Dangerous thinking, no matter how he chose to look at it.
He let the discussion about the raid continue, agreeing that they needed to start hitting the Rogues where they lived, rather than picking them off individually as they ran across them in the street. "We'll meet back in here at sundown to suit up and head out."
The group of warriors began conversing amongst themselves as they dispersed, Tegan sauntering along at the rear.
Lucan considered the stoic loner, who took such damnable pride in the fact that he didn't need anyone. Tegan willfully kept himself detached, isolated. But he hadn't always been like that. Once, he'd been a golden boy, a born leader. He could have been great - had been, in fact. But all of that changed in the course of one terrible night. From there, a steep downward spiral began. Tegan hit bottom and had never recovered.
And although he had never admitted it to the warrior, Lucan would never forgive himself for the role he had played in that fall.
"Tegan. Hold up."
The vampire paused with obvious reluctance. He didn't turn around, just stood there in silence, his back held at an arrogant angle as the other warriors filed out of the training facility and into the corridor. When they were alone, Lucan cleared his throat and spoke to his Gen One brethren.
"You and I have a problem, Tegan."
He exhaled sharply. "I'll go alert the media."
"This issue between us isn't going to go away. It's been too long, too much water over the dam. If you need to settle the score with me - "
"Forget it. It's ancient history."
"Not if we can't bury it."
Tegan scoffed, turning to look at him at last. "You got a point here, Lucan?"
"I just want to say that I think I'm starting to understand what it cost you. What I cost you." Lucan slowly shook his head, ran a hand over his scalp. "T, you have to know that if there had been any other way... If things could've gone down differently..."
"Jesus Christ. Are you trying to apologize to me?" Tegan's green eyes were hard enough to cut glass. "Spare me the concern, man. You're about five-hundred years too late. And sorry doesn't change a fucking thing, does it?"
Lucan clamped his jaws together, stunned to feel true anger rolling off the big male, instead of the usual cool apathy.
Tegan hadn't forgiven him. Not even close.
After all this time, he didn't think it likely that he ever would.
"No, T. You're right. Sorry doesn't change anything."
Tegan stared at him for a long moment, then turned away and stalked out of the room.
Live music screamed out of refrigerator-sized amplifiers at the front of the private underground nightclub - although "music" was a generous description of the band's pathetic caterwauling and discordant guitar riffs. The group moved robotically on the stage, slurring their words and dropping far more beats than they hit. In a word, they sucked.
But then, who could expect the humans to perform with any sort of expertise when they were playing before a crowd of bloodthirsty, feeding vampires?
From behind his concealing shades, the leader of the Rogues narrowed his eyes and scowled. He had a thrashing headache when he'd arrived a short while ago; now his temples felt as if they were about to explode. He leaned back against the cushions of his private booth, bored with the gory festivities. A slight lift of his hand brought one of his sentries jogging over. He waved dismissively toward the stage.
"Someone put them out of their misery. Not to mention mine."
The guard nodded, then hissed in reply. He curled back his lips to reveal huge fangs protruding from a mouth that was already watering at the mere mention of more carnage. The Rogue loped off to carry out his orders.
"Good dog," murmured his powerful Master.
He was glad for the sudden trill of his cell phone, and a reason to get up for some air. A new racket had begun on-stage, now, as the band came under the sudden assault of a pack of frenzied Rogues.
With the club erupting in full-on anarchy, the leader strode to a private backstage room, and took the ringing cell phone from his inside suitcoat pocket. He had expected to see the untraceable number of one of his many Minions, most of whom had been dispatched to gather information on Gabrielle Maxwell and her apparent involvement with the Breed.
But this was not one of them.
He could tell as much even before he flipped open the device and saw the blocked ID flashing on the display.
Intrigued, he picked up the call. The voice on the other end was not unfamiliar to him. He had done some illicit business with the individual recently and they still had a few things to discuss. At his prompting, the caller relayed details about a raid being hatched that very night on one of the smaller Rogue cells in the city.
