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"Hell of an hour to call you down here like this, Director Rowan, but I thought you needed to see for yourself," said the Agent beside him.
It would be dawn soon, no time for any of their kind to be away from their Darkhavens with the sun about to rise. But a thing like this could not wait. A thing like this - such reckless, unspeakably savage anarchy - jeopardized all of their kind.
"I contacted you as soon as my team and I arrived to discover the situation, sir." The Agent's polished shoes crunched in broken glass and scattered debris as he came to a pause beside Rowan in the silent, corpse-littered establishment. "The humans were all dead and the place was already vacated when we got here. By the look and smell of the place, I'm guessing it's been over for several hours now."
Rowan's glance traveled over the evidence of the violence and death that had gone on unchecked in the club earlier that night. That it was perpetrated by members of the Breed was obvious, but never in his hundred-plus years of life had he seen such brutal disregard for human life. The fact that the slayings had almost certainly been carried out by his fellow Enforcement Agents sickened him to his soul.
"And no one has come forward as a witness to what went on here?" he confirmed. "What about Taggart; isn't he usually manning the door most nights? He had to have seen something. Or any one of the other dozen Agents who frequent this place like it's going out of style?" "I don't know, sir."
Furious over all of it, Rowan wheeled on the Agent. "You don't know if they were here tonight, or you don't know if they're responsible for slaughtering these humans in the middle of goddamn Boston?"
"Um, neither, sir." The Agent's face blanched a bit under his superior's glare. "I wasn't sure where to begin with a situation like this. You were the first call I made."
Rowan blew out a frustrated sigh. The Agent was young, new to his post. Freshly promoted from the general ranks, he was afraid to step out of line or make a mistake. And he was devoted to justice, a rarity within the Agency these days, Rowan had to admit. He wondered how long the kid would maintain his sheen.
"It's okay, Ethan." He clapped the youth lightly on the shoulder. "You did the right thing here. Let's call in your team and start cleaning this mess up."
The Agent gave a brisk nod. "Yes, sir."
As he strode out to summon the others, Mathias Rowan took another long look at the bloodshed and death that surrounded him. It was heinous, what happened here. It was inexcusable. And he couldn't help feeling that the carnage bore the stamp of a villain he was coming to know all too well.
Dragos.
During the several months that Rowan had been covertly allying himself with the Order, he'd learned firsthand what Dragos was capable of - from the abduction and abuse of scores of innocent Breedmate females, to the recent attack on a local Darkhaven that took the lives of nearly everyone in that prominent Breed family.>Under the low light of the desk lamp in his study, he flipped open his calendar and cast a disinterested eye over the sea of meetings and committees, public appearances and social engagements that filled the pages.
None of it mattered to him, not anymore.
Had it ever? He wasn't sure. He felt a cold sense of detachment from it all. Even from the sight of his own name, from his own being.
Oh, he still had a job to do. It was imperative that he continue his upwardly mobile career trajectory. But all of his old dreams and desires - the personal ambition that used to propel his every careful step - meant nothing to him now.
His life had a new purpose.
Drake Masters - Dragos, the only cause he served now - had shown him a truer path.
He'd made everything clear the last time they'd met. Was it only last night? He couldn't remember exactly how long it had been. Time, like everything else connected to the shell of who he'd once been, had somehow, somewhere, ceased to exist.
To him, it felt as though he'd belonged to his Master forever. There was nothing before or after him. Nothing beyond the purpose to serve at his pleasure and to protect him above all else. Which is why the first thing he'd done upon returning to his North Shore residence was to contact his Master and inform him of what occurred at the police station with the Breed warrior in law enforcement custody.
He'd told his Master about Tavia Fairchild and all her questions - her careless suspicions - too. He'd hoped his Master would not be displeased that he had let the woman out of his sight, but there was no reprimand. In fact, his Master had seemed almost amused by the report.
"Leave the woman to me," he'd instructed. "I will deal with the inquisitive Tavia Fairchild personally. You have your orders, Minion. See that you complete them without delay."
And so he had.
The private audience was already in place for tomorrow evening, a personal favor impressed upon a longtime friend who had risen to one of the highest seats in the nation. His Master would be pleased. And by this time tomorrow, he would have another loyal servant added to his ranks. The Minion smiled, eager to know his Master's approval.
He powered down his computer and was about to rise to go to bed when he heard a muffled noise in the hallway outside his study. He got up and walked to the closed door, then cautiously peered out.
One of his security detail lay motionless on the runner in the hall. His blood soaked the light- colored rug, leaking out swiftly from his slashed throat. The Minion cocked his head, listening to the unnatural quiet of his surroundings. There were no other guards in sight. No raised alarm from anywhere within the large house.
He'd had other men on armed watch tonight. Whoever was inside now had likely killed them all.
Breed.
The Minion's veins jangled with the warning. He drew back quickly into the study and pivoted to shut the door before the danger could reach him.
But it was too late for that.
