Blood gushed against his tongue, nasty with the taint of
drugs and disease. Lucan choked it down, swallow after
swallow, clutching at his convulsing, gasping prey without
mercy. He would kill this one, and he wouldn’t care less. All
that mattered was feeding the hunger. Assuaging the pain
of his mending body.
Lucan fed quickly, drinking his fill.
More than his fill.
He nearly drained the dealer, and still he was ravenous.
But it would be pushing it to feed any more than he al-
ready had tonight. Better to give this nourishment a
chance to take hold before he risked getting greedy, and
taking a tailspin toward Bloodlust.
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Lucan stared with scorn at the phone ringing in his
hand, knowing he ought to just let the damned thing go
unanswered.
It kept on, insistent, and in the second before it cut off,
he picked up. He said nothing at first, just listened as the
soft sound of Gabrielle’s exhale blew across the receiver.
Her breath shook a little, but her voice was strong, despite
the fact that she was obviously pretty upset.
“You’ve been lying to me,” she said by way of greeting.
“How long, Lucan? About how much? Everything?”
Lucan took in the lifeless body of his prey with con-
tempt. He crouched low, making a quick search of the
greasy lowlife. He found a rubber-banded wad of cash,
which he would leave for the street vultures to fight over.
The dealer’s party favors—a couple grand worth of crack
and heroin—would take a bath down one of the city’s
sewer drains.
“Where are you?” he barked into the cell phone, think-
ing no more of the predator he’d eliminated. “Where’s
Gideon?”
“Aren’t you even going to try to deny it? Why would
you do something like this?”
“Put him on the phone, Gabrielle.”
She ignored his demand. “There’s another thing I’d
like to know: how did you get into my apartment last
night? I had all the locks set, including the chain. What did
you do, pick them somehow? Did you steal my keys when I
wasn’t looking and have another set made?”
“We can talk about this later, once I know you’re safe at
the compound.”
“What compound?” Her sharp gasp of laughter took
him aback. “And you can cut the benevolent protector act.
I know you’re not a cop. All I want is a little honesty. Is that
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too much to ask, Lucan? God—is that even your real
name? Is anything you’ve told me remotely close to the
truth?”
Suddenly Lucan knew that this anger, this hurt, wasn’t
coming at him as a result of Gabrielle getting a crash
course from Gideon on the Breed or her destined role
within it. A role that wasn’t going to include Lucan.
No, she didn’t know any of that yet. This was some-
thing else. This wasn’t fear of the facts. This was a fear of
the unknown.
“Where are you, Gabrielle?”
“What do you care?”
“I do . . . care,” he admitted, albeit reluctantly. “Damn
it, I don’t have the head for this right now. Look, I know
you’re not at your apartment, so where are you? Gabrielle,
you need to tell me where you are.”
“I’m at the police station. I came down here tonight to
see you, and guess what? Nobody’s ever heard of you.”
“Ah, Christ. You asked for me there?”
“Of course I did. How could I have known you were
playing me for a fool?” Again the brittle scoff. “I even
brought you coffee and a sweet roll.”
“Gabrielle, I will be there in a few minutes—less than
that. Do not move. Stay where you are. Stay someplace
public, somewhere inside. I’m coming for you.”
“Forget it. Leave me alone.”
Her sharp command drew him up short on the street.
Just before his boots started hitting the pavement at a de-
termined clip.
“I’m not sticking around to wait for you, Lucan. In fact,
you know what? Just stay the hell away from me.”
“Too late,” he drawled into the phone.
He was already rounding the last corner before he
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would turn onto the street where the police station was lo-
cated. He moved over the concrete and through the thin
knots of milling pedestrians like a ghost. He felt the blood
he’d ingested begin to merge with his cells, adhering to
muscle and bone, strengthening him, until he was nothing
but a cold draft on the back of the necks of those he
passed.
But Gabrielle, with her Breedmate’s extraordinary per-
ception, saw him at once.
He heard the sudden intake of air skate across the re-
ceiver of her cell phone. She drew the device away from
her ear as though in slow motion, disbelief widening her
eyes as she stared at his swift approach.
“My God,” she whispered, the sound of it reaching his
ears a mere second before he was standing in front of her,
reaching out to take her by the arm. “Let go of me!”
