"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, f**k... 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 na**d 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.