Dreams of a Dark Warrior

TWENTY-SEVEN

“I never expected this from you,” Webb told him. His military bearing was even more pronounced tonight, though he used to relax around Declan. “Never from you, son.”

Webb’s censure was killing him. Declan respected him more than any other man. It was bad enough that Declan had fucked up so completely, but for Webb to know about his transgression was too much.

“Your clearance will be downgraded. Your print won’t work on prisoners’ bindings.”

Not mind-wiped? Not cast out?

“And Fegley will take over your captures.”

“You’re putting him in charge of Malkom Slaine?”

“Fegley’s loyal to this cause. Loyal to the bone.”

“He gets off on the power here.”

“As opposed to getting off on the inmates here?” Webb rubbed his hand over his face. “You know I look upon you as a son. And your work here isn’t finished. I will try to smooth this over as best as I can.”

Fixing things for me yet again.

“But, Declan, I have to know you can beat this obsession with the Valkyrie.”

“Consider it beaten.” There was no gut-wrenching pain in his body, no urgency or crippling tension. Inside he felt cold as ash.

It didn’t matter whether Declan believed she had the power to destroy him. She had, which meant she’d been actively endeavoring to murder him. All the seduction, all the charm to win him over … all bullshite.

He’d been an easy mark, yearning for what she’d seemed to offer.

And until he’d discovered the truth, he’d at last had the briefest taste of … peace.

Now he knew exactly what he was missing. Fuckin’ hate her!

“How can I trust that?” Webb demanded. “When you broke every regulation to see her repeatedly in your quarters? You of all people should know what they’re capable of. Have you forgotten about your parents? How do you think they’d feel about your involvement with a female who’s not human?”

Declan stared straight ahead, berating himself for this fall far worse than Webb ever could.

“It’s us against them. There’s no middle ground. You’re either on our side or you align with the detrus that fed on your family. Fed on you. What’s it to be, Declan?”

“I’m loyal to the Order.”

“Good. Then you’ll accompany Fegley in Slaine’s capture, shadow the warden for once. Just as a pre-caution.”

The idea grated. “Why?”

“Because you’re the only one who could stop that demon if he got loose on our plane. After that, you’ll take some time off base.”

“Now, sir?” Who would interrogate Slaine? Who would make sure his blood got destroyed so no one was ever tempted to miscreate another like him?

Webb steepled his fingers, a gesture Declan now realized he’d emulated. He’d emulated much about the man. “I’d been coming to see you tonight to tell you some exciting news, the kind you crave most. But now I don’t know if you deserve the mission. …”

Declan’s body shot through with tension. “You found Neoptera.” Their nests were rare; it’d been years since Declan had encountered any of their kind.

“Yes. In southern Australia.”

Only a few hours away by chopper. This could be an opportunity to prove himself—and the chance to do what he loved above all things.

Slaughtering Neoptera. Hatred so vicious it burns cold.

“I need this, sir.”

“Yes.” The man gazed at him shrewdly. “I think it’s exactly what you need.”

The stench of rotting flesh engulfed Declan and his men as they closed in on an abandoned warehouse. The smell of old victims.

Which meant that they’d found the Neo nest. At last.

He and his team had dusted off directly after Slaine’s successful capture, and for the better part of a week they’d hunted along the murky quays of southern Australia.

He waved half his men toward the back of the building to block off the only other exit. They wore night-vision goggles and had their sidearms drawn. No TEP-Cs tonight—this was going to be a close-quarter bug hunt.

Declan had unsheathed his sword and was ready to get his hands dirty. Ready to prove himself.

He’d gotten through Slaine’s capture without throttling Fegley—a feat in itself. Acting as a mere fail-safe in the background, Declan had done nothing, just watched another heading his mission.

He’d even held his tongue as Fegley had taunted him. Apparently the warden had put two and two together: Declan’s interest in the Valkyrie, followed by his downgraded clearance.

“Golden boy Chase,” he’d said. “Not so perfect after all. Got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

Declan shook away those thoughts, needing to stay focused. Already he was in strung-out shape. For days, he’d been unable—or unwilling—to sleep. To dream.

When they reached the entrance, he motioned for his team to activate their goggles, then feigned doing so as well, though he’d never needed them.

Inside the dark warehouse, the stench was pervasive. Four bodies lay tied, gagged, mutilated. An adult male and female and two children. A family.

Memories threatened to swamp Declan—scenes from a time when he had been bound and tormented, knowing death was coming.

Pleading for it.

Seeing the victims’ wounds made his own skin crawl. His raised scars grew hypersensitive, as if he could still feel the injuries that had wrought them—

A male Neo swooped down on him, delivering a blow that hurtled him across the space. Four other creatures attacked as one.

Declan tasted blood, ripped off his goggles. His heart began thundering in his ears, his muscles burgeoning.

He spat a mouthful of blood, then charged into the fray.

Gore splattered thickly over the walls as Declan stabbed the last Neo, pinning its powerful body to the ground.

This one was the fourth he’d felled. His team had taken down the other.

Looming over the creature, Declan pierced its thorax to immobilize it, then unhurriedly twisted his sword as it thrashed. Its compound eyes stared up at him with sentience. When it lashed out its prehensile tongue, Declan eagerly punished it with another onerous twist of the blade, unable to disguise his satisfaction.

His men regarded him uneasily. They were hardened black-ops soldiers—mercenaries, assassins—and he was raising brows?

Never had he experienced camaraderie with them. For them, the Order was a job. It was Declan’s life.

And they could never appreciate retribution like this—because they hadn’t earned the right to it. …

In time, he slammed his boot down against the Neo’s head, wrenching free his sword to strike the killing blow.

But as he raised his weapon, Declan hesitated.

For years, he’d dreaded the effects of Neo blood, had wondered endlessly why they’d forced him to drink of their dead.

Now he realized they’d probably done it just to keep him conscious and alive for longer, nourishing him as they fed from fresh prey.

There was a more likely explanation for Declan’s abilities. Going down swinging …

Had he accepted that he was a berserker? No. But the mere possibility made Declan shake loose his old dread, made him accept that these beings would have no hold over his future.

They would never take more from him than what he’d already yielded—days of his life, pieces of his flesh …

My family.

With a savage yell, he swung, decapitating the creature. Done. It’s done.

Inhaling for calm, he ordered the team to do a cleanup, then trudged out into the humid night air to wipe down his sword.

With no more leads in this city, they’d be returning to the facility days early. Probably just as well; once this adrenaline rush waned, he’d be completely exhausted.

As he gazed down the dimly-lit quay, he acknowledged that the Valkyrie had been right about one thing. He was never meant to run a facility, to torture day in and day out. He was a hunter through and through. He should be in the thick of the fray.

And again, his thoughts returned to Regin.

As far as she was concerned, he was dead inside. He didn’t give a damn about the Valkyrie, didn’t hate her, just felt numb when he thought of her.

Aye, cold as ash.

So why did I order Vincente to watch over her while I was gone?