Lara Adrian's Midnight Breed 8-Book Bundle (206 page)

A creature that had been biding its time through weeks of starvation and drugging, feigning lethargy and compliance, while waiting for its chance to escape.

CHAPTER
Thirty-six

T
he endless dark refused to release him. Reichen’s lungs expanded and drew in air as if he’d been underwater and just broke through the surface after half a year of drowning in the tide. He gasped in sharply, then immediately began to choke on the acrid taste of sulfur and smoke.

He felt a light weight draped around him in the pitch blackness of his surroundings.

Claire’s arms, holding him close.

Her soft, tender body curved along the length of him from behind.

Amid the bleak void that engulfed him, he’d never felt anything so perfect and right.

He knew he was dreaming, but for how long? He
couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he’d been lost in the darkness of this other realm for a good long time. And Claire was with him.

Good Christ… had she been here with him the whole time?

He smoothed his palm over the velvety length of her arm. Her skin was cool to the touch, alarmingly so. She didn’t stir at all as he gently stroked her. What troubled him more was the shallow panting of her breath beside his ear, the notable limpness of her cold fingers as he grasped them in his own and tried to rouse her.

“Claire,” he murmured, his tongue thick, his voice sluggish and rusty in the heavy pall of this smoke-clogged dream. “Claire?”

She wouldn’t respond.

Panic clutched him, snapping his eyes open. It was then he noticed the glow of flames rising up from far below the cold hard perch where he and Claire had been lying together. As he sat up, the flames shot higher, as if they, too, had been merely resting but were now stirring with renewed life. Beyond the steep, narrow ledge was a great abyss. A pit of fire and roiling lava churned at the bottom of that hellish drop.

The flames surged violently upward, twisting and tumbling, nearly blinding him with the intensity of their heat.

Like a beast breaking loose of its shackles, the fire lunged for him. Bright white-hot tendrils made a sudden grab across the stone ledge, stretching greedy fingers of flame toward the place where he and Claire sat.

Reichen quickly covered Claire’s body with his own, twisting himself over her as the heat roared all around them. The burn licked at his naked skin, searing and relentless. But it couldn’t touch her. He wouldn’t permit it.

No goddamn way would he let the fires get near her.

He bellowed with fury as the force of his pyro rolled over him and around him. This hellish heat was his—it was
him
, the terrible curse of his birthright.

The very power that had protected him from the explosion in Dragos’s underground lair.

Memory of that moment slammed into him in an instant. He recalled how he’d had to conjure every measure of his fury in order to shield himself from the inferno that had erupted all around him. The pyro had spared him from death in the blast, but it wasn’t through with him yet. It was still burning inside him. Ready to consume him, just as Claire had tried to warn him.

Just as he himself had known it would, from the moment the very first spark had lit within him in that godforsaken field in Hamburg.

If he let go now—if he gave one fraction of his will to keep Claire safe from the heat—the curse that had plagued him for so long would own him. And it would destroy Claire in the process. He felt the fires searching for her, flames hissing and flicking like serpents’ tongues, hungry for a taste of the treasure he was denying them.

“No,” he heard himself growl.
“Goddamn it. No.”

With his arms and body wrapped around her to shield her, Reichen turned all of his rage inward. He focused on the heat that lived in the deepest core of his being. He reached for it with his mind, with every measure of his will, feeling the pyro try to slither out of his grasp as he seized on it and yanked it tight in the fist of his determination.

He couldn’t let it win.

He had to finally take control of the beast.

He had to master it, here and now.

Forever.

He strengthened his mental chokehold on the twisting coil of fire inside him. All around him, he heard the hiss of flames, the sputter of struggling heat that was slowly being beaten down, extinguished. In the periphery of his gaze, he saw the writhing columns of flame drawing back from the stone ledge, back into the deep abyss that had borne them.

And still he didn’t let go.

He turned his face toward the rolling, gnashing fires that were still seeking to leap out of the pit, his teeth and fangs bared in a tight sneer as he roared with power and furious intent.

“No!” he bellowed. “I own you. You will bow to me now!”

It was his love for Claire that gave him the resolve he needed in this moment. His need to protect her, to keep her safe above all else, was the driving force that made him certain he could defeat the curse of his destructive power.

It was the love she’d given him in return—the love he could feel beating inside him, in his veins, in the blood bond that linked him to her now and always—that made him reach for the hope that one day he might not only master his hellish ability but maybe even come to view it as something more than a curse. He knew a sudden certainty that the curse he had dreaded for so long might one day become a talent that would serve him, instead of destroying him.

Reichen clung to hope, and to his love for Claire, as he commanded the fires to quell. He sent them back down into the abyss below, not out of fear or self-contempt but out of strength. Out of a burgeoning sense of unshakable control.

A triumphant cry broke out of him as the last bright flame began to gasp its death.

The fires went dark in the pit.

The choking ash and smoke cleared away.

His eyes blinking open, Reichen lifted his head and found himself no longer isolated on the narrow bridge of cold black stone, but in the center of a large bed. He was curled over the small form of Claire’s body, still shielding her, even though the dark dream had finally released them.

