A Taste of Midnight (Midnight Breed #9.5)

Chapter 9



Thane, the guard who was no guard at all, gave Mal a grim look. "Reiver won't get far. Neither will his cronies. The Agency is aware of what was going down here tonight. My squad will be here any minute, if they're not waiting outside right now to round everyone up."

Malcolm gave a slow shake of his head. He couldn't trust anyone else to finish this. Not after everything he'd been through. He couldn't rest for a moment thinking Reiver or his murderous colleagues were still walking free, able to hurt more innocent people.

Able to hurt Danika or Connor, the two people who mattered more to him than anything else in his life.

He looked at Dani, his heart squeezing with a love so profound it rocked him. As determined as he was to see Reiver dead, there was only one thing that could keep him from pursuing that goal now. Danika could stop him. With a word, a tear, a pleading look.

But she held his gaze with a steady courage. A faith that humbled him, even as it gave him new resolve.

His strong, beautiful female.

His Breedmate, once this was finally over.

He knew what her courage right now cost her. It was written in her haunted blue eyes as she gave him a subtle nod of permission, of stoic understanding.

Malcolm gathered her close and brushed his mouth against hers in an unrushed kiss. "I have to finish this."

Her reply was quiet but resolved. "I know."

It was a struggle t c a ght="0em"o let her go, but he released her and glanced to Thane. "Keep her safe. I'm counting on you."

The other Breed male gave him a solemn nod. "You have my word."

Mal couldn't take his eyes off Danika. She held his gaze, her own unwavering, as proud and stalwart as the regal Nordic princess she truly was. "Go and finish this, Malcolm. Then come back to me, and never leave me again."


He came back to Danika two nights later, haggard and worn, but the most welcome sight she'd ever seen. She opened the door of her little farmhouse in Denmark and there was Malcolm, standing on the cold front stoop in the December moonlight, snowflakes dancing all around him. Her heart swelled so swiftly, she couldn't speak. And while the urge to throw herself into his arms was a need that arrowed through her as basic as the need for air, she held back, trying to read his grave, unsmiling expression.

"Reiver is dead," he told her. "The others too."

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding. Relief flooded her, not so much for the final justice Malcolm had delivered on his enemies but for the simple fact that he was standing in front of her now, whole and hale, safe and sound.

Mal didn't move. He cleared his throat. "Thane tells me his contact in Boston, an Enforcement Agency director by the name of Mathias Rowan, has alluded to big trouble brewing over there. If things get as ugly as Rowan and the Order seem to feel they will, Thane and his men may be called on to help them out."

The news worried her deeply. She'd been trying to get in touch with Gideon since she'd arrived home, but the private number she had for the Order's compound in Boston was out of service. Which had never happened in all the time the direct line to the warriors had existed.

If the Order was off grid-by their own choice or by force-and gearing up to combat something awful, she hated to imagine what that could mean.

"Thane's offered me a place in the Enforcement Agency," Mal added. "He wants me to be part of his team."

Danika's heart sank like a stone. The two days he'd been gone had been torture, but she'd made it through. She'd had faith because she knew he'd come back once he'd done what he had to do. She'd endured his absence because she trusted that when he returned, he'd be back to stay.

But she put on a brave face as she looked at him now. "When do you leave?"

"I turned him down, Dani." He took a step closer now and caught her face in the warm, callused palms of his hands. "There's only one place I want to be, and that's with you."

Elation filled her, but she couldn't celebrate if it was her fear for him that was holding him back. "Don't do this just for me, Mal. I know I f a ghould2019;ve told you that I can't bear the thought of you in danger, and it's true. But I don't want to be the one keeping you somewhere you don't want to be. I can't ask that of you."

"You didn't," he said, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Thane and his offer will wait, but this won't. I love you, Danika. Be with me. At my side, as my mate."

She held his intense gray gaze, love swelling inside her, filling her up with joy and hope. "Yes, Malcolm. I will be with you. As your mate, your partner, your friend."

