"Andre," she sobbed, folding her legs and dropping down beside him on the ground. She lifted his head onto her lap and stroked his bloodless cheek and brow. He was cold. Unmoving Oh, God. "Andre, can you hear me?" She cradled his broad shoulders and bent to press her face against his. "Andreas, please don't die. Please ... come back to me." She kissed him all over, holding him tight. Praying she'd done the right thing. Hoping he was still in there somewhere, and that the gamble she'd taken with his life hadn't been the worst mistake she would ever make. "Andre, I love you," she murmured, dimly aware that Renata and Dylan and the warriors had all gathered around them now. "You can't leave me. You can't." Tegan knelt down beside her and put his hand on the side of Andreas's neck. "He's alive. He's breathing, but he's out cold. Got a strong pulse, at least..." "Thank God," Renata whispered, clutching Niko in a tight embrace as she looked down at Claire in kinship and shared concern. "We have to get him out of here," Tegan said.
He glanced up at Renata. "Will you be able to keep him under control if he comes to on the ride back to Boston?" She nodded. "Whatever it takes, yeah. I'll cover him." "Come on, Claire." The warrior nudged her gently as he crouched to heft Andreas's heavy bulk onto his shoulder as he would care for any one of his fallen brothers in arms. "I'll carry him back to the Rover. Everything's going to be okay now." Claire nodded numbly and fell in alongside him as they all made the short trek from the smoldering forest and obliterated bunker to the waiting vehicles. She wanted to believe Tegan, but when she looked at Andreas's unresponsive, ashen face, she couldn't help feeling that where Andreas was concerned, everything was still a long way from okay.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dragos snapped his cell phone closed and jammed it into the pocket of his cashmere dress coat. He stared up at the starlit sky above an industrial park off I-90 in Albany, New York, and hissed a violent oath. Wilhelm Roth wasn't answering his calls. Which meant that Wilhelm Roth was dead. The fact that Dragos's cameras and communication systems at his Connecticut headquarters had all gone offline and ceased working meant that the bunker had been detonated as planned. He could only hope that Roth had managed to ensure that a number of the Order's members had been blown to pieces along with the hastily abandoned lab. As for Roth himself, Dragos hadn't actually cared if his German lieutenant survived the lab's destruction; it was the matter of a moment to find another right arm to carry out his mission. And so he had. Dragos moved away from his Minion-chauffeured sedan to inspect the work of Roth's replacement.
The second-generation Breed male who'd been recruited from the West Coast was overseeing the movement of Dragos's assets--a persification made necessary by the aggravating and persistent interference of the Order. But Dragos hadn't come this far without anticipating a few speed bumps in his operation. Alternatives had been explored and provided for years ago, and now it was merely a matter of rearranging the pieces that he already had in play. The Order had cost him only a few days--a couple of weeks at most--then he would be right back in business once again. Stronger than before. Unstoppable, no matter what disturbing things he had seen in the witchy eyes of the child seer all those weeks ago in Montreal. "Are we ready to move out yet?" he asked his lieutenant. The big vampire nodded curtly where he stood behind one of several semi-trailer trucks that had been loaded and were waiting to roll out of the industrial park to their appointed destinations. The double doors of the one nearest his lieutenant were partially open yet, revealing the anxious faces of the Breedmates who'd been removed from their cells in the lab for transportation elsewhere. They knew better than to scream or try to escape.
The industrial park was owned by Dragos, manned by his Minions. Besides, the chains and shackles that bound the women to one another would prevent any of them from getting very far, even if they were foolish enough to attempt it. "Seal them up and get them out of here," Dragos said, watching in satisfaction as his lieutenant swung the doors closed and set the heavy steel bolt and locks. A quick thump of the vampire's fist on the back of the truck sent the thing rolling with one of Dragos's Minions at the wheel. Farther on in the yard, several more trucks awaited their departure orders. Dragos walked past the ones containing his many millions of dollars' worth of state-of-the-art laboratory equipment, his gaze fixed on the large white trailer at the far end of the line. It was a refrigerated container, specially equipped for preserving the fragile cargo that was locked and sedated inside. Two Gen One assassins had been stationed within the trailer to stand guard over the contents; another pair would ride up front with the Minion driver and Dragos's West Coast associate to ensure the shipment encountered no problems en route to the rail yard, where the next leg of the container's long journey would begin. "Everything is ready, sire."
"Excellent," Dragos said. "Contact me as soon as you arrive in Seattle to make the last connection." "Yes, sire." Dragos watched as the fleet of trucks lurched into motion and exited the yard. The Order may have disrupted his operation, but he was far from defeated. With a confident smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Dragos walked back to his waiting car. He climbed into the backseat and waited in boredom as the driver closed the door behind him then hurried back around to get behind the wheel. Tonight the lair he'd gone to great pains and expense to construct was gone, but Dragos preferred to think of it as a necessary step in the evolution of his plans. Now he would begin a new phase in his operation, and he could hardly wait to get started. Dragos leaned his head back against the soft leather seat and watched through the rear window as a thread of pale clouds skittered across the milky moon overhead.