Midnight Breed - Book - 01
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the Darkhavens, with me. Away from your damned war!”
Rio made the sound in his throat again, more plaintive
now. It was unmistakably a sound of agony, although
whether it stemmed from physical discomfort or the dis-
tress of hearing what was happening around him, was un-
clear.
Lucan gave a slow shake of his head. “That’s a call you
can’t make for him, Eva. You didn’t have the right. This is
Rio’s war, as much as anyone else’s. It is what he believed
in—what I know he still believes in, even after what you
have done to him. This war belongs to all of the Breed.”
She scoffed acidly. “Ironic of you to think so, when you
are only a few steps away from turning Rogue yourself.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dante hissed from where he stood
nearby. “You’re wrong, Eva. You are fucking disturbed.”
“Am I?” Her gaze remained rooted on Lucan, sadistic
in her glee. “I’ve been watching you, Lucan. I’ve seen you
struggle with your hunger when you think no one is
around. Your façade of control does not fool me.”
“Eva,” Gabrielle said, a voice of calm washing over the
tension in the room. “You are upset. You don’t know what
you’re saying.”
She laughed. “Ask him to deny it. Ask him why he de-
prives himself of blood until he is nearly starving for it!”
Lucan said nothing in response to the very public accu-
sations, because he knew them to be true.
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So did Gabrielle.
It moved him that she would rise to his defense, but this
moment wasn’t so much about him as it was Rio and the
deception that would shatter the warrior. Perhaps already
had, judging from the increased sawing of the male’s
bandaged limbs and his struggling to speak past his in-
juries.
“How did you strike this bargain, Eva? How did you
make contact with the Rogues—one of your day trips top-
side?”
She exhaled with mocking humor. “It wasn’t so hard.
There are Minions walking around all over the city. You
only have to look. I found one and told him to put me in
touch with his Master.”
“Who was it?” Lucan demanded. “What did he look
like?”
“I don’t know. We met just once and he kept his face
hidden. He wore dark glasses and kept the lights off in the
hotel room. I didn’t care who he was or what he looked
like. All that mattered was that he is powerful enough to
make things happen. I only wanted his promise.”
“I can imagine what he made you pay for it.”
“It was just a couple of hours with him. I would have
paid anything,” she said, no longer looking at Lucan, or
everyone else who was gaping at her in disgust, but instead
staring down at Rio. “I would do anything for you, my dar-
ling. I would bear . . . anything.”
“You may have made a bargain with your body,”
Lucan said, “but it was Rio’s trust you sold.”
A rasp slipped from between Rio’s parched lips as Eva
cooed and caressed him. His eyelids fluttered open. There
was a shallow, gasping breath as he tried to form words.
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“I . . .” He coughed, his wracked body spasming.
“Eva . . .”
“Oh, my love—yes, I’m here!” she cried. “Tell me what
you need, baby.”
“Eva . . .” His throat worked in silence for a moment,
and then he tried again. “I . . . denounce . . . you.”
“What?”
“Dead . . .” He moaned, his mental pain no doubt
deeper than the physical, but the fierce look in his bleary,
bloodshot eyes said he would not be deterred. “No longer
exist . . . to me . . . you are . . . dead.”
“Rio, don’t you understand? I did this for us!”
“Leave,” he gasped. “Never . . . see you . . . again . . .”
“You can’t mean that.” She lifted her head, her eyes
darting frantically. “He doesn’t mean that! He can’t! Rio,
tell me you don’t mean that!”
When she tried to reach for him, Rio growled, using
what little strength he had to shun her touch. Eva let out a
sob. Blood from his wounds covered the front of her
clothes. She stared down at the stains she bore, then over
to Rio, who had now shut her out completely.
What happened next took only a few seconds at most,
but it played out as if time itself had slowed to a merciless
crawl.
Eva’s stricken gaze lit on Rio’s weapon belt lying next
to the bed.
A look of resolve crossed her face as she lunged for one
of the blades.
She raised the gleaming dagger up near her face.
Whispered to Rio that she would always love him.
Then Eva flipped the weapon around in her hand and
pressed it to her throat.
“Eva, no!” Gabrielle screamed, her body jerking in re-
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flex as if she thought she could save the other female. “Oh,
my God, no!”