He pulled her against him as an amber fire began to spark in his eyes. "My everything, Dani."

She gave him a happy nod. "Forever."

"Starting now," he said, possession raw and thrilling in the deep growl of his voice.

He kissed her passionately, the sharp points of his fangs grazing her lip with dark promise. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her into the house and up to her bed, where their forever was about to begin.

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"THE CHARGES ARE SET, Lucan. Detonators are ready whenever you say the word. On your go, it all ends right here."

Lucan Thorne stood silent in the dusk-filled, snow-covered yard of the Boston estate that had long served as a base of operations for himself and his small cadre of brothers in arms. For more than a hundred years, on countless patrols, they rode out from this very spot to guard the night, maintaining a fragile peace between the unwitting humans who owned the daytime hours and the predators who moved among them secretly, sometimes lethally, in the dark.

Lucan and his warriors of the Order dealt in swift, deadly justice and had never known the taste of defeat.

Tonight it was bitter on his tongue.

"Dragos will pay for this," he growled around the emerging points of his fangs.

Lucan's vision burned amber as he stared across the expansive lawn at the pale limestone facade of the Gothic mansion. A chaos of tire tracks scarred the grounds from the police chase that had crashed the compound's tall iron gates that morning and come to a bullet-riddled halt right at the Order's front door. Blood stained the snow where law enforcement gunfire had mowe n a gho a bd down three terrorists who'd bombed Boston's United Nations building then fled the scene with a dozen cops and every news station in the area in close pursuit.

All of it-from the attack on a human government facility, to the media-covered police chase of the suspects onto the compound's secured grounds-had been orchestrated by the Order's chief adversary, a power-mad vampire called Dragos.

He wasn't the first of the Breed to dream of a world where humankind lived to serve and served in fear. But where others before him with less commitment had failed, Dragos had demonstrated astonishing patience and initiative. He'd been carefully sowing the seeds of his rebellion for most of his long life, secretly cultivating followers within the Breed and making Minions of any humans he felt could help carry out his twisted goals.

For the past year and a half, since their discovery of Dragos's plans, Lucan and his brethren had kept him on the run. They had succeeded in driving him back, thwarting his every move and disrupting his operation.

Until today.

Today it was the Order pushed back and on the run, and Lucan didn't like it one damn bit.

"What's the ETA at the temporary headquarters?"

The question was aimed toward Gideon, one of the two warriors who'd remained behind with Lucan to wrap things up in Boston while the rest of the compound went ahead to an emergency safe house in northern Maine. Gideon glanced away from the small handheld computer in his palm and met Lucan's gaze over the rims of silvery blue shades. "Savannah and the other women have been on the road for nearly five hours, so they should be at the location in about thirty minutes. Niko and the other warriors are just a couple hours behind them."

Lucan gave a nod, grim but relieved that the abrupt relocation had come together as well as it had. There were a few loose ends and details yet to be managed, but so far everyone was safe and the damage Dragos had intended to inflict on the Order had been minimized.

Movement stirred on the other side of Lucan as Tegan, the other warrior who'd stayed behind, returned from the latest perimeter check. "Any problems?"

"None." Tegan's face showed no emotion, only grim purpose. "The two cops in the unmarked stakeout vehicle near the gates are still tranced and sleeping. After the hard memory scrub I gave them earlier today, there's a good chance they won't wake up until next week. And when they do, it'll be with one hellacious hangover."

Gideon grunted. "Better a mind scrub on a couple of Boston's finest than a very public bloodbath involving half the city's precincts and the feds combined."

"Damn straight," Lucan said, recalling the swarm of cops and reporters who had filled the estate grounds that morning. "If the situation had escalated and any of those cops or federal agents had decided to come banging on the mansion door … Christ, I'm sure I don't need to tell either of you how fast or ho sow ow fasw far things would have gone south."

