Kiss of Crimson (Midnight Breed 2)

At nearly twenty-six years old, was this what she'd let her life become?

While her bitter feelings didn't stem merely from the prospect of bland rice and rubbery chicken, Tess eyed the frozen brick of food with contempt. When was the last time she'd actually cooked a nice meal from scratch, with her own two hands?

When was the last time she'd done something good just for herself?

Too damn long, she decided, and swept the stuff off the counter and into the trash.

Senior Special Investigative Agent Sterling Chase had reported to the warriors' compound promptly at dusk. To his credit he'd lost the suit and tie, opting for a graphite-colored knit shirt, black denim jeans, and lug-soled black leather boots. He'd even covered his light hair with a dark skullcap. Dressed like he was now, Dante could almost forget the guy was civilian. Too bad no amount of camo could hide the fact that Harvard was, as of this very hour, Dante's official pain in the ass.

"If we ever need to knock over a bank, at least I know who to go to for wardrobe tips," he said to the Darkhaven agent as he pulled on a leather trench coat loaded down with all manner of hand-to-hand weapons, and the two of them made their way to one of the Order's fleet vehicles in the compound's garage.

"I won't hold my breath waiting for your call," Chase shot back drolly, taking in the prime collection of machinery. "Looks like you folks do all right without resorting to grand larceny."

The hangar-style garage held dozens of choice cars, SUVs, and cycles, some vintage, some current makes, every one of them a high-performance thing of beauty. Dante led him to a brand-new basalt-black Porsche Cayman S and clicked the remote locks open. The two of them climbed into the coupe, Chase looking around the sleek interior with clear appreciation as Dante fired up the engine, hit the code to open the hangar door, then let the sweet black beast begin its stealth prowl out into the night.

"The Order lives very well," Chase remarked from next to Dante in the Porsche's dimly lit cockpit. He exhaled an amused chuckle. "You know, a lot of the Darkhaven population believes that you are crude mercenaries, still living like lawless animals in underground caves."

"That so," Dante murmured, glaring out at the twilit stretch of road ahead of him. With his right hand, he flipped open the center console and pulled out a leather satchel containing a small cache of weapons. He dropped the lot of them--sheathed knives, a length of thick chain, and a holstered semiautomatic pistol--into the agent's lap. "Suit up, Harvard. I assume you can figure out which end of that tricked-out Beretta 92FS is the one you're gonna need to point at the bad guys. You know, seeing how you're from the rarefied halls of the Darkhavens and all.">He was Dante's mentor, a true friend, if Dante could be so bold as to claim the formidable warrior as such.

But that didn't mean Lucan wouldn't tear a hole in him if he felt Dante needed it.

"I could give a shit for Darkhaven PR, same as you," Lucan said, the cadence of his deep voice measured and cool. "But the news of this drug disturbs me. We need to find out who's sourcing it and sever that chain. It's too important to leave it to Darkhaven involvement. If keeping a lid on this operation for the time being so that we can get the situation under control, on our terms, means letting Agent Chase play warrior for a few nights, then that's the price we have to pay."

When Dante opened his mouth to voice a further argument against the idea, Lucan arched a black brow and cut him off before he could get the first word out.

"I've decided that you will be the one to pair up with Agent Chase on patrol."

Dante bit his tongue, knowing Lucan would abide no argument in this now.

"I choose you because you're the best one for the job, Dante. Tegan would probably kill the agent outright, just because he annoyed him. And Niko, while a capable warrior, does not have your years of experience on the street. Keep the Darkhaven agent out of trouble, but don't lose sight of the true goal: exterminating our enemies. I know you won't let me down. You never have. I'll contact Chase and let him know that his tour begins tomorrow night."

Dante gave a low nod of acceptance, not trusting himself to speak when outrage was pouring through his veins. Lucan clapped him on the shoulder as if to say he understood Dante's simmering anger, then headed out of the lab. Dante could only stand there for a moment, his jaw clamped so tight his molars burned with the pressure.

Had he really walked into the compound thinking that this night couldn't get any worse?

Holy hell, had he been wrong about that.

After everything he'd been through the past twelve hours, culminating with this unwanted babysitting assignment, he was going to have to seriously recalibrate his idea of Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

Chapter Seven

"Here you go, Mrs. Corelli." Tess lifted a plastic cat carrier over the reception counter, passing the growling, hissing white Persian back to its owner. "Angel's not too happy right now, but he should be feeling back up to snuff in a couple of days. I wouldn't let him outside until the sutures have dissolved, though. Not that he's going to be feeling like much of a Romeo anymore."

The elderly woman clucked her tongue. "For months now, all up and down my street, what do I see? Little Angels running around. I tell you, I had no idea! And my poor smoochie-puss, coming home every night looking like a prizefighter, that pretty face of his torn up and bloody."

"Well, he won't have a lot of interest in fighting anymore. Or in his other apparent pastime. You've done the right thing by having him neutered, Mrs. Corelli."

"My husband would like to know if you'd do the same for our granddaughter's current boyfriend. Ay, but that boy is a wild one. Nothing but trouble and he's only fifteen!"

Tess laughed. "My practice is limited to animals, I'm afraid."

"More's the pity. Now, what do I owe you, dear?"

Tess watched the elderly woman dig out her checkbook with chapped, arthritic hands. Even though she was well past retirement age, Mrs. Corelli cleaned houses five days a week, Tess knew. It was hard work, and the wages were meager, but since her husband's disability pay had dried up a few years ago, Mrs. Corelli had become the sole provider for her household. Whenever Tess felt tempted to sulk because she was strapped and struggling, she thought about this woman and how she soldiered on with dignity and grace.

"We're actually running a special on services right now, Mrs. Corelli. So your grand total for today is twenty dollars."

"Are you sure, dear?" At Tess's insistent nod, the woman paid the clinic fee, then tucked the pet carrier under her arm and headed for the exit. "Thank you, Doctor Tess."