Kiss of Midnight_ A Midnight Breed Novel - Lara Adrian [61]
“They’re still pawns,” Gideon said.
Lucan glanced to the quick-witted vampire and understood what he was getting at. “The pieces haven’t changed. But the rules have. This is a new brand of warfare, not the minor firefighting we’ve been dealing with in the past. Someone within Rogue ranks is bringing a degree of order to the anarchy. We’re coming under siege.”
He turned his attention back to Conlan, the first casualty of what he feared was to be a new dark age. In his aged bones, he felt the violence of a long ago past rising up to repeat itself. War was brewing again, and if the Rogues were making moves to organize, to go on the offensive, then the entire vampire nation would find itself on the front lines. The humans, too.
“We can discuss this more at length, but not now. This time is Conlan’s. Let us honor him.”
“I’ve said my goodbyes,” Tegan murmured. “Conlan knows I respected the hell out of him in life, as I do in death. Nothing’s ever gonna change on that score.”
A heavy wave of anxiety swept the room as everyone waited for Lucan to react to Tegan’s abrupt departure. But Lucan wasn’t about to give the vampire the satisfaction of thinking he’d pissed him off, which he had. He waited for the retreat of Tegan’s boot falls to fade down the corridor, then he nodded to the others to resume the rite.
One by one, Lucan and each of the four other warriors sank down on their knee to pay further respects. They spoke a single prayer, then rose together, and began to withdraw to await the final ceremony that would put their fallen comrade to rest.
“I will be the one to carry him up,” Lucan announced to the departing vampires.
He caught the exchange of looks between them, and knew what it meant. Elders of the vampire race—Gen Ones, especially—were never asked to bear the burden of the dead. That obligation fell to the later generation Breed who were further removed from the Ancients, and who, as such, could better withstand the burning rays of the rising sun for the time required to lay a vampire to proper rest.
For a Gen One like Lucan, the funeral rite would be a torturous eight minutes of exposure.
Lucan stared at the lifeless form on the table, unwilling to look away from the damage Conlan had suffered.
Damage suffered in his place, Lucan thought, sick with the knowledge that it should have been him on patrol with Niko, not Conlan. Had he not sent the Highlander out at the last minute as his own replacement, Lucan might have been lying on that cold metal slab, his limbs and face and torso charred from hellish fire, his gut blasted open with shrapnel.
Lucan’s need to see Gabrielle tonight had trumped his duty to the Breed, and now Conlan—his grieving mate, as well—had paid the ultimate price.
“I will take him topside,” he repeated sternly. He slid a bleak scowl at Gideon. “Summon me when the preparations are completed.”
The vampire inclined his head, granting Lucan more respect than he was due in that moment. “Of course. It won’t be long.”
Lucan spent the next couple of hours alone in his private quarters, kneeling in the center of the space, head dropped in prayer and somber reflection. Gideon arrived at the door, as promised, nodding to indicate that it was time to remove Conlan from the compound and surrender him to the dead.
“She’s pregnant,” Gideon said grimly as Lucan rose. “Danika is three months with child. Savannah just told me. Conlan had been trying to work up the courage to tell you that he was leaving the Order once the baby arrived. He and Danika were planning to withdraw to one of the Darkhavens to raise their family.”
“Christ,” Lucan hissed, feeling even worse for the happy future Conlan and Danika had been robbed of, and for the son who would never know the man of courage and honor who had been his father. “Everything is in preparation for the ritual?”
Gideon inclined his head.
“Then let’s do this.”
Lucan strode forward. His feet and head were bare, as was the rest of his body beneath a long black robe.