"How's it going?" It was Gideon, resident genius of the warrior class. "Any topside activity to report?"
"Not much. Things are pretty dead out here right now." Dante scanned the crowded club, noting that the two vampires had decided to move on. They were heading for the exit, taking a couple of costumed human females with them. "No Rogues in the vicinity at all so far. And doesn't that just suck ass? I'm itching for some action here, Gid."
"Well, try to cheer up," Gideon said, a grin in his voice. "The night's still young."
Dante chuckled. "Tell Lucan I spared him from another couple of wannabes looking to sign on. You know, I liked things a hell of a lot better when we were feared more than revered. Is he making any progress on the recruiting, or is our boy too caught up with that gorgeous Breedmate of his?"
"Yes to both," Gideon replied. "As to the recruiting, we've got a candidate coming in soon from New York, and Nikolai's got feelers out to some of his contacts in Detroit. We'll have to arrange some trial runs for the newbies--you know, take them through the paces before we commit."
"You mean, hand them their asses on a platter and see which ones come back looking for more?"
"Is there any other way?"
"Count me in," Dante drawled as he moved through the club toward the door.
He strolled out into the night, avoiding a group of human clubbers dressed like zombies in tattered clothes and death-warmed-over face paint. His acute hearing picked up hundreds of sounds--from general traffic noise to the shrieks and laughter of drunken Halloween partygoers clogging the streets and sidewalks.
He heard something else too.
Something that raised the hackles on his warrior senses to high alert.
"Gotta go," he told Gideon on the other end of the line. "I'm homing in on a suckhead. Guess the night 's not a total waste, after all."
"Check back in after you smoke him."
"Right. Later." Dante clicked off the call and pocketed the cell phone. He stole down a side alley, following the low grunt and stale, wafting stench of a prowling Rogue vampire as it stalked its prey. Like the other warriors of the Order, Dante had a deep contempt for members of the Breed who'd gone Rogue. Every vampire thirsted, every vampire had to feed-- sometimes kill--in order to survive. But each and every one of them also knew that the line between necessity and gluttony was thin, just a few meager ounces of blood. If a vampire consumed too much, or fed his need too frequently, he ran the risk of addiction, of entering a permanent state of hunger known as Bloodlust. Lost to the disease, he would turn Rogue, becoming a violent junkie who would do anything for his next fix.
The savagery and indiscretion of the Rogues jeopardized all of the Breed to exposure to the human race, a threat that Dante and the rest of the Order would not abide. And there was a larger threat blooming as well: As of a few months ago, it had become apparent that the Rogues were organizing, their numbers increasing, tactics becoming orchestrated toward a goal that seemed nothing short of war. If they weren't stopped, and stopped soon, both humankind and Breed alike could find themselves at the center of a hellish, blood-soaked battle to rival even the worst Armageddon scenario.
For now, while the Order focused on locating the Rogues' new command post, the warriors' mission was simple. Hunt down and eliminate every Rogue possible. Exterminate them like the diseased vermin they were. It was a charge Dante relished, never more at home than when he was on the move, prowling the streets with weapons in hand, looking for a fight. It kept him alive, he was certain; even more, it kept the darkest of his demons at bay.
Dante rounded a corner, then crept into another narrow lane between a couple of old brick buildings. He heard a female scream somewhere ahead of him in the dark. Kicking it into high gear, he sped toward the sound.
And got there hardly a second too soon.
The Rogue had been stalking the two Darkhaven vampires and their female companions. It looked young, tricked out in basic goth garb beneath a long black trench coat. But young or not, it was big and it was strong, fierce with hunger. One of the women was held in a death grip, the Bloodlusting vampire already latched on to her throat while the would-be warriors stood by, shell-shocked and frozen.
Dante pulled a dagger from a sheath on his hip and let it fly. The blade struck hard, embedding between the Rogue's shoulders. The weapon was specially crafted of steel and titanium, the latter metal being extremely poisonous to the corrupted blood systems and organs of the Rogues. One kiss of that deadly blade and a Rogue vampire would start cooking from the inside out at record speed.
Except this one didn't.
It flung a savage look at Dante, its eyes glowing amber, fangs bloody as it hissed a vicious warning. But the Rogue weathered the dagger's assault, holding fast to its prey and swinging its head around to drink with even greater urgency.
What the hell?
Dante ran up on the feeding vampire with another blade in hand. He didn't waste a second, going for the neck this time, intending to cut it clean through. The blade sank in, slicing deep. But the suckhead spun out of the attack before Dante could finish it off. With a pained roar, it dropped the female and focused all of its fury on Dante.
"Get the humans out of here!" Dante shouted to the Darkhaven vampires as he yanked the woman out of the fray and shoved her toward the others. "Move it, now! Clean her up, scrub both their memories, and get them the fuck out of here!"
The two young males jolted into action. They grabbed the shrieking women and pulled them away from the scene while Dante considered the strangeness of what he'd just witnessed.
The vampire didn't disintegrate as it should have from the double dose of titanium Dante had delivered. It wasn't a Rogue, even though it had been hunting prey and feeding like the worst blood addict.
Dante stared into the transformed face, the extruded fangs and elliptical pupils swimming in irises awash in fiery color. A foul-smelling pink spittle crusted around the vampire's mouth, turning Dante's stomach with its stench.
Offended, he backed off, guessing the vampire to be about the same age as the two Darkhaven youths. A frigging kid. Ignoring the pulsing gash in its neck, the vampire reached back and removed Dante's dagger from its shoulder. It growled, nostrils flaring as though it would spring at any moment.
But then it ran.