In a matter of seconds, he was given everything he needed to make sure the raid turned in his favor - the location, the warriors' intended method and route, their basic plan of attack - all on the condition that one member of the Breed be spared retaliation. This sole warrior was not to be exempt entirely, however, only wounded enough that he would never be able to fight again. The fate of the rest, including the nearly unstoppable Lucan Thorne, was for the Rogues to decide.
Lucan's death had been part of their agreement once before, but execution of the task had not gone quite as planned. This time, the caller wanted assurances that the deed would, in fact, be carried out. Even went so far as to remind him that he had been given considerable compensation for the act, but had yet to make good on his part.
"I am well aware of our bargain," he seethed into the cell phone. "Do not tempt me to demand further payment from you. I promise you will regret it."
He snapped the device shut on a black curse, cutting short the politic backpedaling that had begun on the heels of his threat.
The dermaglyphs at his wrist pulsed with the deep hue of his rage, colors shifting within the pattern of other markings that had been tattooed on his skin as a form of disguise. He scowled at the need to hide his lineage - his birthright - with crude ink and secrecy. He loathed the necessity of his shadowy existence, almost as much as he did all those who stood in the way of his goals.
He was fuming as he stalked back inside the main area of the club. Through the dark, his gaze lit at once on his lieutenant, the only Rogue in recent history to have looked Lucan Thorne in the eyes and lived to tell about it. He gestured for the huge male to come over, then gave him orders for carrying out the night's fun and games.
Regardless of his secret negotiations, when the smoke cleared tonight, he wanted Lucan and all of the other warriors with him to be dead.
Chapter Twenty-five
He avoided her the rest of the day, which Gabrielle figured was probably just as well. Now, just past dusk, Lucan and the five other warriors strode out of the training facility as a unit, each of them a picture of menace in black leather and deadly weaponry. Even Gideon was joining in tonight's raid, going out in place of Conlan.
Waiting in the corridor to see them off, Savannah and Eva went to their mates and took them in long embraces. Soft, private words were exchanged in low, loving voices. Tender kisses spoke of a woman's fear and a man's strong reassurances that he would return safely to her.
Gabrielle stood some distance away in the hall, feeling so much an outsider as she watched Lucan say something to Savannah. The Breedmate nodded and he put a small object in her hand, his gaze trailing past her shoulder to light on Gabrielle. He said nothing, made no move to approach her, but his eyes lingered, drinking her in across the wide space that separated them now.
And then he was gone.
Striding ahead of the others, Lucan turned a corner at the far end of the corridor and disappeared. The rest of his cadre followed, leaving nothing but the hard clip of boot heels and the metallic jangle of steel in their wake.
"You okay?" Savannah asked, coming up to Gabrielle and wrapping a gentle arm around her shoulders.
"Yeah. I'll be fine."
"He wanted me to give you this." She held out Gabrielle's cell phone. "A peace offering of some sort?"
Gabrielle took it, nodding her head in agreement. "Things aren't going well between us right now."
"I'm sorry. Lucan said he trusts you'll understand you can't leave the compound, or tell your friends where you are. But if you need to call them..."
"Thank you." She looked up at Gideon's mate and managed a small smile.
"If you want some privacy, just make yourself at home anywhere you like." Savannah hugged her briefly, then glanced to Eva as the other woman came over to join them.
"I don't know about anyone else," Eva said, her beautiful face drawn with worry, "but I could use a drink. Or three."
"Maybe we all could use a little wine and company," Savannah replied. "Gabrielle, you come join us when you're ready. We'll be in my place."
"Okay. Thanks."
The two women moved off together, speaking quietly, their arms linked as they walked up the snaking corridor toward Savannah's and Gideon's apartments. Gabrielle wandered in the other direction, not sure where she wanted to be.
