Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

going to.
    But how to sleep? He switched on the metronome beside his bed. Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . Soothing, but not nearly enough to combat the persistent ache in his balls.
    Maybe he should drug himself as his former jailer customarily did—Declan Chase, an Irish soldier of the Order, known as the Blademan.
    Lothaire sat up, clasping his forehead. Had his escape from the Order’s island prison been only yesterday? It felt like weeks had passed.
    Less than twenty-four hours ago, Chase had been mortally wounded. Lothaire had given the Blademan his blood in exchange for Lothaire’s own freedom—anything to reach Saroya before the execution.
    Yet another bargain. Attempt to turn Chase into a vampire; save Saroya.
    Centuries had passed since Lothaire had last made a vampire. Perhaps I’m a sire once more? But the blood was no guarantee. Did Chase even live yet?
    My enemy. And potentially my spawn. He frowned, unsure how he felt about that. Especially since Chase had tortured Lothaire during his imprisonment.
    Though the Blademan had himself been brutally tortured as a lad—and therefore knew what the hell he was about—Lothaire had merely laughed at the pain. Even when his skin was burned to ash.
    Chase hadn’t understood; no misery could compare to hiding in the snow while listening as one’s mother was savagely raped and burned alive. No cruelty could compare to what Stefanovich had done to Lothaire years later.
    The earth grinding over me, roots threading my body.
    Block that memory out! Or stare down into the abyss. . . .
    No matter what happened between Lothaire and Chase, they were connected now, had exchanged blood between them. Which meant that Lothaire could reach into Chase’s mind with his own, could investigate his memories.
    Perhaps I don’t need to sleep. He only had to get close enough to Chase.
    The Blademan’s woman was a Valkyrie. She would have taken him back to Val Hall, the Louisiana estate where her coven resided—with its never-ending fog, lightning flashes, and ungodly Valkyrie shrieks.
    A place Lothaire knew well. He was one of only a handful of vampires who’d seen the inside and still lived.
    He could go there now, seeking Chase.
    Yet if Lothaire had these plans, then others might as well. Immortalsfrom all over the Lore would want a piece of Declan Chase, the bogeyman who’d crept through the night, abducting scores of them and their loved ones for ghastly experiments.
    But I get him first.
    Especially since Lothaire would get to him first. . . .

12
    A re you an extra sentry, then?” Lothaire asked Thaddeus Brayden, one of his fellow prison escapees. The young man had been pacing outside the Valkyries’ antebellum mansion, marching in and out of the fog banks stirring from the nearby bayou.
    Thaddeus twisted around, his fierce expression relaxing instantly—far from Lothaire’s customary reception. “Guess I am, Mr. Lothaire! We’re kind of under siege,” he said with a marked Texas drawl. He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots, looking ridiculously human.
    Though Thaddeus was new to the Lore, having only discovered he wasn’t mortal a month ago, the boy could be useful tonight.
    “How’d you get through Val Hall’s boundary?” He gazed past Lothaire. “When no one else can?”
    Lothaire smirked over his shoulder at the immortal lynch mob congregating at the front gates, kept from their vengeance by a Wiccan’s enclosure spell. It was similar—but inferior—to his own druidic barrier. Easy for me to breach.
    As predicted, all those Loreans wanted revenge on Chase. What they didn’t realize was that the Blademan had been only the muscle behindthe Order, had been brainwashed from the time he was a lad by the true leader—Commander Webb.
    Webb, the mortal who’d taken Lothaire’s ring off the prison island, had a secret hideout.
    Chase would know where it was.
    Lothaire wished all the best to the bloodthirsty mob, but knew they’d never get past the boundary—much less the Valkyries’ second line of defense.
    The wraiths.
    Garbed in tattered red robes, those ghostly echoes of deceased female warriors swarmed the mansion in a whirlwind, a skeletal face peeking out occasionally.
    The Valkyries had hired the Ancient Scourge—with their supposedly impenetrable guard—to protect the manor after a recent vampire incursion.
    Hadn’t Lothaire been a part of that? Ah, yes. That was I.
    “I’ve told you, Thaddeus, I have powers that others