Danika said, turning a solemn blue gaze on her. "There's so much corruption and tragedy everywhere you look. Good people die all the time, even the ones whose only faults are striving to do good work and make things better for others." Claire nodded. "My parents were those kind of people.
My mother left a very comfortable life in New England to help bring clean water and medical supplies to a small country in Africa. She met my father, a young doctor from Zimbabwe, while she was working overseas. They fell in love almost instantly, but at that time, marriage wasn't an easy thing to obtain for a white American woman and a black man from Africa. When my mother became pregnant with me, she returned to the States until I was born. My father stayed behind to continue his work and wait for us to come back to be a family. A few months later, conflict broke out in the region. My mother couldn't bear to be away from him while the village they'd worked so hard to build up was being threatened by war. She went back to Africa, and within a month of her arrival they were both killed when rebel forces shot up their camp." "Oh, Claire." Danika pulled her into a caring embrace. "How awful for you and the rest of your family. I'm so sorry." It had been a long time since she'd thought about losing her parents--a couple known to her only by pictures and stories her grandmother in Rhode Island had shared with her as she was growing up, parentless and different, yet a child of privilege in Newport's high society. Now all her relatives in the States were gone.
The house in Newport was still held in trust for her, cared for by a private staff who looked after the grounds and the basic maintenance of the place, but it had been nearly two decades since Claire had been back. She missed it suddenly, missed the feeling of truly being home. Danika released her after a moment and attempted a lighter topic. "So, which of your goals did you end up pursuing?" "Neither, in fact," Claire admitted. "Not long after I arrived in Germany, I had my first run-in with one of the Breed. He was very young--a teenager at most. It was late at night, I was walking home from a concert by myself. I thought he wanted to steal my purse, but he was actually after something else. He was about to bite me when another Breed male stopped him." "Andreas?" Danika guessed, smiling. Claire shook her head. "No, not him. It was someone ... else. Someone very important in Hamburg, although I didn't know it at the time. He caught the scent of my blood when the other male knocked me to the ground and I skinned my knees.
He realized right away that I was a Breedmate, so he drove the other vampire off and took me in as his ward. I didn't meet Andreas until later." And, like her parents' doomed relationship, she and Andre also fell instantly, impossibly, in love. She'd spent the past thirty years trying to forget him. Trying to convince herself that she wasn't still in love with him after all this time. "Such a long time to be kept apart. I know how difficult it is, being denied of the thing your heart craves the most," Danika murmured somewhat absently Claire swung an astonished look at her. "What... how did you know--" The other Breedmate sucked in her breath. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to intrude on your thoughts." She brought her index finger up to her temple. "My talent, I'm afraid. I don't like to read thoughts, and to tell you the truth, most of the time I hate that I can. Unfortunately, since Conlan has been gone my talent is becoming unmanageable. I haven't taken another mate, nor do I intend to, and without the regular intake of Conlan's blood, my ability seems to turn on and off at its own whim. I'm sorry, Claire. It was very rude of me." "It's all right." "I don't know that it will bring you any comfort, but you are not suffering alone.
