Doing her best to ignore the banging, Regin asked, "Who else have they taken prisoner?"

"It's a who's-who list of the Lore."

Regin gave the fey the look her comment deserved. "As evidenced by the fact that I am here."

"Volos the centaur king and the Lykae Uil eam MacRieve have been here for a couple of weeks. They brought Carrow Graie in just before you."

Carrow? Regin was good friends with the witch. My man is responsible for all this?

"They've got scads of ghouls, Wendigos, some high-powered Sorceri. Numerous succubae and vampires ..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Regin spied two guards dragging by a towering prisoner. She turned, gasped.

Lothaire the Enemy of Old.

The vampire was drugged, his head lol ing, his pale blond hair stained with blood. His clothes were unmistakably moneyed-his muscular legs encased in leather pants, his shirt tailored to fit his lean build.

But the shirt had a bloody slit in the side. Natalya murmured, "The Blademan took Lothaire down?"

The Russian Horde vampire was diabolical. If these humans could capture and contain him ...

With difficulty, he raised his head, his hooded eyes flashing to Regin, his reddened irises darkening.

Without a word, he bared bloody fangs at her.

Once he and the guards passed, Regin bit out, "Those two with Lothaire ... they're truly human? I think I finally understand what a mindfuck is."

"It's the collars. The mortals cal them torques. They weaken us, dim our powers through some mystical means."

Regin yanked at hers again. "So how do you get it off?"

"They can't be broken. Only the warden or magister can unlock them-with a thumbprint."

Oh, yeah, I'm screwed. "Al righty, then. About that all iance." Regin shot a look up at the camera, rubbing her hand over her nape. "How old are you?" she asked the fey.

"Why?"

"'Cause you could use a little work." She switched to the old immortal language to say, "Because you might understand this tongue."

Natalya answered in the same, "I know it."

"Has there never been a successful escape?" Regin asked, but she feared she knew the answer.

There was a reason Regin had never heard of the Order.

"The fox shifter next door has been here for years-she hears everything, conversations even in other wards. No one has gotten free."

"There's got to be a way."

"It's said we're on an island, far from any coast and surrounded by shark-fil ed waters. The cel is inescapable, the glass unbreakable. To have any chance at freedom, you'd have to get out of the cell first. They only take us out for three things-torture, experimentations, and executions."

"Mark my words, fey. I will escape this place. And if you get me up to speed and keep me there, I'll take you with me."

Natalya tapped her chin with a black claw. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you have a card up your sleeve."

"Maybe I do." Regin had knowledge of an upcoming event.

Declan Chase's imminent demise.

Chapter SIX

What the hell are they speaking?

Declan had observed the Valkyrie and fey's tense interaction with interest. He was fascinated with the hierarchies and all iances in the Lore, the usual predictability of their castes and classes.

But once their initial discord had faded, they'd begun calmly speaking to each other in a different tongue, one that seemed familiar to Declan.

Over the years, he'd studied on his own to learn the languages of his enemies-the vampires' Russian, the Lykae's Gaelic, the rough Demonish of the various demonarchies-but he couldn't place this.

With the click of a button, he started a program to translate their words, confident that he'd soon have a transcript of everything.

Input invalid.

What the hel ? His program couldn't pin down the language. He rang a technician. "I want a translation from cel seventy. Now."

"They're speaking no known language, sir."

Declan hung up, tamping down his frustration. He'd heard tales of an omnilingual fey-an elven creature who somehow knew all languages. He put her on his capture list.

The phone rang. Webb was the only one who cal ed his personal line. Declan had no friends or family. When he answered, Webb said, "You completed all of your captures! Good work, son."

Even after all this time, Declan savored the praise. He knew he'd cast Webb in a father's role, but Webb had been just as quick to put Declan into a son's. They'd both lost loved ones in this war. "Thank you, sir. But we sustained casualties when taking both the vampire and the Valkyrie."

"I saw the videos of the captures. Of course, we knew taking Lothaire wouldn't be easy. You confiscated a ring of his?"

"A plain gold band. He was incensed to lose it, even more homicidal."

"It must have mystical powers. Find out what it does. And what about the Valkyrie? How did she know we were closing in?"

"Her soothsayer sister dispatched her to attack my men."

"Nix the Ever-Knowing did this?" Webb asked, his tone peculiar. "When is the glowing one in the exam schedule?"

Declan pulled up the rotation on his screen. "Dixon won't have her until next week." The facility was backlogged with inmates, and still Webb insisted on bringing in more, no matter how much Declan protested.

"Question the Valkyrie before then. Dig for as much intel as you can get before the docs get through with her. We need to discover how she produces energy, how she channels it-"

"You knew she could channel electricity?" That intel would've saved lives tonight.

"Not until we watched her capture," Webb said. "Think, Declan, she doesn't eat or drink, but she produces continuous, uninterrupted power. She's like a walking reactor. Tapping into her energy source could solve the limitations inherent in the TEP-C."

The Order's charge throwers, or tactical electroshock pulse cannons, were incredibly effective against detrus-at least, against most of them besides Regin the Radiant-but they had limited firing power. "If you can discover what fuels her, we can use it against her own kind. ..."

Turning their strengths into weaknesses. Dixon's team of scientists would cut the Valkyrie open on the operating table to get to the truth. Since they'd need measurable, duplicable results, they'd do it repeatedly.

