Midnight Awakening (Midnight Breed 3)

Tegan nodded. Right. But first we need to find him. No hard leads there, Gideon said. He's gone deep underground since we ran up against him last summer.

So we hunt him down like the vermin he is, Rio snarled. We root him out and smoke the son of a bitch.

Tegan glanced over at Lucan, who was absorbing the conversation in stoic silence. Amid the talk of enemies and battles to come, it was sometimes easy to forget that Lucan and Marek were blood kin. You cool with all this?

The silver stare that held Tegan's eyes was unwavering. Whatever Marek is up to, he has to be stopped. The question isn't if, but when. And by any means.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Elise heard women's voices as she strolled the corridor on her way out of Tegan's quarters. The muffled laughter and easy conversation drew her, reminding her of the friendships she had enjoyed in the Darkhaven, when her life had seemed so full. Although she didn't feel as empty as she had in recent months, there was still a space in her heart that was open--a small void that made her miss being part of a community.

She didn't know what the other females would think of her. Although it seemed years ago to her, it was only a handful of days since the confrontation she'd had with Tegan in front of the Order--when he'd publicly suggested she find a willing male to be her blood Host without the sanctity of a vow. He'd only done it to push her away, but if the Breedmates here at the compound had heard about it, she was probably a subject of pity with them, if not scorn. There were few females in the Darkhavens who would be able to look her in the eye after something like that.

As she neared the open door of the room where the warriors' mates had gathered, Elise prepared herself for cautious greetings and the quiet whispers that were sure to begin once she had passed.

Elise, welcome back! Gabrielle exclaimed the instant her kind brown eyes lit on her. We heard you and Tegan had just come back. I was actually about to go and find you. Do you want to join us?

The women had a nice little repast of fruits and cheeses spread out on the coffee table in the center of the cozy library. Tess was putting down small plates and there was already an extra one waiting for Elise. Savannah stood in front of a dark cherry sideboard, pulling a cork from a bottle of chilled white wine. She looked over at Elise and smiled as she began pouring into several long- stemmed glasses.

Want some? she asked.

Okay. Elise walked into the inviting chamber and accepted the glass from Savannah's outstretched hand. Thank you.

The awkwardness she expected didn't happen. As soon as she settled in with the women, Elise was bombarded with questions about the trip, about what she and Tegan were able to uncover, and about where things stood with regard to Petrov Odolf and the journal Marek had been so determined to get his hands on.

They weren't interested in gossip or scandal, and Elise found herself falling into an easy conversation with all three of the intelligent, savvy women. She told them all she knew, relating the details of Tegan's and her visits to the containment facility.

She had just begun to tell them about the writings Irina had given her when Tess put down her wineglass, her brows knit in a frown.

What happened to your face? You're bruised.

Elise nodded, idly touching the tenderness that still lingered in her cheek and jaw. Oh. A Minion did that.

My God, Savannah gasped, her concern echoed by Gabrielle and Tess as well.

Does it hurt? Tess asked, moving around the table and kneeling next to Elise.

It did at first. It's not so bad now.

Let me see. She carefully tilted Elise's head. When her hand came to rest on the bruise, Elise felt a warm tingle spreading from the female's palm to the tips of her fingers. Dante's mate had worked her healing touch on Elise before, but that didn't make her marvel at Tess's talent any less. The trauma of the injury faded away, muting until not even the slightest twinge of discomfort remained.>Tegan didn't think it referred to Marek. But could it possibly be Dragos? Or might it be someone else who wasn't even on the Order's radar yet?

Whatever Marek was after, and whatever secret it was that haunted Petrov Odolf and his kin, it did not bode well for anyone.

As the jet touched down in Boston, Tegan phoned the compound and told Gideon to assemble the others for a meeting. They were going to have to rout out Marek, wherever he'd run to, and make sure that the Order stayed one step ahead of him.

One of his Minions was dead, according to the latest report out of Berlin. Marek was enraged to lose another of his pawns, but since the human had failed to carry out his task, Marek could only hope that the Minion was made to suffer in his final moments of life. The savagery of the killing left little doubt that he had suffered greatly, his body broken and bloodied almost beyond recognition. And that fact was surprising in itself, considering the Minion's executioner had most certainly been Tegan. He had killed the Minion that Marek had dispatched to get rid of the Darkhaven female--not with the immaculate, cold efficiency the warrior was known for, but with a clearly evidenced rage.

Tegan had killed with a vengeance.

That he'd acted in retaliation over the female could mean only one thing: Tegan cared for her.

Marek could hardly wait for the chance to exploit that weakness in the warrior. He'd nearly destroyed Tegan once through his love of a woman; how gratifying it would be to use this new affection to finally finish him off for good.

How satisfying it would be to finish off all the Order, and to assume his rightful place as the ruler of all the Breed. It was what he'd been working toward all along, a plan that had required more patience than Marek had thought himself capable of.

He'd been dreaming of his crowning moment for centuries--ever since the warrior Dragos had confided in him a powerful, damning secret.

Marek got up from his desk and paced to the tall window that overlooked a moonlit Berkshires valley in the distance. The woods were thick out here, as dense as any medieval forest. The landscape reminded him of the Old Times, his thoughts returning to the Order's long-ago past.