Heat of the Night

Chapter 1

The Twilight

Connor Bruce took out the nearest guard with a perfectly aimed blow dart.

It was a split-second assault, but the tranquilizer took a bit longer to work than that. The guard had time to yank the dart free and withdraw his glaive before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the floor in a puddle of red garments.

"Sorry chap," Connor muttered, as he bent over the fallen body and collected the guard's comm unit and sword. The man would awake with only the vague sensation of having dozed, perhaps in boredom.

Connor straightened and whistled a low warbling birdcall, telling Lieutenant Philip Wager that he'd succeeded in his task. The responding whistle told him the other Temple guards around the perimeter had also been neutralized. Within moments he was surrounded by a dozen of his men. They were dressed for battle in dark gray, form-fitting sleeveless tunics and matching loose pants. Connor wore similar garments, but his were black denoting his rank as Captain of the Elite Warriors.

"You're going to see things inside that will startle you," Connor warned, his blade whistling as he pulled it free of its scabbard on his back. "Focus on the mission. We have to figure out how the Elders brought Captain Cross back to the Twilight from the Dreamers' plane of existence."

"Yes, Captain."

Wager aimed a pulse emitter at the massive red torii gate that signaled the entrance to the Temple complex, temporarily disturbing the vid unit that recorded those who visited. Connor stared at the archway with a roiling mixture of horror, confusion, and anger. The structure was so imposing it forced every Guardian to stare and read the warning engraved in the ancient language-"Beware of the Key that turns the Lock."

For centuries, he and every member of his team had hunted the Dreamer who was prophesied to come to their world through the dream state and destroy them. The Dreamer who would see them as they were and recognize that they were not a figment of a nocturnal imagination, but real beings who lived in the Twilight-the place where the human mind came in slumber.

But Connor had already met the infamous Key and she wasn't a specter of doom and annihilation. She was a slender-but-curvy blonde veterinarian with big dark eyes and a deep well of compassion.

Lies, all of it. All these years wasted. Luckily for the Key-also known innocuously as Lyssa Bates-Captain Aidan Cross, warrior of legend and Connor's best friend, had found her first. Found her, fell in love with her, and eloped with her to the mortal plane.

Now it was Connor's mission to unravel the mysteries of the Elders here in the Twilight, and everything he needed to know was safeguarded in the Temple of the Elders.

Let's go, he mouthed.

With the timing down to pinpoint accuracy, they rushed through the gate. They split into two teams running along either side of the stone-lined center courtyard, weaving in and out among fluted columns of alabaster stone.

The wind blew gently, carrying with it the fragrance of nearby flowers and fields of wild grass. It was the time of day when the Temple was closed to the general public and the Elders were secluded in meditation. The perfect time to break in and steal whatever information and secrets they could get their hands on.

Connor entered the haiden first. Holding up three fingers, he then waved to the right while he moved to the left. Three Elites obeyed the silent command and took the east side of the circular room.

The two teams moved within the shadows, highly aware that any misstep would allow the vid units around the perimeter to pick up their incursion. In the center of the vast space waited semicircular rows of benches that faced the columned entryway they had just come through. Rising several stories high, there were so many benches the Guardians had lost count of the number of Elders who ruled from them long ago. This was the heart of their world, the center of law and order. The seat of power.

Regrouping at the middle hallway that led to the honden, Connor paused, and the others awaited his command.

The hall to the west branched off toward the Elders' living quarters. The hall to the right went to a secluded open-air meditation courtyard.

This center gallery was where it got freaky. After his first-and heretofore only-Temple break-in, he was prepared. His men weren't.

He looked at them with an arched brow, silently admonishing them to heed his earlier command. They nodded grimly, and Connor continued on.

As they walked, a vibration beneath their feet drew everyone's attention to the floor. The stone shimmered and became translucent, creating the impression that the ground had disintegrated and they were about to fall into an endless blanket of stars. He groped for the wall by instinct, his teeth gritted together, then the view of space melted into a swirling kaleidoscope of colors.