He stroked her cheek. “Claire, are you all right? Open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

No response.

Panic twisted in his gut. He said her name again, more choked this time for the alarming look of her as she lay motionless across his lap, her silky black hair falling loosely over her cold, sallow brow. He took her slender shoulders in his hands and gave her listless body a firm shake.

“Claire. Wake up now.”

An icy pain stabbed him as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her parched, cracked lips. She was so weak… starving. The piercing jab he was feeling now belonged to her. He felt the severity of her hunger echoing in his blood, keening in his veins.

He thought back to the endless dream, and the swamping, unrelenting weight of it. How long had it been since he was last awake? He remembered storming Dragos’s vacated lair with the Order. He remembered killing Wilhelm Roth. He remembered the explosion in the underground headquarters, and the look of fear and horror on Claire’s face as he strode out of the rubble engulfed in hellish fire. He remembered her courage as she railed at him in stubborn determination, refusing to let him die.

Then he remembered… endless nothing.

It might have been days since he’d lost consciousness. Maybe a week or more.

How long had Claire been with him in the dream realm, neglecting her own well-being to comfort him through the darkness?

“Claire, please. Open your eyes. Tell me you can hear me.” He smoothed his hand over her face and hair, feeling his heart cracking open as he held her weakened body against him. “Let me know that you are still with me, that I haven’t lost you.”

God help him, but she did not respond at all. She was cold and unmoving, her breathing far too thready and shallow.

Reichen vaguely registered the sound of approaching footfalls outside the open door of the room, but all of his focus was rooted on bringing Claire around. Someone gasped from within the corridor, followed by more voices as a small crowd of warriors and their mates gathered outside the door.

“Holy hell,” Tegan muttered, a curse that was echoed by more than one person.

Reichen didn’t know if their stunned reaction was meant for the fact that he was awake and absent of the pyro or for the disturbing condition of Claire lying limply in his arms. He swung his head toward Lucan, Tegan, and several other members of the Order who stood outside the room with Tess and the rest of the Breedmates who lived in the compound. Tess and Savannah were holding IV tubes and bags of clear liquid. Behind them, Gideon had rolled up a gurney from the infirmary.

“Something is wrong with Claire,” he murmured, his throat dry. A cold gust seemed to blow through his body, settling behind his sternum.

“Let us help her,” Tess said gently, lifting the medical supplies she’d brought.

“No. It’s too late for that,” he murmured, knowing instinctively that she was beyond the need of any mortal intervention.

She needed blood.

As much as he had once feared that he would only bring her harm, that his love would not be strong enough to keep her safe from what the pyro had made him become, Reichen felt beyond any shadow of doubt that he was the only one who could save her now. He snarled when a couple of the warriors began to enter the room, as if they meant to pull Claire away from him.

She was his—now and always.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, then lifted his wrist to his mouth and sank his fangs deep into his flesh.

Blood surged from his veins as he carried the wound to her slack lips and pressed the punctures against her tongue.

“Drink, Claire,” he whispered softly, holding her head up and willing her to live. He didn’t care if he had to beg her. Didn’t care that they had an audience watching in solemn, uncertain silence just a few feet away. “Drink for me now. Please, Claire …”

The first sweep of her tongue against his skin made Reichen suck in a sharp breath. Then she began to swallow, fixing her lips more firmly to the source of warm, life-giving blood. His blood, which would flow within her and give her prolonged strength and life.

His blood, which would bind her to him as his mate, now and forever.

“Andre,” she murmured drowsily, lifting her dark-fringed gaze up to him. “I’ve been so afraid. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Never,” he replied. “Never again.”

Her mouth curved into a weak smile as she went back to suckling at his wrist.

“Take all that you need of me, love,” he encouraged her tenderly, his throat clogged with emotion. He didn’t care that his voice and hands shook as he brought her closer. He was thoroughly unashamed of the depth of his feeling for this woman.

His woman.

His mate.

His beloved, finally, and for all the rest of their lives.

When he glanced over to where his friends had been gathered, he was surprised to see that they were gone. The door to the room was closed, leaving Claire and him to the intimacy of their reunion alone.

Reichen didn’t rush her so much as a second. He let her drink for a long time, content simply to hold her in his arms and watch as his blood brought a glow to her cheeks and renewed life to her body.

And some long while later, after she was finally sated and strong, he settled back on the bed with her and wrapped her in his protective embrace, giving her a hundred solemn promises that he was very eager to keep, and loving her with all the reverence and worship of a blood-bonded male who had stared hell in the face and now understood that he was holding heaven in his arms.

EPILOGUE

NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
ONE WEEK LATER

R
eichen stood alone at the moonlit shore of Narragansett Bay, deep in a private meditation that had become his nightly ritual after he and Claire had left Boston. Behind him, the sounds of her soft piano music drifted down from the house. He let the soothing notes wash over him as he focused all of his mental energy on the bright orb of fire that he held suspended in the foot of space between his palms.

