Darker After Midnight (38 page)

“I’m sorry for the worry,” he murmured. “That wasn’t my intent.”

“No,” she said. “You intended to save us that day. And you did. What you did for all of us in that moment was—”

“Honorable,” Tegan finished for her. “Fucking suicidal too, but that’s beside the point.”

Chase gave a vague lift of his shoulder, dismissing their gratitude. One noble gesture couldn’t earn back everything he’d thrown away, no matter how badly he suddenly wanted to think it could. It would take time to prove himself fully to his brethren again. Time he wasn’t sure he had when hunger was gnawing at him from far within the pit of his soul.

His hands were twitchy at his sides, his veins beginning to jangle, giving him the sudden, rising urge to hightail it out of the place and run deep and long into the night. As the dark impulse built inside him, he felt Tavia’s fingers brush lightly against his. She knew what he was feeling, and her offered hand was just the mooring he needed. Their fingers twined, he cleared his throat and made the introductions.

“Tavia Fairchild, this is Tegan’s mate, Elise.”

“I’m also Sterling’s former sister-in-law,” she said, smiling with genuine kindness.

“Yes, I know,” Tavia replied. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Elise’s gaze drifted down to their joined hands and a tender light came into her eyes. “Maybe after the ceremony, I can show you around the house and grounds?”

Tavia smiled. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“I should go back and take a seat now. We were just about to begin.”

As she and Tegan started to turn away, Chase reached out to take a light hold of Elise’s arm. “Wait.”

Tegan’s answering growl was low and dark, well within his rights. His eyes flashed with amber sparks. Chase let go and blew out a hasty apology. “I just wanted to say congratulations. To both of you. About the baby. I’m happy for you both.”

Elise beamed up at Tegan, then turned her joy on Chase. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, Sterling. It means a lot to both of us.”

Tegan grunted and took Chase’s offered hand in a firm shake.
The blond warrior’s hold hesitated, no doubt reading the emotional truth of Chase’s words with the power of his touch. Chase didn’t recoil under the extrasensory probe; he truly had nothing to hide. Tegan nodded, then drew his hand away and clapped Chase’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, Harvard.”

The pair walked off to take their seats near the front of the small sanctuary.

Chase turned back to Tavia. “She and Tegan have been mated for just over a year. I should’ve told you she was part of the Order now.”

“It’s all right. I was surprised to see her, but it’s okay.” She held his gaze, not with jealousy or anger, but with genuine care and concern. “What about you? Are you okay with Elise being here, and being mated to one of your friends?”

“Yeah, I am.” He nodded, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of Tavia’s hand, their fingers still entwined. “She’s mated well. They both have.”

For one insane moment, he pictured himself mated as happily as Tegan and Elise. It wasn’t something he’d ever wished for himself, but now, with Tavia’s hand enveloped in his, his mind was swamped with imaginings of what his future might hold if she were his blood-bonded mate. Impossible dreams.

His hope for any kind of future with Tavia would expire the first time he let his thirst rule him.

He told himself it didn’t matter as the ceremony got under way and he and Tavia found their places by themselves in the last row of pews.

With Gabrielle holding the baby at the front of the room now, Elise and the other Breedmates lit eight white candles arranged in a large circle around Dante, Tess, Gideon, and Savannah—an infinite ring connecting them in this moment. There were no white-hooded tunics for the four of them; it was doubtful there’d been time to gather much of what they needed between the evacuation of the Boston compound and the ceremony tonight. But they had the eight thin lengths of virgin white silk, and as the candles were being lit all around them, Dante, Tess, Gideon, and Savannah braided the pieces together into a woven cradle they held suspended
between them, a symbolic link between parent and guardian.

Lucan stood front and center, sober in his duty as officiant of the ceremony. “Who brings this child before us tonight?”

“We do,” Dante and Tess answered in unison. “He is our son, Xander Raphael.”

At Lucan’s nod, Gabrielle carried the naked baby over to his parents and placed him in his mother’s arms. With Dante holding one end of the woven cradle and Gideon and Savannah holding the other, Tess lifted Xander up to the gathered assembly.

Beside Chase on the pew, he could feel Tavia holding her breath, watching in awestruck silence as the ceremony unfolded.