“We need to talk, Gabrielle. Not here. I’ll take you
someplace—”
“Like hell you will!” She wrenched herself out of his
grasp and backed away from him on the sidewalk. “I’m
not going anywhere with you.”
“You are not safe out here anymore, Gabrielle. You’ve
seen too much. You’re a part of it now, whether or not you
want to be.”
“A part of what?”
“This war.”
“War,” she echoed, doubt lacing the word.
“That’s right. It’s a war. Sooner or later, you’re going to
have to pick a side, Gabrielle.” He ground out a curse.
“No. Screw that. I’m choosing a side for you right now.”
“Is this some kind of joke? What are you, one of those
military rejects who gets off on acting out authority fan-
tasies? Maybe you’re something worse than that.”
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“This is no joke. It’s not a goddamned game. I have
seen a lot of combat and death in my time, Gabrielle. You
can’t even begin to imagine all that I’ve seen, all that I’ve
done. But it’s nothing like the current storm that’s building.
And I’m not going to stand by and watch you get caught in
the crossfire.” He thrust out his hand. “You’re coming with
me. Now.”
She dodged his reach. Fear and outrage clashed in her
dark eyes. “Touch me again, and I swear I’ll get the cops.
You know, the real ones back there in the station house.
They carry real badges. And real guns.”
Lucan’s temperature, already high, began to rise. “Do
not threaten me, Gabrielle. And don’t think the police can
give you any kind of protection. Certainly not from the
danger that’s pursuing you. For all we know, half the
precinct could be infested with Minions.”
She shook her head, adopting a calmer stance. “Okay,
this conversation is going from strange to deeply disturb-
ing. I’m done with it, understand?” She was speaking to
him slowly and quietly, as if attempting to soothe a froth-
ing dog that was crouched before her, ready to spring in at-
tack. “I’m going to leave now, Lucan. Please . . . don’t
follow me.”
When she took the first step away from him, what little
was left of Lucan’s control snapped its tether. He locked
his gaze down hard on hers and sent a fierce command
into her mind, ordering her to cease resisting him.
Give me your hand.
Now.
For a second, her legs stopped moving. Her fingers
grew a little restless at her side, then, slowly, her arm began
to lift toward him.
And, suddenly, his hold on her broke.
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He felt her force him out of her thoughts, disconnect-
ing him. The power of her will was an iron gate slamming
down between them, one he would have had a hard time
penetrating even if he’d been in optimal condition.
“What the hell?” she gasped, registering the trick for
what it was. “I heard you, just now, inside my head. My
God. You’ve done this to me before, haven’t you?”
“You’re not leaving me much choice, Gabrielle.”
He tried again. Felt her push against him, more desper-
ate this time. More afraid.
The back of her hand came up against her mouth, but
could not quite stifle the broken cry that leaked out of her.
She stumbled back off the curb.
Then bolted across the darkened street to escape him.
“Yo, kid. Grab the door for me, will ya?”
It took a second for the Minion to realize he was being
spoken to; he’d been so distracted by the sight of the
Maxwell woman on the street below the police station.
Even now, as he pulled open the door to let a pizza delivery
guy carrying four steaming pie boxes enter, his attention
remained rooted on the woman as she stepped off the curb
and ran across the street.
Like she was trying to leave someone in the dust behind
her.
The Minion looked to where a huge figure in black
stood, watching her flee. The male was immense—easily
six-and-a-half-feet tall, shoulders beneath his dark leather
jacket like they belonged on a linebacker. He radiated an
air of menace that could be felt all the way from the street
to where the Minion now stood, dumbstruck, still holding
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the station door open, even though the pizzas were cur-
rently parked at the receptionist desk inside.
Although he had never seen one of the vampire war-
riors his Master so openly despised, the Minion knew with-
out a doubt that he was witnessing precisely that now.
It was an opportunity sure to win him much esteem,
alerting his Master to the presence of both the woman and
the vampire with whom she seemed familiar, if not a little
terrified.
The Minion stepped inside the precinct house, his
palms moist with anticipation of the glory that awaited
him. Head down, positive in his ability to move around all
but ignored, he started across the lobby at a hasty clip.
He didn’t even see the pizza guy moving into his path
until he had crashed into him, head-on. A cardboard box
jabbed into his midsection and emitted a blast of garlic-
ripe steam before tumbling to the filthy linoleum, spilling
its contents around the Minion’s feet.