The ball spun faster as he slowly brought his hands into a closer span. The light grew hotter, turning from the orange glow of flame to an intense whitish blue. And still Reichen squeezed it tighter, compressing the fire’s power into a smaller and smaller area that was completely under his control.

The pyrokinesis that had once coursed through his entire body like a savage brush fire was slowly coming to heel. Finally bending to his will, obeying his command.

The exercise was exhausting, but each time he worked the fire he got better at it. Tonight he had held it for ten minutes straight—twice as long as he had only the night before. He was determined to shape his ability into a true talent, and he had Claire to thank for getting him this far.

She was his grounding strength. Her blood kept him steady, and her love kept him whole. He was finally coming to accept himself as he was—all that he was, including this part of him, which he’d tried for so long to deny. He’d gone three decades living a shallow existence, closing himself off from true emotion for fear that it would make him weak. Now he felt everything in exponentially greater measure. With Claire at his side, he was finally coming to embrace all that it meant to truly be alive.

Distantly, as he honed the orb of fire into a smaller, brighter sphere, he registered that the music from inside the house had stopped. It took all of his focus to keep the ball spinning between his palms. So much so that he didn’t hear anyone approaching until a deep male voice muttered a vivid curse behind him.

“It’s all right, Tegan,” Claire said, as Reichen slowly pivoted to face them. Her smile was amused, and not a little proud as she met her mate’s gaze. “You’re getting better at this. Last time you did it, the orb only got as small as an orange.”

Reichen quirked a brow at her as he crushed his hands together and extinguished the flames completely. His body was tired from the exertion it took to manage his talent, but his heart soared to see Claire’s confidence in him. And he was glad to see his friend from Boston, too.

“Tegan,” he said, extending his hand to the warrior in greeting.

The Gen One gave him a cautious nod as he clasped the hand that had just been lit with preternatural heat. “Impressive,” he said, grinning now. “Someone’s obviously been eating his Wheaties.”

Reichen laughed. “I have something far better than that, my friend.”

Claire came over and wrapped her arm around him, nestling into his side. He would never tire of feeling her pressed close to him, and the past week they’d spent together in Newport had been the best rehabilitation he could have asked for. He was content beyond his wildest imaginings, but seeing Tegan now, he had to admit a growing itch to get back into the thick of the action with his friends in the Order.

“Have there been any further leads on Dragos since we spoke a couple of days ago?” he asked, figuring the warrior hadn’t come all the way down to Rhode Island just on a house call.

“We’re following up on a few things, but the son of a bitch seems to have cleared out of the area. He clearly knew we would be closing in on his location in Connecticut, and we’re not discounting the fact that he might have established alternative locations long before now. Our best bet for the time being is to chase down his network of associates in the Enforcement Agency.”

“Anything I can do to help,” Reichen said. “Tell me where I am needed. You know I’m available to the Order.”

“You’ve been invaluable already, my man. Without you and Claire both, we might not have found Dragos’s lab at all. Now many of our suspicions about his operation are confirmed. It’s more critical than ever that we find Dragos,
but we also need to find the Ancient he’s been imprisoning all this time. No telling where he might have moved the creature, but the fact that it’s out there somewhere is a disaster just waiting to happen.”

Reichen nodded soberly. “Sounds like the Order has its hands full, even more so now than before.”

“Yeah, we do,” Tegan agreed. “Actually, Lucan and the rest of us in Boston agree that we could use an envoy to help us gather support among the European population. Your reputation has been gold among the Darkhavens over there, as well as with the Enforcement Agency. We’re going to need someone with a cool head and good instincts to help us gather our own alliances, and at the same time root out any possible alliances of Dragos’s among those groups. Any chance you might be willing to leave your nice little love nest here in Newport to do some diplomatic work for us from time to time?”

Reichen glanced down to meet Claire’s gaze. They had agreed to make the house in Newport their home, maybe even start a family of their own before too long. He was eager for the life they were planning together, but duty and loyalty to the Order tugged at him, as well.

She understood that fact; he saw the acceptance in her eyes. She smiled and gave him a small nod. “At the rate you’re going, by next week you’ll have grown bored of juggling fire. You’ll be looking for new challenges. Maybe we both will be. Maybe there is work enough for both of us with the Order,” she said, turning a questioning look on Tegan.

The warrior smiled. “We would be honored to count on you both.”

“I didn’t exactly leave Germany on the best terms,”
Reichen murmured. “The Agency over there may view me as a fugitive, not a friend.”

“Actually” Tegan said, “for all intents and purposes, you’re a dead man. You died last summer, in the fire that destroyed your Darkhaven. Now Roth and everyone in his circle are dead, too. To anyone else, you’re a ghost, Reichen. Which will give you even greater opportunity to get close to our targets over there and shore up covert alliances.”

“A spy for the Order?” Reichen said, liking the idea already.

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. It’s going to be damned hard work at times. And it’s going to be deadly dangerous, too.” Tegan asked, “You think you can handle that?”

Reichen looked to Claire again, feeling stronger than ever when he saw the faith and admiration shining back at him in her soft brown eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I think I can handle that.”

With Claire beside him, loving him—believing in him—he could handle anything at all.