"Fuck me," Wager breathed.

Connor had said the exact same thing the first time he'd walked this corridor. Every step created ripples in the colors, suggesting that whatever it was responded to their presence.

"Is that real?" Corporal Trent whispered fiercely. "Or a hologram of some sort?"

Lifting his hand, Connor reminded the men to keep their silence. He had no idea what the damn thing was. He knew only that he couldn't look at it or vertigo would make him sick.

They moved past the private Elder library to reach the control room. There was one Elder there, a lone sentinel lost within a vast space dominated by high walls lined with bound volumes and a large console. As was the custom of the Elders, he'd been left behind when the others retired for the afternoon, which made him the unfortunate recipient of a tranq dart to the neck. Connor dragged his unconscious body aside to give Wager access to the crescent-shaped touchpad control panel.

"I'll loop the vids so you're not recorded," the lieutenant said.

Wager stepped up and began to work, his posture straight and legs slightly parted, firmly entrenched in his assignment. With his long black hair restrained in a queue and stormy gray eyes, he had a renegade appearance to go along with his loose-cannon reputation. Because of his volatile nature, he'd been a second lieutenant for centuries longer than he should have been. Connor had recently promoted him to first lieutenant, for all the good that did him. They were insurgents, having left the sanctioned Elite Warrior regiments to commandeer the rebel faction.

Confident in Wager's ability to manage the database part of their search, Connor stationed two lookouts by the entrance and took two men with him to perform a physical search of the premises. Not long ago, he'd broken into the Temple with only Wager as backup. But the recent coup had forced the Elders to increase the number of guards, which in turn forced Connor to charge the complex with a dozen men. Six outside and six inside.

They moved with rapid strides further down the hallway, keeping their gazes averted from the rapidly swirling kaleidoscopic floor. Light poured in from the skylights above and a clear door at the end of the hall provided a sunlit view of the far edge of the meditation courtyard.

As they reached a doorway, Connor gestured one man inside. "Anything unusual."

The man nodded and stepped into the doorless room with glaive drawn and at the ready. Connor repeated the process with the second soldier until he was continuing on alone. He took the next room he came across.

It was a dark space, not unusual since it was unoccupied, but odd in that the lighting did not illuminate when he entered. It was only the light spilling in from the hallway that enabled him to see.

The center of the room was empty, but tiered metal carts on wheels lined the walls. There was a medicinal smell in the air and as he spotted a heavy bolted metal door in the wall, his hackles rose. There was a thick viewing window built into the upper part of the massive barrier, but whether that was for someone to see in or someone to see out, he didn't know. Either way, that door was a serious deterrent and meant that whatever it guarded was important.

"What the hell have you got in there?" he wondered aloud.

Connor stepped over to the small touchpad in the corner and began a rapid fire series of keystrokes. He needed to get the damn lights to turn on so he could see what the hell he was dealing with. He could use some leverage right now, and holding a valuable item for ransom would work nicely.

One of the many command overrides he inputted caused the panel to beep rapidly and then the room slowly brightened.

"Yes!" He grinned and turned around, surveying the small room with its stone floors and barren white walls.

The sharp hiss of releasing hydraulic pressure had him rocking back on the heels of his boots. Somehow he'd managed to get the door open, too, which made things all the easier.

What happened next would forever be ingrained on Connor's memory. There was a roar that sounded like fury mixed with fear, then the heavy door flew open with such explosive force that it embedded into the adjacent wall.

His glaive at the ready, Connor was prepared to fight. What he wasn't prepared for was the apparition that lunged at him, a body seemingly Guardian-like in appearance, yet possessed of pure black eyes with no sclera and teeth with wickedly sharp points.

Connor froze, horrified and confused. It was the gravest offense to kill another Guardian and to his knowledge murder hadn't been committed in centuries. That stayed his hand when he would have thrust, which left him open to the violent impact that knocked him to the floor. A feat never before accomplished because he was too damn big.