Lucan held her at his side. He swiftly took her in his
arms and turned her face into his chest, shielding her from
seeing Eva slice through her own jugular and fall, bleeding
and lifeless, to the floor.
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C H A P T E R
Twenty-eight
W
Fresh out of the shower in Lucan’s bedroom suite,
Gabrielle toweled off her wet hair and slipped into a plush
white terry-cloth robe. She was exhausted, having spent
the better part of the day with Savannah and Danika, the
three of them helping Gideon attend to Rio and Lucan.
Everyone in the compound moved in a state of numb dis-
belief over Eva’s betrayal and the tragic outcome that left
her dead at her own hand and Rio clinging precariously to
life.
Lucan was in bad shape as well, but true to his word
and his stubborn volition, he had left the infirmary on his
own motor to rest in his personal suites. Gabrielle was as-
tonished that he had accepted any care at all, but between
the other women and herself, there hadn’t been any hope
of his refusing.
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Gabrielle felt a swelling sense of relief when she
opened the bathroom door and found him seated on the
massive bed, his back propped up against the headboard
with several pillows. Although his cheek and brow were
stitched and bandages covered much of his broad chest
and limbs, he was recovering. He was whole, and in time,
he would be healed.
Like her, he wore nothing but a white terry robe; it was
all the women had permitted him to put on after they’d
spent hours cleaning and patching up contusions and
bloody shrapnel wounds, which peppered so much of his
body.
“Feel better?” Lucan asked, staring as she ran her fin-
gers through her damp hair to push it out of her face. “I
thought you might be hungry once you came out of
there.”
“I’m starved.”
He gestured to a squat cocktail table in the sitting area
of the bedroom, but Gabrielle’s nose had already picked
up on the impressive buffet. French bread, garlic and
spices, tomato sauce, and cheese wafted from across the
room. She saw a plate of field greens and a cup of fresh
fruit, even something dark and chocolate-looking amid all
the other temptations. She wandered over for a closer look,
her stomach growling in anticipation.
“Manicotti,” she said, breathing in the pasta’s aromatic
fumes. A bottle of red wine had been uncorked beside a
crystal glass. “And chianti?”
“Savannah wanted to know if you had any favorite
foods. It was all I could think of.”
It was the meal she’d made for herself the night he had
come back to her apartment to return her cell phone. The
meal that sat cold and forgotten on her counter while she
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and Lucan went at it like minks. “You remembered what I
was cooking that night?”
He gave a mild shrug. “Sit down. Eat.”
“There’s only one place setting.”
“Were you expecting company?”
She looked at him. “You really can’t eat any of this?
Not even a bite?”
“If I did, I could only stomach a small amount.” He
motioned for her to take a seat. “Eating human food is
merely for appearances.”
“All right.” Gabrielle sat on the floor cross-legged. She
slid the creamy linen napkin out from under the silverware
and draped it over her lap. “But it doesn’t seem fair for me
to stuff my face in front of you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had enough female fussing
and concern for one day.”
“Suit yourself.”
She was too hungry to wait another second and the
meal looked far too delicious to resist. Using the edge of
her fork, Gabrielle cut off a bite of the manicotti and
chewed it in a state of absolute bliss. She ate half of it in
record time, pausing only to pour a glass of wine, which
she also consumed with ravenous delight.
The whole time, Lucan watched her from the bed.
“Good?” he asked when she flicked a sheepish glance
at him over the rim of her wineglass.
“Fantastic,” she murmured, shoveling in a mouthful of
vinegarette-drenched field greens. Her stomach was much
happier now. She swallowed the last bite of salad, then
poured another half glass of chianti, and settled back with
a sigh. “Thank you for this. I’ll have to thank Savannah,
too. She didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“She likes you,” Lucan said, his studious expression
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unreadable. “You were a big help last night. Thank you for
looking after Rio and the others. Myself, as well.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do.” The small, stitched gash in his forehead
bunched up with his scowl. “You’ve been kind and giving
all along, and I—” He broke off, muttering something un-
der his breath. “I appreciate what you did, that’s all.”
Oh, she thought, that’s all. Even his gratitude came fully
equipped with emotional barriers now.
Suddenly feeling too much like an outsider with him at
the moment, she was more than willing to change the sub-
ject.
“I hear Tegan made it back in one piece.”
