Kiss of Midnight (Midnight Breed 1)

"No," he said, cutting her off. "I'll feel better knowing you're not alone... having someone look in on you."

"Lucan, really. It's not necessary. I'm a big girl. I'm fine."

He ignored her protests. "His name is Gideon. You'll like him. The two of you can... talk. He will help you, Gabrielle. Better than I can."

"Help me - what do you mean? Has something happened with the case? And who is this Gideon guy? Is he a detective, too?"

"He will explain it all to you." Lucan stepped out into the corridor where dim lights illuminated polished tile floors and crisp chrome and glass fixtures. From behind the door of another private apartment, Dante's metal music thumped heavily. Trace smells of oil and recently fired weaponry filtered out from the training facility down one of many hallways that spoked off the main corridor. Lucan weaved on his feet, unsteady amid the sudden barrage of sensory stimulation. "You'll be safe, Gabrielle, I swear to you. I have to go now."

"Lucan, wait a second! Don't hang up. What is it you're not telling me?"

"You're going to be all right, I promise. Goodbye, Gabrielle.">His ears filled with the repeated words of the old prayers, and, before long, the faint hiss and crackle of his own burning flesh.

Chapter Thirteen

Police and transportation officials still aren't certain what caused the apparent explosion last night. However, I spoke with a representative for the T just a few moments ago who assured me that the incident was isolated to one of the old, unused tracks, and that no injuries were reported. Stay tuned to Channel Five for more news on this breaking story as it - "

The dusty, late-model television mounted to a wall rack clicked off abruptly, cowed into silence solely by the force of the vampire's supreme irritation. Behind him, across the length of a bleak, dilapidated room that had once been the asylum's basement cafeteria, two of his Rogue lieutenants stood, fidgeting and grunting, as they awaited their next orders.

There was little patience in the pair; Rogues, by their addictive natures had puny attention spans, having abandoned intellect to pursue the more immediate whims of their Bloodlust. They were wanton children, little better than hounds in need of regular whippings and spare rewards to keep them obedient. And to remind them of whom they currently served.

"No injuries reported," sniggered one of the Rogues.

"Maybe not to the humans," added the other, "but the Breed took a damn big hit. I hear there wasn't much left of the dead one for the sun to claim."

More chuckling from the first idiot, followed by an expulsion of foul, blood-soured breath as he mimicked the detonation of the explosives that had been set off in the tunnel by the Rogue bomber assigned to the task.

"A pity the other warrior with him was left to walk away." The Rogues fell silent as their leader turned at last to face them. "Next time, I'll put the two of you to the task, since you find failure so amusing."

They scowled, grunting like the beasts they were, their slitted pupils wild within the engulfing yellow-gold sea of their fixed irises. Their gazes turned down as he began to stride toward them with slow, measured paces. His anger was tempered only by the fact that the Breed had, indeed, suffered a healthy loss.

The warrior who fell to the bomb was not the actual target of last night's assignment; however, any dead member of the Order was good news for his cause. There would be time to eliminate the one called Lucan. Perhaps he might even do it himself, face-to-face, vampire to vampire, without the benefit of weapons.

Yes, he thought, there would be more than a little pleasure in taking that one down.

Call it poetic justice.

"Show me what you've brought me," he ordered the Rogues before him.

The two departed at once, pushing open a swinging door to retrieve the baggage left in the corridor outside. They returned an instant later, dragging behind them several lethargic, nearly bled-out humans. The men and women, six in all, were bound at their wrists and loosely shackled at their feet, though none appeared fit enough to even consider an attempt at escape.

Catatonic eyes stared off into nowhere, slack mouths incapable of screaming or speech drooped on their pale faces. At their throats, bite marks scored their skin where their Rogue captors had struck to subdue them.

"For you, sire. Fresh servants for the cause."

The half-dozen humans were shuffled in like cattle - for that they were, flesh and bone commodities that would be put to work, or to death, whenever he deemed it useful.

He looked over the evening's catch with little interest, idly sizing up the two men and four women by their potential for service. He felt an itchy impatience as he drew near to the lot of them, some of their bitten necks still oozing with a lazy trickle of fresh blood.

He was hungry, he decided, his assessing look lighting on a petite brunette female with a pouty mouth and ripe, full breasts straining against the dull teal green of her baglike, ill-fitting hospital garb. Her head lolled on her shoulders, too heavy to stay upright, although it was apparent that she was struggling against the torpor that had already claimed the others. Her irises were listless, rolling upward into her skull, yet she fought the pull of catatonia, blinking dazedly in an effort to remain conscious and aware.

He had to admire her pluck.

"K. Delaney, R.N.," he mused, reading from the plastic name tag that rode the plump swell of her left breast.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting her face up for his persual. She was pretty, young. And her freckled skin smelled sweet, succulent. His mouth watered greedily, his pupils narrowed behind the cover of his dark glasses.

"This one stays. Take the rest down to the holding cages."