"Fuck!" he grunted as he crashed to the stone with bone-jarring force.

The thing was on top of him, a not-inconsiderable male filled with unexplained ferocity. It was snarling and grappling like a rabid beast. Connor jerked to the side, rolling to gain the upper hand. With one hand wrapped around his assailant's straining neck and the other fisting and descending in brutal punches, he should have knocked the man out cold. He felt the crack of a cheekbone beneath his knuckles and the shattering of a nose, but the injuries appeared to have no effect, neither did the deprivation of air to breathe.

Deep inside Conner, fear curled with insidious strength. Those black eyes where filled with a roiling madness and thick claws were ripping at the skin of his forearms. How did one defeat an enemy who had no mind?

"Captain!"

Connor didn't look up. He rolled onto his back again and extended his arm full-length, holding his attacker aloft by the throat. A glaive whistled through the air and sliced off the top of the man's skull. Gore splattered everywhere.

"What the fuck was that?" Trent cried, standing just above Connor's head with the killing blade in his hands.

"Hell if I know." Connor tossed the body off to the side. He looked down at himself in disgust, touching the gunk that coated him with a tentative finger. It was thick and black, resembling old blood and reeking like it, too. His gaze moved to the corpse whose face from the eyebrows down was still intact. Brown hair grew overly long around the man's ears and nape. The skin had an unhealthy pallor and the flesh was clinging to bones. The hands and feet were both capped with long, thick, reptilian claws. But it was the inky black, sightless eyes and gaping maw that were so frightening. They turned a gaunt, sickly looking man into a formidable predator.

It wore only loose white pants that were stained and torn. On the back of its hand was a seared brand-"HB-12." A quick look at the cell from which it escaped revealed a thick metal interior liberally gouged.

"Your room is definitely more interesting than mine," Trent said. The levity of his statement was ruined by the crack in his voice.

Connor's chest labored more from his anger than from his exertions. "It's exactly this sort of shit that forced the rebellion!"

Most everyone would say that leading a revolt went against his easygoing nature, and they'd be right. Hell, he still had trouble believing he'd taken this step. But there were too many goddamn questions and all the answers he had were lies. Yeah, he was a man who liked things painfully simple-wine, women, and kicking ass, as he used to say-but he had no qualms about stepping up to the plate and swinging when necessary.

It was his job to protect others, both Dreamers and the gentler Guardians. There were thousands of his people, all were divided into certain specialties. Each Guardian had their strengths. Some were tender and offered comfort to Dreamers who grieved. Others were playful and filled in dreams of sports heroes or baby showers. There were Sensuals and Healers, Nurturers and Challengers. Connor was an Elite. He killed Nightmares and guarded his people. If he had to protect them from the Elders, too, so be it.

"There's no way to pretend that the Temple wasn't breached now," the corporal pointed out.

"Nope," Connor agreed, "no way." And he didn't really care at this point. In fact, he wanted the Elders to know that their secrets weren't safe. He wanted them looking over their shoulders. He wanted them to feel as unsettled and wary as he did. They owed him that much, at least, after asking him to lay his life on the line for a fake cause.

Wager came running into the room with two more Elite directly behind him. "Whoa!" he said, skidding in the splatter before catching his footing. "What the hell is that?"

"Fuck if I know." Connor wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah," Wager agreed. "It stinks. It's also probably what set off that alarm on the console. My guess is reinforcements are on their way now, so we better get out of here."

"Did we get anything useful out of the database?" Connor asked, grabbing a towel off one of the push carts against the wall. He scrubbed at his torn skin and clothes to remove what he could of the blood-like substance clinging to him.

"I downloaded what I could. It would take eons to get all of it, but I tried to focus on files that sounded the most intriguing."

"That will have to suffice. Let's go."

They left with the same caution they'd used upon their arrival, their eyes scanning their surroundings carefully. Still, none of them saw the Elder whose dark gray robes blended so well with the shadows.

He stood silent and unnoticed. Smiling.