“Yes. But Dante and Niko nearly tore him apart on
sight, after he pulled that disappearing act during the
raid.”
“What happened to him last night?”
“One of the Rogues tried to slip out a back door at the
warehouse as things heated up. Tegan tailed him into the
street. He was going to take the suckhead out, but decided
to follow him first, see where he might run. He tracked him
to the old asylum outside the city. Place was crawling with
Rogues. If there was any doubt, now we’re certain it’s a
large colony. Probably an East Coast headquarters.”
A chill went through her when she thought that she had
been to the asylum by herself—had been inside the place—
unaware that it was a Rogue location.
“I have some pictures of the interior. They’re still in my
camera. I didn’t have a chance to unload them yet.”
Lucan had gone stock-still, staring at her as if she just
told him she’d been playing with live grenades. His face
seemed to go a bit more ashen beneath its fatigued pallor.
“You not only went there, but you broke in to the place?”
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She shrugged, guiltily.
“Jesus Christ, Gabrielle.” He threw his legs over the
side of the bed and sat there for a long moment, just look-
ing at her. It took him a while to form words. “You might
have been killed. Do you realize that?”
“I wasn’t,” she answered, lame observation, but still
fact.
“Not the point.” He ran both hands deep into the hair
at his temples. “Shit. Where’s your camera?”
“I left it in the lab.”
Lucan picked up the phone beside his bed and speed
dialed on intercom. Gideon came on the other end.
“Hey, what’s up. Everything good?”
“Yeah,” Lucan said, but he was glaring at Gabrielle.
“Tell Tegan to put the asylum recon detail on hold for now.
I just found out we’ve got pictures of the interior.”
“No shit?” There was a pause. “Ah, fuck me. You
mean, she actually went in the goddamn place?”
Lucan arched a wry I-told-you-so brow at her. “Load
the images from the camera and tell the others we’ll meet
in an hour to discuss the new strategy. I think we just may
have saved some crucial time here.”
“Right. See you in sixty.”
The call ended with a click of the intercom.
“Tegan was going to go back to the asylum?”
“Yeah,” Lucan replied. “A likely suicide mission since
he was lunatic enough to insist that he infiltrate solo
tonight to gather intel on the place. Not that anyone was
going to persuade him differently, least of all me.”
He got up off the bed and began inspecting some of his
bandages. A
s he shifted, the top of his robe sagged open,
revealing most of his chest and a wedge of his abdomen.
The unique markings on his chest were a pale shade of
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henna, lighter than they had been last night. Now they
looked as sallow as the rest of him. Parched and nearly col-
orless.
“Why are you and Tegan at such odds with each
other?” she asked, keeping a close eye on him as she dared
the question that had been on her mind ever since Lucan
had mentioned the warrior’s name. “What happened be-
tween you?”
At first, she didn’t think he was going to say anything.
He kept prodding his injuries, testing the flex of his arms
and legs in silence. Then, just about the time she would
have given up, he said, “Tegan blames me for taking some-
thing from him. Something he cherished.” He looked
squarely at her now. “His Breedmate died. By my hand.”
“Good lord,” she whispered. “Lucan . . . how?”
He frowned, glanced away again. “Things were differ-
ent in the Old Times when Tegan and I first knew each
other. Warriors, for the most part, chose not to take
Breedmates because the dangers were too great. There
were few of us in the Order then, and protecting our fam-
ilies was difficult when combat took us leagues away from
them, often for months at a time.”
“What about the Darkhavens? Wouldn’t they have pro-
vided some protection?”
“There were fewer of those then, too. And even less
that would welcome the risk of housing a warrior’s
Breedmate. We, and those we loved, were consistent tar-
gets of Rogue violence. Tegan knew all of this, but he
bonded himself to a female anyway. Not long afterward,
she was captured by the Rogues. They tortured her. Raped
her. And before they sent her back to him, they nearly
drained her. She was an empty husk—worse than that, she
was made a Minion of the Rogue who ruined her.”
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“Oh, my God,” Gabrielle gasped, horrified.
Lucan sighed, as if the weight of the memories pressed
hard on him. “Tegan went insane with rage. He became
like an animal, slaughtering everything in his path. He
would appear so awash in gore that many thought he had
bathed in blood. He gorged himself in his fury, and, for