"I won't risk it. If I go down, damn it, I go down alone." Tegan exhaled sharply and bared his teeth in a smile that wasn't quite friendly. "Blaze of glory, eh?" "Something like that," Reichen replied. The warrior abruptly stood up and cast an assessing look on him. "You may think you're keeping Claire out of harm's way by shoving her aside right now, but the only one you're protecting is yourself. If you go down, whether it's the pyro or the Bloodlust that gets you, it's going to kill that female, and you know it. You just want to make sure you're not around to see it." Reichen didn't try to deny the accusation. Not that Tegan gave him the chance. He backed away from where Reichen sat, then strode out of the weapons room, hitting the light switch on his way out and plunging the place back into darkness.
Wilhelm Roth was on a phone call with Dragos when his veins came alive with awareness of his erstwhile Breedmate. Remarkably, it seemed Claire was not far. In fact, by the way his pulse was stirring from his blood bond to her, he was damn well certain that Claire was within some twenty miles of where he stood ... and moving closer all the time. What the hell was she up to? He checked the clock in Dragos's lab and scowled to see that it was just past one in the afternoon. Broad daylight. Had she and Reichen not turned to the Order for help, after all? Or had the warriors for some reason denied them sanctuary at their compound? Roth could think of no reason Claire would be in the area in the middle of the day--presumably without the protection of Reichen or any of the warriors from Boston. Could she actually be foolish enough to seek him out again on her own? Roth might have laughed at such idiocy if not for the fact that his current objective for Dragos depended on Claire leading the Order straight into his hands. If she was coming alone, she would be f**king up the entire plan.
"You're suddenly very quiet, Herr Roth. Anything amiss?" Dragos asked. His voice had to compete with a din of noise in the background on the other end of the line, a metallic roar that didn't quite mask the fury that rode just below the surface of the vampire's outward calm. "You were telling me how everything is in place, just as we arranged." "Yes, sire," Roth replied. "But there is... something odd." "Oh?" The tone was as level as a blade poised above a head soon to roll. "Do tell." "It's Claire. I sense her on the move, sire. I believe she may be getting close to the lab's location.
I'm certain she must sense me, the same as I am aware of her. It's my guess that she has decided to come looking for me." "What time is it?" Dragos asked, his question pierced by the sudden blast of a horn and a muffled voice squawking unintelligibly over some manner of warehouse loudspeaker. "It's early afternoon, sire. A few minutes past one." Dragos grunted, contemplating in silence for a long moment. "If your lovely Breedmate is coming to find you, by all means, let's help her get there. Give the Minions on ground-level security a description of the female. Tell them I want them to go out and find her, bring her into the facility." "But the plan," Roth interjected. "I thought we needed her to lead the Order to us." "Yes," Dragos hissed. "And she will. Her pain will draw the male who's bonded to her, and he will ensure that the Order comes along." "Torture?" Roth suggested, torn between delight at Claire's imminent pain and his own shared agony, since his blood bond to her would absorb everything that she was subjected to, as well.
Dragos chuckled on the other end of the line. "I'll leave the specifics of her treatment up to you, Herr Roth. Contact me as soon as you learn anything more." "Yes, sire," Roth answered. He flipped the phone closed and began to imagine the many slow, sadistic ways he could make Claire scream.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Claire dried her hands on a brown paper towel as she came out of the public restroom of a small gas station situated on a rural stretch of two-lane blacktop somewhere near the northwestern border of Connecticut. At midafternoon, the sun was already beginning its descent toward the tops of the brushy pines and the leafless oaks that covered the hilly forested region of the state. She squinted, shielding her eyes from the blinding orange rays and wishing they had a few more hours to continue their search. They were so close now; she could feel it all the way to her marrow. For the past couple of hours, she and Renata and Dylan had been circumnavigating the area where the blood bond Claire had now grown to hate beat the strongest. They were tightening the noose on Wilhelm Roth mile by mile, systematically narrowing down the range of locations where the Order was likely to find him.
Another couple of hours combing the area and Claire was certain they'd have his location nailed to within an easy square mile. If only the late-autumn day could stretch a bit longer, she thought, impatient as she tossed the used paper towel in a trash can and walked the short distance back to the Order's black Range Rover parked at the gas pumps. Renata was filling the tank for the return trip to Boston, her stance cautiously casual as she leaned against the vehicle and watched the digital gauges clock on the pump's display. Claire didn't miss the fact that the female's right hand was crossed over the front of her body and hidden beneath the folds of her dark trench coat, no doubt either resting on the butt of a pistol or wrapped around the hilt of one of her blades. She was as vigilant as any of the warriors, and, Claire imagined, just as deadly when the situation warranted lethal force. Nodding to Renata as she approached, Claire climbed into the SUV and gently closed the passenger door behind her, careful not to wake Dylan, who was taking a quick doze in the backseat. It had been a long day, made even longer by the fact that none of them had gotten much sleep before they'd left the compound that morning.