Kiss of Midnight_ A Midnight Breed Novel - Lara Adrian [32]
“Have a seat,” Lucan drawled, “and try not to bleed all over Gideon’s computers.”
Rio’s long fingers went up to the crimson rosebud mark at his throat where Eva had apparently bitten him with her blunt human teeth and sipped from his vein. Even though she was a Breedmate, she was still genetically Homo sapiens. Despite the long years that she and others like her would share through the blood-bond with a mate, none of her kind would grow fangs or take on any other traits of the vampire males. It was a widely accepted practice that a vampire would feed his mate from a self-inflicted gash on his wrist or forearm, but passions ran wild in the ranks of the Breed warriors. And in their chosen women. Sex and blood were a potent combination—sometimes, too much so.
Grinning, unrepentant, Rio threw himself into a loose sprawl in one of the swivel chairs and leaned back, propping his big bare feet on the clear Lucite console. He and the other warriors began reviewing the previous night’s tallies, exchanging laughs as they one-upped one another and discussed the finer techniques of their profession.
While hunting their enemies gave some of the Breed pleasure, Lucan’s own drive was based in hatred, pure and simple. He didn’t try to hide it. He despised everything that the Rogues were and had vowed, long ago, that he would eradicate their kind, or die trying. Some days, he didn’t really care what came first.
“Here we go,” Gideon said finally, when the records scrolling on his monitor came to a stop. “Looks like we hit pay dirt.”
“What’ve you got?”
Lucan and the others turned their attention to an oversized flat-screen panel above the lab’s bank of microprocessors. The faces of the four Rogues slain by Lucan outside the nightclub came up on the display next to those of Gabrielle’s cell phone images of the same individuals.
“IID records have all of these down as missing persons. Two from the Connecticut Darkhaven last month, another out of Fall River, and the last one is local. They’re all current generation, the youngest wasn’t even thirty years old.”
“Shit,” Rio said, whistling low. “Stupid kids.”
Lucan said nothing, felt nothing, for the loss of young lives gone Rogue. They weren’t the first, and they sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. Living in the Darkhavens could seem pretty dull to an immature male with something to prove. The allure of blood and conquest was deeply in-grained, even in the later generations, who were the furthest removed from their savage forebears. If a vampire went looking for trouble, particularly in a city the size of Boston, he generally found it in spades.
Gideon punched a quick series of commands on his computer keyboard, bringing up more photos from the database. “Here are the last two records. This first individual is a known Rogue, repeat offender here in Boston, although he’s apparently been keeping low under the radar for more than three months. That is, he was, until Lucan smoked him in the alley over the weekend.”
“And what about him?” Lucan asked, eyeing the last remaining image, that of the only Rogue who’d managed to elude him outside the club. His photo record came up in the form of a video still, presumably captured during some sort of interrogation session, based on the restraints and electrodes the vampire was wearing. “How old is this image?”
“About six months,” Gideon replied, calling up the date stamp. “Came out of one of the West Coast operations.”
“L.A.?”
“Seattle. But according to the file, L.A.’s got a warrant for him, too.”
“Warrants,” Dante scoffed. “Fucking waste of time.”
Lucan had to agree. For most of the vampire nation in the United States and abroad, enforcement of the law and apprehension of individuals gone Rogue was governed by specific rules and procedures. Warrants were written, arrests were made, interrogations