“This babe is ours,” Tess and Dante recited together. “With our love we have brought him into this world. With our blood and lives we sustain him, and keep him safe from all harm. He is our joy and promise, the perfect expression of our eternal bond, and we are honored to present him to you, our kin.”

“You honor us well” came the singular reply from everyone gathered in the room.

Even Chase found himself murmuring the traditional reply, anticipating the ritual still to come. He’d witnessed countless such rites in the Darkhavens, for births and deaths and marriages, but ceremony among his warrior brethren was a rare thing. And this—a baby presented before the compound—was a first.

Which made it even more powerful as Tess returned her child to Lucan’s arms and took her place once more beside Dante. Lucan’s deep voice boomed heavy and unrushed as he pivoted toward Gideon and Savannah. “Who pledges to protect this child with blood and bone and final breath should duty call upon it?”

“We do,” the pair replied together, words that tasted bitter on Chase’s tongue as he pushed them back down his throat unspoken. He saw Dante’s gaze search him out through the gathering, and he forced himself to offer a nod of acceptance, of sincere approval, for the decision his friend had made in the best interests of his son.

The soundness of that decision hit Chase even more pointedly in that next instant, when Lucan placed Xander in the center of the woven cradle and Gideon proceeded with the final step of the ritual.
Bringing his wrist to his mouth, Gideon sank his fangs into his flesh, then turned and did the same to Savannah’s wrist.

Chase knew it was coming, but as soon as the scent of fresh blood permeated the room, his body seized in a violent tremor. He struggled to get it under control, but the hunger was fierce. His fangs punched out of his gums to fill his mouth.

“Chase?” Tavia whispered softly beside him. “Are you okay?” She reached up to touch his cheek, her pretty face twisted in concern and bathed in the glow of his transformed irises.

At the front of the room, Gideon and Savannah were now holding their wrists above Xander, blood droplets raining down on his naked skin to signify their vow to surrender their lives for the protection of his.

Chase couldn’t remain there. Not without losing his head and ruining the entire ceremony.

Miserable with himself, Chase pivoted off the pew and slipped out of the sanctuary as quietly as he could manage. He stumbled up the corridor to the great room and through the French doors leading to the deck outside. Leaping off it, he ran for the deep gloom of the surrounding trees.

By the time he took his first gasp of crisp night air, he was sick with hunger, lungs sawing, stomach feeling shredded to pieces inside him. He dropped to his hands and knees in the snow, dragging in one wheezing breath after another.

“Chase?”

Ah, Christ. Tavia. She’d followed him outside. It killed him to let her see him like this, weak and heaving like the junkie he was. He’d never forgive himself if he did anything to hurt her. “Get away from me, Tavia. Just—go back inside.”

“What’s happening to you? Talk to me, Chase.”

“Leave, Tavia. Now.” He flinched when she bent down to touch his hunched back. “For fuck’s sake, stay away from me!”

She drew up short at his violent snarl, but there was no fear in her eyes, no pity or revulsion. Only concern. “You need help. I’m going inside to get someone—”

“Don’t. Please. Not them.” The words rasped out of him, raw and desperate. He shook his head, miserable as he looked up at
her, knowing how he must appear to her now. So weak. So diminished. Pathetic. No shadows to conceal him, no bravado or fury to mask the truth of what he’d become. He groaned, whether from the anguish of his thirst or the depth of his humiliation, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Not even her.

Especially not her, but Tavia wasn’t leaving. No, she knelt down next to him in the snow. Stroked her hand gently over his back, through his short, sweat-dampened hair. “I can feel your hunger … and your pain. You’re shaking with it, Chase. My God, you’re starving. If you need blood, take it.”

“No.” He choked the denial, even as his fangs tore farther out of his gums. His throat was ash, blood thirst raking him like nails over scorched earth. His fevered eyes lit on the pulse point ticking at the base of her neck. Hunger spiked, hard and demanding. “Please, Tavia. Go back inside. Before I …”

“Before you drink from me?” Her gaze was steady on him, unafraid. “It’s okay, Chase. I’m here for you. I would let you—”

“No.”
He hissed a sharp curse and swung his head away from the temptation of her vulnerable throat. “No. Never with you.”

“Because you don’t want to bind yourself to me.”

