A Touch of Midnight (Midnight Breed 0.5)

And even through her fog of shock and grief, she realized immediately that something wasn't right.

"It's not here."

She pivoted, a sudden surge of adrenaline sending her back to Professor Keaton's office at a near run. She made a quick visual search of the room, looking past the disheveled desk and well-worn sofa. Past all the blood.

"It's gone." The police officers and news crew went silent, everyone turning to look at her now. "Something was taken from here last night."

Eva had set off the compound's kitchen smoke alarm again.

The high-pitched beeping brought every warrior in the place running at full tilt to shut the bloody thing off.

Gideon abandoned his morning's work on the microcomputer--his new obsession--and hot-footed it up the serpentine corridor of the underground headquarters to the kitchen installed specifically for Eva and Danika, the only two residents biologically capable of eating anything that came out of it. Even that was questionable, when it was Rio's Breedmate's turn at the stove.

The Spaniard arrived in the kitchen mere seconds before Gideon got there. Rio had silenced the alarm and was pulling Eva into an affectionate embrace, chuckling good-naturedly as she tried to make excuses for what happened.

"I only turned away for a minute to watch something on the news," she protested, waving her hand toward the small television set on the counter as Lucan, Dante and Tegan shook their heads and returned to what they'd been doing. Conlan stayed, going over to put an arm around his mate, Danika, who stood nearby, trying to hide her smile behind her hand.

"Besides," Eva went on, "there was only a little bit of smoke this time. I swear that alarm hates me."

"It's all right, baby," Rio said around rich laughter. "Cooking has never been your best quality. Look at the upside, at least no one got hurt."

"Tell that to their breakfast," Gideon said wryly. He picked up the skillet of charred eggs and sausage from the stove and dumped the mess into the trash.

As he walked past the TV, he was struck by a pair of chocolate-brown doe eyes, fringed with feathery, thick lashes. The young woman was being interviewed outside one of the local universities. Short black curls haloed her face, a lovely, gentle face. Its soft features graced a perfect oval of smooth coffee-and-cream skin that looked like it would be as soft as velvet to the touch.

But the young beauty's mouth was tense, bracketed with stress lines on either side. And now that Gideon was looking closer, he realized tears were welled in those pretty dark eyes.

"Tell me more about the artifact you say appears to be missing," the news reporter pressed, shoving a microphone up toward her face.

"It's a sword," she answered, a voice to match her beautiful face, despite the tremor that made her words shake a bit. "It's a very old sword."

"Right," said the reporter. "And you say you're certain you saw this sword just yesterday in Professor Keaton's classroom?"

"What's this about?" Gideon asked, his gaze riveted to the young woman.

"Someone assaulted a professor at the college last night," Danika explained. "He's been taken to Mass General, critical but stable. The student who was with him was killed. Sounds like they suspect it may have been a robbery gone bad."

Gideon grunted in acknowledgment, wondering what the student being interviewed had to do with the situation.

"The sword was part of a collection of Colonial furnishings and art objects that were donated to the university recently," she told the reporter. "At least, I believe it was part of the collection. Anyway, it's missing now. It's the only thing missing, far as I can tell."

"Uh, huh. And can you describe for our viewers what the sword looks like?"

"It's English. Mid-seventeenth century," she replied with certainty. "It has an eagle or a falcon engraved into the handle."

Gideon froze, his blood running suddenly cold in his veins.

"There's a ruby in the pommel," the young woman went on, "held in place by carved steel talons."

Ah, Christ.

Gideon stood there, wooden, immobilized by the words that sank into his brain.

The weapon this student was describing in such unmistakable detail...he knew it all too well.

He'd held that very sword in his hand, a very long time ago. It vanished the night his twin brothers were murdered, taken, he assumed, by the Rogues who'd slaughtered them with it while Gideon had been away from the Darkhaven. Not there to protect them, as he should've been.

He never thought he'd see the sword again, never wanted to see it. Not after that night.