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She didn't get the chance.
Before she could do her worst, his last remaining Hunter in the house plucked her off him and threw her against the wall. She crashed to the floor in a broken, moaning heap. Dragos was right there as she tried to lift herself for another round.
"Not so fast," he warned her, the butt of a semiauto 9 mm pushed up hard against her temple. A nod to his Hunter saw her yanked to her feet. Dragos kept his pistol leveled on her, ready to blast her brains all over the wall if she so much as blinked in a way that displeased him. Across the room, Chase and the others had finished his two assassins. In the yard beyond, the combat raged on, gunfire blasting, sirens wailing in the distance as the rest of the city remained under siege at Dragos's command.
Dragos grinned as Chase realized he'd taken his battle as far as he could.
The warrior's eyes flashed hot amber as he glared at the pistol that could end his female's life at any second. "You have lost," Dragos told him. "You and the Order were never going to win this."
"Let her go." Chase lifted his own weapon now, training it on Dragos's head.
"Let her go?" Dragos scoffed at the tight command and the threat of the bullet he knew the male would never risk. Not when his woman's temple could so easily eat a bullet at the same time. Not that it would take a bullet to kill Tavia Fairchild now. "She's already gone, warrior. Look at her. Foaming and panting like a rabid dog. Put down your weapon."
"Tavia," Chase said now, his gaze pitiful with love and concern. "Tell me you're okay. Ah, Christ ... tell me I haven't lost you."
Dragos chuckled, enjoying the wasted sentiment like the villain he truly was. "I said put down your - "
The words clogged in his throat, then leaked out of him on a wheezing cry as a jolt of pain stabbed his skull. It was debilitating. A fiery-hot stake that skewered his brain made every muscle in his body convulse in agony. The pistol fell out of his hand. His legs disappeared from beneath him. His head felt squeezed in a vise, about to pop under the extreme pressure and pain. As Dragos crumpled to the ground, he saw the slender outline of a female in black leather. A Breedmate with chin-length black hair and piercing jade green eyes that held him in a mind- blasting web of extrasensory power.
AS SOON AS Renata's talent dropped Dragos, Chase flew at him in a furious leap.
He couldn't curb his savagery.
His roar was purely animal as he clamped his jaws down on the vampire's throat and tore out his larynx with his teeth and bared fangs. Dragos's scream died along with him. The orchestrator of so much violence and misery, dead in a bleeding mash of frayed tendons, spurting arteries, and wide-eyed, slack-jawed fear.
Chase had wanted to make the suffering last. He'd craved a brutal, punishing demise for Dragos, but not with Tavia's life on the line. Chase let Dragos's body fall, rubbish discarded without a single backward glance.
As the life left his body, all his Minions would perish too. Behind Chase, the human who'd been the vice president slumped lifeless to the floor. Elsewhere in the world, wherever Dragos had sown his seeds of revolt, the humans he owned would all die in a similar manner: abruptly, quietly, inexplicably.
Not so his homegrown army of assassins. Between Dante, Rio, and Renata, the last Hunter remaining in the house was no longer a threat, but those still battling the Order on the grounds outside would not relent until they carried out their commander's wishes.
Chase knew his brethren needed him out there.
He knew it, yet all he could do was race to Tavia's side and pull her Crimson-ravaged body into his arms.
"Stay with her," Dante said, no judgment in his whiskey-colored eyes. Only friendship, and the understanding of a mated male who would do the same thing if it were Tess lying there now. "Keep her safe. We'll handle the rest."
Chase hugged Tavia close as Dante and the others pivoted to head out into the fray.
In the next instant, the night outside was illuminated with the sudden flash of intense, retina- searing light.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LUCAN HIT THE GROUND and shielded his eyes along with the rest of the Order as soon as they heard the sudden, tandem hum of the UV collars on the army of attacking Gen One assassins. Still, the impact of their detonation came as a shock.
The emitted light was so bright - like a bolt of lightning taking out the entire offensive assault in one fell swoop.
When it was gone a moment later, the remains of dozens of Hunters lay where they'd fallen, their heads cleanly separated from their bodies by the shearing power of the collars that ensured their loyalty - and their indenture - to Dragos.
"He's dead." Dante jogged out alongside Rio and Renata, the latter being swept into a fierce embrace by Nikolai as soon as he saw her. "Dragos is dead."
"Chase and Tavia?" Lucan asked, glancing back toward the house when neither of them came out.
"She's in bad shape, Lucan." Dante's tone didn't hold a lot of promise. "By the look of her - the way she's acting, the pink spittle around her mouth ... I've only seen that kind of reaction one time before."
"When the Order was asked to stop the Crimson dealer who was ruining all those civilian kids' lives," Lucan finished, recalling that night - and the uptight Enforcement Agent who came to them reluctantly a year ago and had somehow become an integral member of the Order. A member of the extended family that Lucan would protect with his life. Seeing how deeply Chase cared for Tavia Fairchild, recognizing their bond, that made her a member of that family now too. "We need to take her back to the compound, find a way to help her.">His desperation to reach her after hearing a moment ago that she was with Dragos now went nuclear. As Niko and Brock rolled up in the Order's two SUVs with the rest of the warriors, Chase broke for the vehicles. Dante, Lucan, and Archer were right behind him.
Tegan was on the phone with Gideon as Chase and his team piled into the Rover. "We're moving out right now," he said, then glanced to Lucan and the others. "Gideon got a bead on the IP address Tavia provided. It's originating in Maine, a private island off the middle of the coast."
