Dreams of a Dark Warrior

recalled her telling him, “I can’t do this.”
    Hadn’t she pulled back from him?
    Yet even if she’d decided not to go through with her plan, how much of that night was real? He wondered if she’d desired
him
or merely reacted to a man’s touch. She’d said she hadn’t been with a man in two centuries,but surely that had been one of her many lies. …
    He faced the mirror, barely recognizing his reflec-tion. Pupils dilated, skin clammy. He turned away in disgust, then stepped into the shower stall.
    Under scalding water, he scrubbed his body, washing away all the traces of his hunt, of his twelve-hour stupor. He rolled his shoulders back, but couldn’t work out the tension knotting there.
    When he hung his head under the spray, pressing his palms against the tile, his gaze fell on his track marks.
As bad as I was in Belfast.
Declan hadn’t thought of himself as an addict since then, but now there was no denying it. He could shoot up for the rest of his life, chasing what he’d felt with the Valkyrie.
    He’d tasted peace with her. Somehow, she was the key. To be denied her … ?
    Christ, what did he even want from her? Having never been satisfied in this area of his life, he had no idea what he needed. No target to aim for.
    All he knew was that he wanted
more
of Regin. More time with her, more contact …
    More.
    He’d waited his entire life for this, comprehended with perfect clarity that he’d waited for her.
I can’t go back to an existence like before.
Grim. Soulless. Strain.
I won’t.
He’d eat a bullet first.
    Which meant he had to make a choice. He either accepted Regin as his, while accepting her nature and what she was.
    Or he ended himself.
    He exhaled a long breath as he admitted the truth to himself—he
didn’t
see her as he did the rest. No longer. The Neo hunt had only crystallized what he’d already wrestled with.
    When Declan looked at her, he didn’t think of her as some vile detrus; he thought of her as … his.
    He
could
accept her. He gazed down at the scars covering his body. Regin would never accept
him
.
    You’ve come full circle now, Dekko. How ironic.
    Hating those marks so bitterly, he threw back his head and bellowed with misery, slamming his fist into the tile.
Want her so fuckin’ much.
    The pain in his hand felt welcome. So he did it again and again till the tile cracked and shards piled around his feet.
    He raised his face to the spray.
Take her, escape this place.
He could
make
her love him. Somehow. He’d had better odds. But then he’d come back from worse ones, too.
    Turn his back on his duty? On Webb, the only friend he had in the world?
    Slow down… just think this over.
Tonight, after he completed the interrogation, he would go running, giving himself a chance to contemplate everything. He’d cover the entire island if he had to, but he would make a decision.
    He dried himself, then dressed in his fatigues, boots, and pullover. Last came the hated gloves. They were too tight today, especially over his bloodied right hand.
    Everything felt confining, as if his skin itched. Heloosened the strap on his watch. Ten minutes till six.
    He stormed from the room, nearly leveling Vincente on his way out. As Declan strode down the corridor, the man followed.
    “Magister Chase, I’ve been knocking and calling for hours.”
    “Not now.” He spied Webb waiting at the door of the interrogation room.
    “This is urgent—”
    “Right on time, as usual, son,” Webb said, before immediately dismissing Vincente. “That will be all.”
    The guard left with a cryptic glance at Declan.
    “We’ve heard good things about your hunt,” Webb continued. “A pristine job, and back early, too.”
    Declan had always soaked up the man’s praise. Now guilt surfaced.
I’m thinking of betraying him?
The man who’d given him a home, a job, purpose. “Thank you, sir.”
    “We have high hopes for Slaine’s questioning. Don’t let me down.”
    “No, sir.”
    Webb slapped him on the back.
    As Declan entered the interrogation room, he was struck anew by the massive size of the creature, by its vampire fangs and demon horns. No, Regin didn’t look like a monster or a murderer, but this large male did.
    “Why have you taken me?” the demon demanded in thickly accented English, renewing his efforts to get free.
    “All in good time, Slaine.” Declan felt sweat beading his upper lip. Christ, that hit was still roiling in him,and he hadn’t eaten all day. His hands shook.