Author: J.D. Tyler

“We’ve finally got that bastard. He fucked up!” Micah proclaimed loudly, hurrying over to plunk the computer onto the desktop. “Wait till you see this.”

Nick scooted his equipment over to make room, and Micah opened the lid on his laptop to wake it up, then typed in his password. The desktop screen came to life and displayed a photo.

“What’s this?” Nick’s brows drew together as he studied the picture.

Then a car drove by in the background, and Zan realized they weren’t looking at a still photo—it was a video.

“It’s a live feed of a Motel 6 about twenty miles from here. And guess who’s inside?” Micah was practically bouncing in place.

“Elvis?” Zan joked to lighten the somber mood.

The Dreamwalker snorted. “Close! Only these guys really are undead. There’s a whole nest of rogue vamps enjoying the fine comforts of the place where they ‘leave the light on for ya.’”

Jax broke in, absently stroking his goatee. “Despite those amenities, why would they pick this particular venue as their base?”

“Hide in plain sight?” Zan guessed.

“Maybe. But it requires them to pass themselves off as human, which is an unprecedented level of restraint for such a large group of rogues.”

“They have a leader,” Nick said. “Someone strong. Cunning. Any hits on who that might be?”

Micah nodded, gesturing to the commander’s laptop. “That’s how we found the rogue we think is the head honcho—through the e-mails you’ve been getting from the asshole. I traced the IP address and tracked it to the motel, and—”

“Wait a second,” Nick interrupted, pushing to his feet. “You’re saying you think the bastard who’s been harassing me is leading all of the rogues?”

“Yeah, boss. That’s what I’m telling you. After we honed in on the location, Tarron’s men did some recon and got us the footage. I’ve got some still pics, too.”

Bending, Micah clicked on a file and opened a series of black-and-white shots taken outside the motel. Then he clicked through the pics. Most of them showed a group of males surrounding a figure who walked slightly ahead of the rest, like they were his entourage.

“See this guy?” Micah tapped the screen. “He’s the one running the show. The others are there to protect him.”

“How can you be sure this vampire is the same one sending me the e-mails?” Nick pressed.

“See this?” Micah pointed to an object in the vamp’s hand. “He’s the only one who’s brought a laptop case in and out. It’s an educated hunch, based on the notes themselves and how the others defer to the vamp in the pictures.”

Zan studied the photo, or more accurately, the leader in it. He was tall, a bit broad through the shoulders. He carried himself like a powerful male, head up, acknowledging no one around him. His light hair, perhaps dark blond or sandy brown, was pulled into a ponytail at his nape.

“He’s wearing a suit,” Zan murmured to himself.

“Huh?” Micah looked at him in confusion. Jax and Nick waited, curious.

“The leader is wearing a damned suit, and so are the members of his posse. The rogues who’ve been attacking unsuspecting citizens in outlying areas haven’t been dressed this nicely. In fact, the others were wearing holey jeans and torn shirts at best.”

“So why the nice threads?” Jax mused, following his line of thought. “What makes these fuckers so special?”

“Exactly. The groups we’ve dealt with were starving, sloppy, their bodies unkempt and unwashed.” Zan flicked a hand at the screen. “Somebody’s taking real good care of this group, but who?”

“Wouldn’t the leader be doing that?” Micah frowned. “Maybe he’s got a tighter rein on the ones in his immediate circle.”

Nick paced the study. “Yeah, but how? That brings us back to them being too well organized, too controlled to be regular rogues. They almost resemble a mafia.”

“Could be that’s exactly what they are, in a sense,” Zan speculated. “And in that case, this guy answers to somebody higher up, because there’s always another asshole above you in the food chain.”

Nick looked at Jax. “Can you get a read on the leader from the stills or the video? His name, at least?”

“I may be able to answer that last question.” Tarron’s form materialized from nothingness, and he stepped forward.

“Jesus, that creeps me out,” Micah complained with a shiver. “Do you have to sneak around like that, walking through walls and shit?”

Tarron’s mouth quirked. “This is my home, pup. Get used to it.” Ignoring the younger man’s discomfort, he walked to the laptop and peered at the screen. Immediately, his humor vanished and he blew out a breath. “I had to be sure, but there’s no doubt. Their leader’s name is Carter Darrow. He used to be a member of my coven, long ago. He eventually went rogue, and to make a long story short, he’s been my enemy ever since. I’ve hunted him for a couple of decades, only to have him turn up within arm’s reach now. That in itself is quite troubling.”

“He’s not here just to get at me,” Nick said, staring hard at Darrow’s image. “This is much bigger.”

Jax shifted on his feet. “I can try for a reading, but I can’t do it from a video or a photograph of him. It has to be an object he owned, or something he touched. It doesn’t have to be of particular monetary value, either. I just need his essence, if you will.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Tarron got a strange look on his face. Quickly, he strode to his bookcase. “I may have something.”

After searching through a few shelves of old books, the prince withdrew one carefully and studied the cover. Turning to face the group, he held it out to Jax.

