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Hunter felt a hot flare shoot into his bloodstream but he refused to be baited. Let Vachon think what he would about him; his opinion, like his very existence, was meaningless. "Dragos is intending a strike against the Order. You will tell me when and where and how this attack is to be carried out."
Vachon only stared at him, a disturbing glint in his dark eyes. "Have you fucked her, assassin? Or do you merely long to?"
"There was a beacon forced into the stomach of a civilian," Hunter went on, ignoring the jabs even though the idea of this offal speaking about Corinne so crudely set his jaw on edge. "If Dragos means to use this beacon to lead him to the Order's headquarters, does he intend to invade the compound or execute some manner of destruction?"
"She's a fine piece of ass, that one," Vachon purred. "Believe me, I can understand how a female like that might scramble a male's head, make him forget who - and what - he truly is. How much discipline would it take to resist crawling inside something so hot and tight and - "
"Do not speak of her," Hunter snapped, astonished by the surge of rage that was arrowing up his spine. His eyes were hot in his skull, his vision burning with amber fury. He tried to speak and was surprised to feel the full presence of his fangs, the tips like razors against his tongue. He glared with murderous rage at Henry Vachon. "You are far beneath her. Too far to even mention her name, you disgusting son of a bitch."
"Beneath her?" Hunter didn't like the amused chuckle that spilled from between Henry Vachon's thin lips. "I've been on top of her and behind her. More than once. Dragos and I both took our turns the night we grabbed her out of that club in Detroit. Spirited little hellion. She fought like a demon. Fought as hard as she could for years after he locked her up with the others, for all the good it did her."
The ugly words - the hideous truth of what he was hearing - snapped the fragile, last thread of Hunter's control. He leapt on Henry Vachon, knocking the male against the wall and cracking the polished marble with the force of their impact. He didn't realize how blind with hatred he was in that moment.
He didn't realize how lost he was to the explosion of his rage until he tasted blood on his tongue and saw that he had Vachon's neck caught between his teeth and fangs.
Chapter Twenty-two
With a raw cry, Hunter sank his jaws deeper around the vulnerable flesh and tendons. He shook his head, tearing out the vampire's throat and silencing his offending words for good. Blood was everywhere - in his eyes, in his hair. Running down his chin. He tasted it like bitter poison sliding down his esophagus.
He stared down at the desecration, at the savaged horror of Vachon's twitching, dying body, still held upright in his bloodied hands. His head went a bit hazy for a second. Images flashed into his mind.
Vachon, with his hand caught tight and fisted in Corinne's long dark hair, holding her down as he raped her. It was so vivid, so goddamned real.
Fury roared up on Hunter. He tipped his head back on his shoulders and bellowed as a fresh round of images crowded into his vision: Vachon and Dragos, observing the Ancient who was restrained and drugged on a long laboratory table. Not far away, there was a cage of roughly two dozen women, all of the imprisoned Breedmates screaming and weeping as one of them was dragged out by a Minion and walked toward the table like a sacrifice heading for the altar. Hunter groaned, sick with the realization of what he was witnessing. But how was it possible?
Another image slammed into his mind. This time it was Vachon supervising the removal of heavy lab equipment into the back of several large freight carriers under the cover of deep night. Crate after crate loaded into the waiting trucks, with Dragos giving his sober approval from where he stood nearby.
Holy hell.
These were Vachon's memories.
Memories carried on his blood.
Hunter could still taste the awful tang of it on his tongue. He felt his talent stir to life inside him, making itself known to him for the very first time. The blood - Breed blood - gave him the power to look inside another's memories.
Jesus Christ.
This was the gift that had eluded him all his life? He felt sick with the knowledge. He wanted to spit the bitter taste of Vachon's blood from his mouth. Instead he latched on to the vampire's shredded throat and drank some more.
Chase punched the number into the city payphone's keypad for the third time. Then, for the third time, he blew out a curse and slammed the receiver back onto its cradle before the line had a chance to ring on the other end.
"Fuck," he muttered, raking his fingers over the top of his head where a migraine had been pounding for most of the night.
He knew the source of the headache. The same piercing pain was boring into his stomach, urging him to forget the phone call he seemed incapable of making and turn his sights toward something more productive.
His body shook with the need to feed. He tried to ignore the cold jangle of his veins, the knocking deep inside him that had his nerves on edge, restless and twitchy. At least his fangs had receded. His gaze wasn't casting amber light on the filth of the dark inner-city corner where he stood, nor reflecting back at him like slitted cat's eyes in the chipped chrome trim of the payphone box.>"I said shut up, Murdock."
But he didn't. Damn him, he wouldn't. "How desperate would an addict like you have to be not to be tempted to get down on your hands and knees and lap up the blood that's spilling out of me onto that shitty floor below? Wouldn't your holier-than-thou buddies back at the Order love to see you like this - like the fucked-up Rogue you truly are? Do the world a favor and take yourself out of it."
Chase couldn't tolerate any more. He couldn't stand to hear the truth, especially coming from scum like Murdock. He swung his chain-reinforced fist into the vampire's face, sending him swinging by the length of chain at his ankles. Chase yanked Murdock back and hammered him again, blow after punishing blow. He pounded until there was little left to hit. Until Murdock's body hung lifeless, the awful truth silenced at last. Chase dropped the chain from around his throbbing fist. Then he released the one holding Murdock aloft. The body hit the floor of the old silo in a heavy thump of flesh and bone, the chain rattling down behind it.
Chase turned around and walked out, leaving the door open for the other predators of the night to feed on the carcass and tomorrow's sun to take whatever remained.
Chapter Twenty-one
"For once, it seems luck is on our side, Lucan."
Gideon stood in the center of the cavernous bomb shelter hidden beneath Lazaro Archer's Cold War - era Darkhaven a couple hours north of Augusta, Maine. As Archer had warned, the place wasn't anywhere close to the size and complexity of the Order's compound, but Lucan had to agree with Gideon: It seemed to be the best option - the only immediate option - they had at the moment.