That wasn't actually true. She wanted to be with Lucan, in his arms, but she'd better get over that desperate wish, and quick. She wasn't about to beg him to want her, and assuming he made it back from tonight's raid in one piece, she had better prepare herself to put him out of her mind completely.
She strolled toward an open door down one quiet, dimly lit spoke of the hallway. A candle burned somewhere inside the empty chamber, the only light in the place. The solitude, and the smells of faded incense and old wood drew her in. It was the compound's chapel; she remembered passing it on her tour with Savannah.
Gabrielle walked between two rows of bench seats, toward a raised pedestal at the front of the chamber. It was there that the candle burned, a thick red pillar of slow-melting wax, its flame nestled deep in the core radiating a soft crimson glow. She sat down on one of the front row benches and simply breathed for a while, letting the peace of the sanctuary wash over her.
She flipped open her cell phone. The message symbol was blinking. Gabrielle hit the voicemail button and listened to the first call. It was from Megan, time stamped two days ago, around the same time she'd been calling Gabrielle's apartment following the Minion attack in the park.
"Gabby, it's me again. I've left a bunch of messages for you at home, but you haven't called me back. Where are you? I'm really getting worried! I don't think you should be alone after what happened. Call me back as soon as you get this - and I mean the very second you get this, okay?"
Gabrielle erased it and moved on to the next message, left last night at 11 P.M. Kendra's voice came on, sounding a little tired.
"Hey, there. You home? Pick up if you are. Shit, I guess it's kinda late - sorry about that. You're probably sleeping. So, I've been meaning to call you guys, try to hook up for drinks or something, maybe hit another club? How about tomorrow night? Call me."
Well, at least Kendra was safe as of a few hours ago. That took away some of Gabrielle's concern. But there was still the matter of the guy she'd been seeing. The Rogue, Gabrielle amended, feeling a shiver of fear for her friend's unwitting proximity to the same danger that was currently dogging her own heels.
She skipped to the last message. Megan again, from just a couple of hours ago.
"Hi, sweetie. Just checking in. Are you ever going to call me and tell me how it went at the station the other night? I'm sure your detective was glad to see you, but you know I'm dying to hear in detail just how glad he was."
Megan's voice was calm and teasing, perfectly normal. Completely changed from the panic of her earlier messages at Gabrielle's home and on the cell.
God, that's right.
Because to her, and to her cop boyfriend as well, there was no reason to be alarmed about anything since Lucan had wiped their memories.
"Anyway, I'm meeting Jamie for dinner tonight at Ciao Bella - your favorite. If you can make it, swing by. We'll be there at seven. Save you a seat."
Gabrielle clicked erase and checked the clock on the cell phone: 7:20.
She owed it to her friends to at least call and let them know she was all right. And part of her longed to hear their voices, her only connection to the life she knew before Lucan Thorne turned her entire world upside down. She speed-dialed Megan's cell and waited anxiously as it rang. Muffled talking came over the receiver in the second before her friend said hello.
"Hi, Meg."
"Oh, hey - there you are! Jamie, it's Gabby!"
"Where is that girl? She coming, or what?"
"I don't know yet. Gabby, are you gonna join us?"
Gabrielle listened to the familiar chaos of her friends' chatter and wished she could be there. She wished she could go back to the way things were, before...
"I, ah... I can't. Something's come up, and I..."
"She's busy," Megan told Jamie. "Where are you, anyway? Kendra called me looking for you today. She said she went by your apartment but it didn't look like you were home."
"Kendra stopped by? Have you seen her?"
"No, but she wants to get together with all of us. Sounds like she's done with that guy from the club."
"Brent," Jamie supplied loudly and dramatically over Megan's voice.
"They broke up?"
"I don't know," Megan replied. "I asked her how it was going and she just said she's not seeing him anymore."
"Good," Gabrielle said, so very relieved. "That's really good news."
"So, what about you? What's so important that you can't come out for dinner tonight?"