That quiet guess was so far removed from the truth, it brought his wild amber gaze right back to her. “Because once I have a taste of you, I don’t trust myself to stop. You shouldn’t trust me either.” His voice was little more than a growl, animal and raw. “I’m sick, Tavia. This thing’s had its talons in me for a long time. I’m not sure how much longer I can fight it.”

She stared at him, studying the misery that had to be written all over his face and in the churning fury of his
dermaglyphs
. Some of the color drained out of her as comprehension dawned, cold and certain. “You’re talking about Bloodlust. That’s what this raw, shredding ache is that I feel in your veins all the time. It’s your addiction.”

No sense in denying it. She was the only person he couldn’t hide from, the one person whose rejection would cut him the deepest.

He groaned, weathering another savage convulsion of his insides. Sweat popped all over his skin and across his brow, chill and
damp in the cold winter air. When the worst of it gripped him, it was Tavia’s tender hands that drew him back from his pain. She sat down on the frozen ground beside him and stroked his face with gentle care, courageous despite his feral condition.

“When did this start, Chase? How long have you been fighting it?”

Her touch gave him strength, brought the words up from his scorched throat like a balm drawing poison from a wound. “Six years,” he admitted hoarsely. It all came up at once now, acrid and raw. “I’ve been hiding it from everyone since the night of my brother’s death.”

She ran her soothing fingers along the tense line of his clenched jaw. “What happened that night? I know you held something back when you first told me about Quentin’s death. You said you didn’t remember, but you do … you remember it all, don’t you?”

He nodded, sick with the truth of his actions yet unable to deny them to her. He recalled every second of those blood-soaked hours surrounding Quent’s death. Every one of the Rogues he’d slaughtered in his thirst to avenge his fallen kin.

And he remembered the shame of his actions afterward too, when his guilt had driven him to an even further low.

“I was the one who brought in the Rogue who killed my brother. Son of a bitch had drained two humans outside a Goth bar in Cambridge. I should’ve ashed him on the spot, but that was against Agency policy.” He scoffed, still feeling the bite of fury like acid on his tongue. “So I hauled him in, and Quent put him on ice for questioning and processing. He was only in the room alone with the blood-crazed bastard for a few minutes. By the time Quent hit the alarm, he was already bleeding out from the gaping shank wound in his throat.”

“Oh, Chase.” Tavia’s voice was a whisper on the chill night breeze, full of the same shock and anguish that he felt coursing through him now as he relived the awful moments.

“I’d done a weapons search on the Rogue when I brought him in, but somehow he got the makeshift blade past me. I failed my brother.” He blew out a raw curse. “I might as well have stabbed him with my own hand.”

“No,” Tavia said, shaking her head as she caressed him. “God, no. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Really?” His voice was airless, as cold as the night around him. “Do you know how many times I wondered what it would’ve been like to live without the weight of Quent’s shadow hanging over me? There were times I fucking
wished
for it, Tavia.”

She stared at him, no doubt appalled now. Her fingers fell away from him, her exhaled breath clouding in the chill before being swept away into the dark. “You didn’t kill him, Chase. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not one of August Chase’s sons,” he replied, bitter with self-loathing.

He recalled the whispers that followed in the immediate aftermath of Quentin’s death. Elise’s horror had been the worst to bear. Her questions and confusion when she’d arrived at the Agency headquarters to see her dead mate still rang in his head:
How could this have happened, Sterling? Who brought the Rogue in? Who was responsible for searching him for weapons? Sterling, please tell me Quentin’s not really gone!

“I wanted to make it right somehow, but there was nothing I could do. Not even killing the Rogue who killed my brother made my guilt any lighter.” He swore roughly and raked a hand over the aching bones of his face. His hunger still rode him, but as he sucked the wintry cold into his lungs, some of the burn had begun to ebb. “I went back to the Goth club where I’d picked up the Rogue earlier that night. There was another lurking outside, waiting for his prey. I took out some of my rage on him, then forced him to tell me where his nest was. A group of Rogues had squatted in a warehouse at the ass end of the Charles River. I killed them all, brutally, practically bathed in their blood. And I didn’t stop there. I couldn’t. The violence had me by then. By the time dawn started to break, I’d killed my first human and was teetering on the edge of a thirst I could barely contain. I’ve been fighting it ever since.”