Dreams of a Dark Warrior

TWO

Late for what? What the hell had the soothsayer meant? Declan was half-tempted to confront Nïx, but she was not to be engaged, by his commander’s order.

So for now he bided his time, pursuing the pair of Valkyrie. Since his Humvee stood no chance of keeping up with Regin’s sports car and maniacal driving, he’d tracked her vehicle while he listened to their conversation—or what he could make out over the static. It was as if an electrical field had interrupted the relay.

What he’d heard had made little sense to Declan—talk of berserkers and cannibals and some absent sister. All he knew for certain was that Regin had been dispatched to kill.

Not who, not where, only why.

An example killing.

Historically her enemies were the vampires and certain species of demons. She might lead him to an entire nest of their kinds.

Once he’d reached the Quarter, he quickly spotted Regin’s car, parked half on the street, half on the curb. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar car treated like junk. He’d throttle her just for abusing a car that fine.

He parked a couple of blocks away, then hurried into the crowd, searching for the two. Though he was several minutes behind, he swiftly reencountered Regin sauntering down Bourbon Street alone.

Easy enough to track her. She left a trail of slack-jawed men in her wake.

And they reacted not only to her glowing skin. The Valkyrie walked with an otherworldly sensuality, her hips swishing in those low-cut jeans, her plump arse attracting male gazes like moths to a flame. Some men adjusted obvious erections or rubbed cheeks recently slapped by outraged girlfriends.

As Declan trailed her, even he felt his shaft twitch, as if trying to stir for her—though his “medicine” would make that impossible.

To be aroused by a revolting detrus? When nothing else could tempt his deadened, scarred body?

While others in the Order called the immortals miscreats, short for miscreations, Declan often used the term detrus, the coarsest word they had for them.

It meant “vilest abomination.”

That was how he saw them. How he’d always seen them, ever since he’d learned of their existence twenty years ago. …

As the Valkyrie covered blocks, several beings approached her. More witches tried to coax her to go out with them. Two pointed-eared females—likely more Valkyrie—twirled swords, looking like they were primed for a battle and inviting Regin to come along.

She turned them all down with a grin, which promptly faded as she moved on.

Even more beings avoided her. Declan noticed several large males striding in the opposite direction when she came into sight; all wore hats of some type. No doubt behorned demons.

The field notes in her dossier reported that she was notoriously hard on demons. Whereas she simply ended vampires.

When she paused to text something on her cell phone, he drew back behind the cover of a nearby building. Then she gazed up with a peculiar look of sadness. That expression didn’t fit her glowing, animated face, seeming as foreign as joy on a dying man’s visage.

She stowed her phone back on her belt, then crossed to a back alley behind a five-story hotel. Without warning, she leapt to a balcony on the fourth floor, easily jogging along the rail before scaling to the roof. There he saw her hunch down at the edge, her ears twitching once more as she searched for her prey.

A perfect killer.

If it weren’t for the Order, immortals would likely rule the earth.

Recently, several had made strikes against well-known human leaders around the world. His commander, Preston Webb, had told him, “Even the more moderate species are aggressing on us, son. Any tenuous truce has fallen by the wayside.”

There truly was to be war between the species. As ever, Webb was right—

Declan lost sight of her. He hastened around to the front of the building, then cased the next, but he didn’t see her on any of the roofs. Where the hell was she? He tore up and down streets, head craning.

In the distance, he heard what sounded like an explosion. Seconds later, he got a call on his earpiece from the leader of his backup unit. When Declan answered, he heard a war zone on the other end.

Yelling. Gunfire. Was that groaning metal?

“Magister, the target…”

“You weren’t ordered to engage her!”

“Sir, she found us!”

His men were the prey. The example killing.

Fuck! He raced toward the sounds, turning a corner. He spotted her maybe half a mile away along a riverside quay downtown.

Never had he seen anything like the scene there.

One of their three black vans was on the bank of the river, upended on its grill. A second lay on its side in the street, with claw marks carved down its length. Bodies of slain soldiers sprawled all around it.

Declan sprinted, unable to reach her before she struck out, swirling with those swords like a tornado, slicing down men with unfathomable speed.

A dozen more soldiers had opened fire on her with their laserlike charge throwers. But those powerful weapons weren’t slowing her.

Hair whipping all around her face, she took the electricity, seeming to consume it. Lips curling, she stabbed her swords back into their sheaths and opened her arms wide.

Her lids briefly slid shut in pleasure.

As he ran, he inexplicably shuddered in reaction. Thoughts arose that never should, impulses long denied. …

“That all you got, muthafuckas?” She glowed brighter, illuminating the street. “I like electricity, you dumbasses! Hit me with another.”

They did. She sucked it in. The streetlights surrounding her began to flare from her radiant energy.

“Know what else? I’m a freaking conduit.” She caught a jolt in one hand, and channeled it back with her other. She hit one soldier, exploding him into the air, killing him instantly.

Rage erupted within Declan. The strength and speed he fought so hard to hide rose to the fore. Blood pumped to his muscles, his thoughts dimming. Like a blur, he closed in on her, unsheathing his sword as he ran.

“You want some of this?” She turned to another soldier, shooting again. “How ’bout you?” And again.

Declan stole behind her, wrapping one arm around her neck to yank her back into him. He inhaled her scent, felt her body, hesitated. Stab her, incapacitate her.

When she thrashed against his chest with inconceivable strength, his training took over and he planted his sword into her side, twisting the blade within her.

Lightning struck nearby. She gasped at the pain. A debilitating wound, even for an immortal.

Blood bubbled from her lips and poured from the gash. Her little body trembled against him, her skin cooling as her light dimmed.

Wrong! his mind screamed. Dizziness hit him as that familiar tension multiplied, knotting every one of his muscles, nearly crippling him. He swayed, quickly withdrawing his blade.

Without him supporting her, she collapsed, curling up on the filthy street. As blood streamed from her side, she narrowed her eyes up at him. They were bright silver, brilliant. Her blond lashes seemed to glitter all around them. Two tears spilled.

Wrong.

He clenched the hilt of his bloody sword, his gut churning until he almost vomited.

“You,” she bit out. She gazed at him with recognition, brows drawing together as if with … betrayal. “You’ll pay.”

Some of the remaining soldiers stared at the exchange in confusion. Reminded of his mission, Declan grated, “Bag her.”

Disabled by her wound, she couldn’t defend herself as two soldiers bound her wrists behind her back. She drew a breath to shriek, but they slapped a special tape over her mouth. Another pair descended on her, one with a black sack for her head and another with a sedative-filled syringe. She struggled wildly as they tightened the sack over her.

Once they’d administered the sedative, her body twitched twice, then fell limp. Utterly defenseless.

This creature had demonstrated monstrous power. Now she lay as if dead.

His men disarmed her, then tossed her into the sole functioning van. Her shirt rode up, revealing the bloody wound Declan had given her.

Why was he sickened? He raked his hand through his hair, then squeezed his forehead. His skull felt like it was splitting.

A thousand times he’d struck, collecting enemies to be taken back to the Order’s compound. What was different about this one?

“Magister?” a soldier said. “Are you all right, sir?”

Declan gazed at their captive, then down at his gloved hands, noting how they shook. No, I’m not fuckin’ all right! He’d almost wished his hands had been bare when he’d taken her. To feel a woman’s flesh after so long …

He’d craved touching her even as he’d stabbed her.

Sick.

Declan peered at the soldier. As he coldly said, “Of course, I’m all right,” he thought, They’re being led by a madman.