It rang six times.
Seven.
Eight...
Chapter Fifteen
Lucan grabbed his cell phone from out of his leather jacket, a curse rolling hard off his tongue.
Gabrielle... again.
She had called him earlier as well, but he'd had to let it go unanswered. He'd been stalking a drug dealer whom he'd first spotted selling crack to a teenaged streetwalker outside a seedy tavern. Lucan had mentally steered his prey down a quiet back alley, and was just about to lunge in attack when Gabrielle's first call of the night had rung like a car alarm going off in his pocket. He had clicked the device into silent mode, berating himself for the uncustomary lack of sense that had made him carry the damned thing on his hunt in the first place.
Hunger and injury had made him careless. But the sudden bark of noise in the darkened street had proved a benefit to him in the end.
His strength was subpar and the cagey dealer had scented danger on the wind, even though Lucan had kept to the shadows, trailing his quarry unseen. The guy had been twitchy, anxious. He'd drawn a handgun halfway down the narrow street, and while bullet wounds were seldom fatal to Lucan's kind - unless you were talking a head shot, delivered at pointblank range - he wasn't sure his compromised, recovering body would be able to absorb the impact of a further injury today.
Not to mention the fact that it just would have pissed him off, and he was already in a seriously foul mood.
So, when the ring of the cell phone sent the dealer into a startled left-right-left spin as he tried to determine the source of the noise behind him, Lucan had sprung on him. He had taken the guy down fast, sinking his fangs into the vein in the human's neck, which bulged tautly in that instant before terror forced breath enough through the man's lungs for him to scream.
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 already had tonight. Better to give this nourishment a chance to take hold before he risked getting greedy, and taking a tailspin toward Bloodlust.
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 contempt. 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, thinking 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 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 something 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 determined 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 would turn onto the street where the police station was located. 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 perception, saw him at once.
He heard the sudden intake of air skate across the receiver 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 fantasies? Maybe you're something worse than that."
"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 disturbing. I'm done with it, understand?" She was speaking to him slowly and quietly, as if attempting to soothe a frothing dog that was crouched before her, ready to spring in attack. "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.
He felt her force him out of her thoughts, disconnecting 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 desperate 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 the station door open, even though the pizzas were currently parked at the receptionist desk inside.
Although he had never seen one of the vampire warriors his Master so openly despised, the Minion knew without 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 making a beeline for a stairwell door located near the public 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 contact 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?"
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.