Tegan's eyes were grave in the rising darkness. "Guess we've got Chase to thank for that."

"Yeah," Lucan replied. He'd lived a long time-nine hundred years and then some-but for however long he'd walk this Earth, he knew he would never forget the sight of Sterling Chase strolling out of the mansion and squarely into the aim of a lawn full of heavily armed cops and federal agents. He could have died several ways in that moment. If the adrenaline-fueled panic of any one of the armed men assembled in the yard hadn't killed him on the spot, spending longer than half an hour under the full blast of morning sunlight would have.

But Chase apparently hadn't cared about any of that as he'd allowed himself to be cuffed and led away by the human authorities. His surrender-his personal sacrifice-had bought the Order precious time. He had diverted attention from the mansion and what it concealed, giving Lucan and the others the chance to secure the subterranean compound and mobilize the evacuation of its residents once the sun set.

After a string of bad calls and personal fuck-ups, most recently a failed strike against Dragos that had inadvertently landed Chase's face on the national news, he was the last of the warriors Lucan would have turned to for answers. What he had done today was nothing short of astonishing, if not suicidal.

Then again, Sterling Chase had been on a self-destructive path for some time now. Maybe this was his way of nailing that coffin shut once and for all.

Gideon raked a hand over the top of his spiky blond hair and exhaled a curse. "Fucking lunatic. I can't believe he actually did it."

"It should have been me." Lucan glanced between Tegan and Gideon, the warrior who'd been with him when he'd first founded the Order in Europe and the one who'd helped him establish the warriors' home base in Boston centuries later. "I'm the Order's leader. If there was a sacrifice to be made to spare everyone else, I should have been the one to step up."

Tegan eyed him grimly. "How long do you think Chase would have been able to keep his Bloodlust at bay? Whether he's in human custody or loose on the streets, his thirst owns him. He's lost and he knows that. He knew it when he walked out that door this morning. He had nothing left to lose."

Lucan grunted. "And now he's sitting in police custody somewhere, surrounded by humans. He might have spared us from discovery today, but what if his thirst gets the better of him and he ends up exposing the existence of all the Breed? One moment of heroism could undo centuries of secrecy."

Tegan's expression was coldly sober. "I guess we'll have to trust him."

"Trust," Lucan said. "That's a currency he's come up short on more than once lately."

Unfortunately, right now, they didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. Dragos had demonstrated quite effectively just how f sly "justifyar he was willing to take his enmity toward the Order. He had no regard for life, human or his own kind, and as of today, he'd shown that he would take their power struggle out of the shadows and into the open. It was dangerous ground, with impossibly high stakes.

And it was personal now. Dragos had crossed a line here, and there would be no going back.

Lucan glanced at Gideon. "It's time. Hit the detonators. Let's get this done."

The warrior gave a slight nod and turned his attention back to his handheld computer. "Ah, fuck me," he muttered, the traces of his British accent punctuating the curse. "Here we go then."

The three Breed males stood side by side in the crisp, cold darkness. Above them the sky was clear and cloudless, endless black, pierced with stars. Everything was still, as if Earth and the heavens had frozen in time, suspended in that instant between the silence of a perfect winter night and the first low rumble of the destruction unfolding roughly three hundred feet beneath the warriors' boots. It seemed to carry on forever, not some great bombastic spectacle of furious noise and spewing fire and ash but a quiet yet thorough annihilation.

"The living quarters have been sealed," Gideon reported somberly as the thunder began to ebb. He touched the screen of his handheld device and another series of deep growls rolled from far below the snow-covered ground. "The weapons room, the infirmary … both gone now."

Lucan didn't allow himself to dwell on the memories or the history that was housed in the labyrinth of rooms and corridors being systematically exploded with a touch of Gideon's finger on that tiny computer screen. It had taken more than a hundred years to build the compound into what it had become. He couldn't deny that it put a cold ache in his chest to feel it being pulled down so neatly.


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