“Aw, man! That’s my next delivery you’re standing on.
Don’t you watch where you’re goin’ dude?”
He didn’t apologize, or even pause to kick the greasy
cheese and pepperoni off his shoe. Shoving his hand into
the pocket of his khakis, the Minion found his cell phone
and searched for somewhere private to make his important
call.
“Hold up a second, sport.”
It was the aging, balding officer standing in the lobby
who shouted after him now. Stuffed into his uniform for
what he’d boasted was his final few hours on the job,
Carrigan had been wasting time bullshitting with the
lobby receptionist.
The Minion disregarded the cop’s thunderous voice
behind him and kept walking, dropping his chin down and
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making a beeline for a stairwell door located near the pub-
lic john just off the lobby.
Carrigan puffed out his chest and gaped with obvious
disbelief as his self-perceived authority was utterly ignored.
“Hey, pencil neck! I’m talking to you. I said, get back
here and help clean this mess up—and I mean now, shit-
for-brains!”
“Clean it up yourself, you arrogant slob,” the Minion
muttered under his breath, then shoved open the metal
door to the stairs and began a quick jog down to a level
below.
Above him, that same door crashed open, hitting the
other side of the wall and shaking the steps like a sonic
boom. Carrigan leaned over the rail, his jowls corpulent
with rage. “What’d you just say to me? What the fuck did
you just call me, asshole?”
“You heard me. Now leave me alone, Carrigan. I have
better things to do.”
The Minion took out his cell phone, intending to con-
tact the only one who truly commanded him. But before
he could press the speed-dial button that would connect
him to his Master, the burly cop was launching himself
down the stairwell. A hamlike hand cuffed the side of the
Minion’s head. His ears rang, vision swimming with the
impact, as the cell phone jettisoned out of his grasp and
clattered onto the floor, several steps below.
“Thanks for giving me something to smile about my
last day on the job,” Carrigan taunted. He ran a fat finger
around the front of his too-tight collar, then casually
reached up to pat the sole remaining wisps of hair on his
brow back down where they’d been pasted before. “Now,
get your scrawny ass back up those stairs before I hand it to
you on a platter. Ya get me?”
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There was a time, before he’d met the one he called
Master, that a challenge like that—particularly from a
blowhard like Carrigan—would not have gone unmet.
But the sweating, sputtering cop glaring down on him
now was insignificant in light of the duties entrusted to
chosen ones like himself. The Minion simply blinked a few
times, then turned to retrieve his cell phone and continue
with his task at hand.
He only made it down two stairs before Carrigan was
on him again, heavy fingers clamping down hard on his
shoulder and forcibly wheeling him around. The Minion’s
eyes lit on a fancy ballpoint pen stuck into the shirt pocket
of Carrigan’s uniform. He recognized the commemora-
tive service emblem on the clip as he took another hard
knock to the skull.
“What are you, deaf and dumb? Get the hell outta my
sight, or I’ll—”
The abrupt choke and wheeze of Carrigan’s voice
snapped the Minion back to his senses. He saw his own
hand clutching the officer’s pen as it came down for a sec-
ond brutal plunge, the point of it burrowing deep into the
fleshy skin of Carrigan’s neck.
The Minion struck again and again with the makeshift
weapon, until the cop sank down to the floor in a savaged,
lifeless heap.
He loosened his fist and the pen dropped into a pool of
blood on the stairs, all but forgotten in the instant it took
him to dash down and grab up his cell phone once more.
He meant to place his crucial call immediately, but his eyes
kept drifting to this new mess he’d made, something that
wasn’t going to get swept away as easily as the pizza in the
lobby.
This had been a mistake, and any approval won from
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informing his Master of the Maxwell woman’s where-
abouts could be lost once it was discovered that he’d acted
so impulsively here. Killing without sanction might negate
everything.
But perhaps there was an even more certain path into
his Master’s good graces—a path that could be paved by
apprehending and delivering the woman to his Master in
person.
Yes, thought the Minion, that was a prize bound to impress.
Pocketing the cell phone, he turned back to extract
Carrigan’s weapon from its holster. Then he stepped over
the corpse and hurried out a back entrance to the station
Midnight Breed - Book - 01 Page 21