“A vintage copy of The Count of Monte Cristo,” Jax said, running a hand over the lettering in appreciation. “A man is wronged, is tossed into a cell, and bides his time for years to bring down his enemy and exact vengeance. One of my favorite stories ever.”

“Mine too,” the prince agreed. There was something wistful in his expression. A bit sad. “The book was a birthday gift from Darrow more than twenty years ago, when he was still among my coven. I always wondered if the gift was symbolic on his part.”

“Maybe.” Jax opened the cover. “He inscribed it to you. His writing will definitely help with a reading.”

“Is there anything special you need to accomplish it?” Tarron asked him.

“No. Just a few minutes of quiet.”

Moving back, they gave the RetroCog silence and space as he settled on the sofa and placed the book in his lap. As he traced the handwriting with his fingers, his expression became distant. His mind was no longer in the room with them, but in a different time, perhaps a different place. Zan tried to imagine how tough it would be to pull together the threads of the past, form them into a vision or series of snapshots. How disturbing.

He knew sometimes the memories were horrid. That went with the territory; Jax had little reason to handle an object unless the person who’d touched it had either done something terrible, or been subjected to it.

Slowly Jax’s eyelids drifted shut. His breathing grew faster, more ragged. His face became drawn and he mouthed the word no. A bad one, then. A glance at Nick told Zan that the commander knew it, too, and was dreading what would be revealed.

When Jax slumped back and the book slipped from his grasp, Zan jumped forward and rescued the volume, setting it on Tarron’s desk. Then he hurried to sit beside his best friend and placed a palm on his forehead.

“Don’t,” Jax croaked, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t afford to spend any healing energy on me.”

“Dammit, Jax—”

“No. I just need some water and some rest; then I’ll be fine.” His gaze found Nick’s, and he paused. “You might want everyone to leave.”

The commander shook his head. “They all know anyway. Just tell me if Darrow is the one responsible for murdering my mate.”

A heartbeat passed. “Yes.”

“There’s no doubt?”

“None,” Jax said gently. “I saw.”

Nick’s knees seemed to buckle as he grabbed the corner of his desk. Zan was ready to catch his boss if need be, but it proved unnecessary. Nick straightened his spine, and the devastation in his dark blue eyes was replaced by steel.

“I want Darrow dead. And I want to kill him myself.”

Those cold words sent a shudder through Zan. He’d heard the commander talk about taking out their enemies before. Hell, they all said stuff like that. But this was the first time he’d heard Nick speak personally about killing. It brought home how dangerous their world was, how tenuous.

“We’re going to get him, I assure you,” the prince vowed. He looked to Jax. “The vision you got . . . does this mean Darrow had already committed that atrocity when he gave me the book?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s how my visions work—I can’t see an event if it hasn’t happened when the object was handled. I’m sorry.”

The weight of knowing for certain that he’d had a rogue living under his rule, right under his nose, was hard for Tarron to bear. The news that Darrow had killed someone’s mate was no doubt even worse. The vampire closed his eyes and clenched his fists, obviously battling his anger and frustration.

“We’ll get Darrow, but it won’t be easy,” Tarron finally said, opening his eyes. “I’ll bring as many of my men as I can spare to tip the odds in our favor.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you. When’s the best time to strike?”

“I would say daylight, but only my oldest soldiers can handle the sun’s rays. The younger ones will suffer nasty burns if exposed too long.”

“A nighttime offensive, then. Tomorrow night?”

“The timing should work. The question is, how the hell are we going to attack a coven of rogue vampires at a Motel 6 without alerting every human in the area?”

Micah grinned at the prince. “That’s why it rocks that we come equipped with our very own Sorcerer. Wait until you see him in action.”

Tarron’s smile transformed his face. “I’ve seen him performing his magic for the members of my coven. He’s quite good.”

“Good? A few parlor tricks are nothing compared to what Kalen can do.” Micah laughed. “You should see him turn a horde of rogues into dried-up raisins. He’s seriously badass.”

“Excellent. We’re going to need every advantage we can muster.”

The prince was right—and that’s what worried Zan.

Something about the upcoming fight didn’t sit well with him. He had a feeling they were missing something important.

“You’re going to what? No!” Selene blurted.

“I can fight, baby,” Zan said evenly. He tried not to take her reaction personally. After all, she was his mate and she had a right to be worried. “Like I told your father, I have my hearing back and I’m fine. I’m not going to put the team in danger.”

“I’m not worried about the team!” she hissed, cupping his face. “You’re the one I care about. Can’t you just stay behind this once? Nobody would blame you.”

“I would,” he said gently, pushing a pale strand of hair off her brow. “I wouldn’t be worthy of the Pack if I allowed my brothers to face danger without me when I’m perfectly capable.”

“Being able to hold your own is not the same as being one hundred percent. Plus, if someone gets injured, you’re going to use your healing ability on them when that’s the very last thing you should do.”