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As monsters.
As killers without conscience, without souls.
And the hell of it was, the attacks in Europe were only the beginning. Lucan knew Dragos well enough now to expect that the same carnage and terror would soon be visiting the United States. Canada and Mexico too.
Less than three hours of daylight left.
Nightfall was coming fast.
"Get Mathias Rowan on the phone," he told Gideon. "I want a lockdown placed on every Agency rehab facility across North America. Tell him to get it done now!"
While Gideon ran to make the call, Lucan looked at the warriors and their mates gathered around him now. Dante and Tess, cradling their newborn son. Tegan and Elise, grim with the awareness of the dark world their own son would be inheriting. Rio and Dylan, hands clasped tightly, Rio's scarred face taut and sober. Niko and Renata, both putting on a courageous front as they clutched Mira in a protective embrace. Kade and Alex, huddled close where they stood with Brock and Jenna, his arms wrapped around her as she wept silent tears. Hunter and Corinne, stoic, even though they held each other's hands with white-knuckled intensity, the pair grouped closely with Corinne's son, Nathan, and the Archers. Savannah and Gabrielle stood together on the other side of Lucan, the two women straight-spined and resolute, as brave as any warrior.
And there was Chase as well. He lingered at the edge of the room, uninvited. Nevertheless, he was dressed for battle in night fatigues and combat boots. Weapons bristled from the belt at his lean hips and from the straps that crisscrossed his chest.
Lucan inclined his head in acknowledgment. In trust and thanks. They were going to need all hands on this mission. Chase would never have a better chance to prove himself. Lucan could see from the warrior's gaze that he intended to do just that. Or die trying.
Every pair of eyes was on Lucan, waiting for his decision. Trusting him to make this better. To lead as he'd never been called upon to do before.
He could not fail them.
He would not.
Gideon came back into the room and held a cell phone out to Lucan. "It's Rowan. He says all the North American facilities are offline. Communications are shut down all over the grid. There's no way to call for a lockdown."
Which meant Dragos had anticipated as much and had already covered that base. Lucan cast a grave look at his assembled brethren. "Everybody suit up. We're rolling out before dusk."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TAVIA WAS STILL SHAKING as she made her way across town late that afternoon. Everywhere people were talking about the atrocities taking place in Europe. Countries overseas were calling for emergency assistance and disaster relief, desperately pleading for the governments of the United States and other nations to provide immediate military support.
It was horrific and surreal, the shape of the world after just a few hours of unprovoked carnage and bloodshed.
And Tavia was certain that Dragos was at the center of it all.
She'd seen more than one photograph and news video that had captured the feral, bloodstained faces of some of the attackers. The vampires, as the whole of mankind now knew them to be.
They were Rogues, all of them.
For what hadn't been the first time since the word of the attacks, she thought back to what Chase had said about the rehabilitation facilities controlled by the Enforcement Agency. He'd mentioned how widespread the violence would be, how total the carnage, should blood- addicted Rogues suddenly break loose on the human world.
And now Dragos had instigated that very nightmare overseas, Tavia was sure of it.
He had to be stopped. Before he had the chance to wreak any more terror or to put the planet's inhabitants in any more danger.
If only she could find a way to get close to him, she would find a way to kill him.
The seeds of a plan to do just that had been forming in her mind for the past few hours.
She hurried into the Back Bay residential area on foot, sundown having just kissed the city in cool shadows. A light snow fell, muting some of the din from the traffic-clogged streets and anxious, chattering pedestrians on the sidewalks and alleyways.
Tavia saw the familiar brownstone mansion up ahead on the other side of the street. She waited for a mass transit bus to pass, then stepped into the one-way street to cross.
As the great belch of noxious exhaust and steam cleared away, she found herself staring into the face of a monster.
The Rogue stood on the twilit curb, dressed in a tattered, bloodstained institutional jumpsuit.
He cocked his head as he stared at her, his face and neck slick with gore from a fresh kill.
