Dreams of a Dark Warrior (Immortals After Dark 11)

"They're speaking no known language, sir."

Declan hung up, tamping down his frustration. He'd heard tales of an omnilingual fey-an elven creature who somehow knew all languages. He put her on his capture list.

The phone rang. Webb was the only one who cal ed his personal line. Declan had no friends or family. When he answered, Webb said, "You completed all of your captures! Good work, son."

Even after all this time, Declan savored the praise. He knew he'd cast Webb in a father's role, but Webb had been just as quick to put Declan into a son's. They'd both lost loved ones in this war. "Thank you, sir. But we sustained casualties when taking both the vampire and the Valkyrie."

"I saw the videos of the captures. Of course, we knew taking Lothaire wouldn't be easy. You confiscated a ring of his?"

"A plain gold band. He was incensed to lose it, even more homicidal."

"It must have mystical powers. Find out what it does. And what about the Valkyrie? How did she know we were closing in?"

"Her soothsayer sister dispatched her to attack my men."

"Nix the Ever-Knowing did this?" Webb asked, his tone peculiar. "When is the glowing one in the exam schedule?"

Declan pulled up the rotation on his screen. "Dixon won't have her until next week." The facility was backlogged with inmates, and still Webb insisted on bringing in more, no matter how much Declan protested.

"Question the Valkyrie before then. Dig for as much intel as you can get before the docs get through with her. We need to discover how she produces energy, how she channels it-"

"You knew she could channel electricity?" That intel would've saved lives tonight.

"Not until we watched her capture," Webb said. "Think, Declan, she doesn't eat or drink, but she produces continuous, uninterrupted power. She's like a walking reactor. Tapping into her energy source could solve the limitations inherent in the TEP-C."

The Order's charge throwers, or tactical electroshock pulse cannons, were incredibly effective against detrus-at least, against most of them besides Regin the Radiant-but they had limited firing power. "If you can discover what fuels her, we can use it against her own kind. ..."

Turning their strengths into weaknesses. Dixon's team of scientists would cut the Valkyrie open on the operating table to get to the truth. Since they'd need measurable, duplicable results, they'd do it repeatedly.

Declan gazed at the monitor, regarding the female with puzzlement.

"In any case, now that we finally have a Valkyrie, we need to learn everything we can about her species, and what sets this one apart."

Whenever the Order had been close to capturing a Valkyrie in the past, the target had grown spooked, as if she'd been tipped off. Likely by Nix the Ever-Knowing.

So why had Nix all owed Regin to be captured?

Why tell him he was late?

"And we need to know about the vampire's ring," Webb said. "I understand how difficult it is to get miscreats to talk, but I'm confident you can get me these answers."

Though Declan had become an expert at torture, the immortals were astonishingly closemouthed, even withholding information about their natural enemies. The only way to get results was by tormenting a loved one or mate, but Declan had no leverage like that over either the Valkyrie or the vampire.

No matter. Somehow he would break them. "Yes, sir," he said absently.

"Son?" Webb sighed. "You're not feeling mercy for the Valkyrie? Because you had to harm a female?"

Thirty-five years of something had rushed to the fore.

"Remember, their beauty is a weapon. This one will not hesitate to wield it on you." A pause. "Has she compromised your judgment? Tempted you in anyway?"

Declan grated, "No, sir!" The Order would mind-wipe and cast out any member who became involved with a detrus. Even an involuntary entrancement was enough to have one's memory erased.

Unless it happens to me.

Two years ago, a witch had entranced Declan, cursing him to relive every terror and agony he'd ever experienced.

Webb had procured a countercurse before Declan had been driven insane-or at least noticeably insane. Then the commander had covered up the whole ordeal.

How many more rules would the old man break for him? Would he fix any more transgressions?

On this night, Declan had savored the feel of a captive's body in his arms. And I'm ... changing. His doses could barely control it.

Cast out.

At the idea, sweat beaded on his upper lip. The Order was all Declan had. He'd rather die than lose it.

"I'll get the results, sir."

"Maybe I'll come out and check on things next month or so. Might be a good time, with so many developments on the horizon."

"Very good, sir. And perhaps we can talk then about cul ing some of these prisoners."

Declan didn't want them contained, or, God forbid, created. He wanted them all exterminated. "This facility is well over capacity."

"We'l talk about that when I get there."

Once they'd hung up, Declan cal ed for Vincente. The former Ranger was as trustworthy as any, he supposed, though Declan could never ful y trust another, no one but Webb.

In moments, the burly guard arrived. Not for the first time, Declan wondered if the man ever slept.

He handed Vincente the protective box guarding the vampire's ring. "I want you to get this ring analyzed. Have the metal urgist test for any mystical properties. The usual precautions-no one touches it. Return it before I question Lothaire."

With a nod, the man took the box and exited.

Even after the warning that Webb's cal had provided, Declan turned back to the monitor for another look at the Valkyrie. She was sitting on the floor of her cel in front of the glass, resting her forehead and hands against it, as if she expected the door to open at any time.

Instead of feeling satisfaction to see her like this, he suffered more of that inexplicable conflict within him.

He'd done his duty with her. So why this ... guilt? He clasped his aching forehead.

Why do I feel like I'm going mad? If so, then it'd been a long time coming.

He'd always known he wasn't a perfect soldier, had known he was f**ked up. How could he not be? His days of torment had left him emotional y stunted, unclean. But he got the bloody job done, control ing his eccentricities and deviations with exhausting training regimens.

Every day, he worked out in his room, lifting weights with a punishing intensity, then he ran at least forty miles-half the width of the island. He ate only enough food to stave off the worst of his hunger.