Declan gazed at the monitor, regarding the female with puzzlement.

"In any case, now that we finally have a Valkyrie, we need to learn everything we can about her species, and what sets this one apart."

Whenever the Order had been close to capturing a Valkyrie in the past, the target had grown spooked, as if she'd been tipped off. Likely by Nix the Ever-Knowing.

So why had Nix all owed Regin to be captured?

Why tell him he was late?

"And we need to know about the vampire's ring," Webb said. "I understand how difficult it is to get miscreats to talk, but I'm confident you can get me these answers."

Though Declan had become an expert at torture, the immortals were astonishingly closemouthed, even withholding information about their natural enemies. The only way to get results was by tormenting a loved one or mate, but Declan had no leverage like that over either the Valkyrie or the vampire.

No matter. Somehow he would break them. "Yes, sir," he said absently.

"Son?" Webb sighed. "You're not feeling mercy for the Valkyrie? Because you had to harm a female?"

Thirty-five years of something had rushed to the fore.

"Remember, their beauty is a weapon. This one will not hesitate to wield it on you." A pause. "Has she compromised your judgment? Tempted you in anyway?"

Declan grated, "No, sir!" The Order would mind-wipe and cast out any member who became involved with a detrus. Even an involuntary entrancement was enough to have one's memory erased.

Unless it happens to me.

Two years ago, a witch had entranced Declan, cursing him to relive every terror and agony he'd ever experienced.

Webb had procured a countercurse before Declan had been driven insane-or at least noticeably insane. Then the commander had covered up the whole ordeal.

How many more rules would the old man break for him? Would he fix any more transgressions?

On this night, Declan had savored the feel of a captive's body in his arms. And I'm ... changing. His doses could barely control it.

Cast out.

At the idea, sweat beaded on his upper lip. The Order was all Declan had. He'd rather die than lose it.

"I'll get the results, sir."

"Maybe I'll come out and check on things next month or so. Might be a good time, with so many developments on the horizon."

"Very good, sir. And perhaps we can talk then about cul ing some of these prisoners."

Declan didn't want them contained, or, God forbid, created. He wanted them all exterminated. "This facility is well over capacity."

"We'l talk about that when I get there."

Once they'd hung up, Declan cal ed for Vincente. The former Ranger was as trustworthy as any, he supposed, though Declan could never ful y trust another, no one but Webb.

In moments, the burly guard arrived. Not for the first time, Declan wondered if the man ever slept.

He handed Vincente the protective box guarding the vampire's ring. "I want you to get this ring analyzed. Have the metal urgist test for any mystical properties. The usual precautions-no one touches it. Return it before I question Lothaire."

With a nod, the man took the box and exited.

Even after the warning that Webb's cal had provided, Declan turned back to the monitor for another look at the Valkyrie. She was sitting on the floor of her cel in front of the glass, resting her forehead and hands against it, as if she expected the door to open at any time.

Instead of feeling satisfaction to see her like this, he suffered more of that inexplicable conflict within him.

He'd done his duty with her. So why this ... guilt? He clasped his aching forehead.

Why do I feel like I'm going mad? If so, then it'd been a long time coming.

He'd always known he wasn't a perfect soldier, had known he was f**ked up. How could he not be? His days of torment had left him emotional y stunted, unclean. But he got the bloody job done, control ing his eccentricities and deviations with exhausting training regimens.

Every day, he worked out in his room, lifting weights with a punishing intensity, then he ran at least forty miles-half the width of the island. He ate only enough food to stave off the worst of his hunger.

Anything to weaken himself, to help him appear normal.

And for years, his injections had rendered him an automaton, mindlessly carrying out the Order's agenda. Those years had been the most satisfying in his entire life.

Clearly, he just needed stronger doses to get back to that state. Tonight he'd begin doubling up. It would help him ignore his new prisoner and finally get some sleep.

Decided, he stripped off his clothes, then snagged the case. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he plucked a needle from its cradle, using it to extract the clear contents from two glass vials.

He rested his elbow on his knee and squeezed his right fist, readying one track-marked inner arm.

A hungry vein answered the cal . Kill the tension and pain, let me rest. He pressed the plunger ... exhaling with pleasure as his heartbeat grew plodding, his breaths slowing. The higher dosage confirmed his suspicions.

Oh, aye, Dixon had been adding something il icit. Bless her.

The strain eased, the pain of old battle wounds lessening until he could lie back-but he kept the monitor in sight.

His lids grew heavy as he watched the Valkyrie, until he eventual y fel asleep.

Yet instead of the oblivion he'd expected, he dreamed of a night in Belfast when he was just seventeen, the night his life changed forever.

Chapter SEVEN

Declan rol ed off the chit onto his back, staring up at the rotting warehouse ceiling above his mattress. Maybe he wouldn't have it this time. That feelin' in the pit of me gut, in me chest.

Waiting ...

The girl-he didn't remember her name-slurred, "Ah, Dekko, that was just grand."

Bullshite.

She was some loose bird who hung with the junkie gang he'd fal en in with three years ago. Their city was unforgiving. Since then, half had died. The other half were like him: hankering for the next score, fleecing anything and anyone.

"Though for a spell," she muttered, "I thought ye weren't to come a'tal . ..." Then she passed out.

Declan yanked off his empty condom. I didn't. Already anticipating the misery to fol ow, he'd gnashed his teeth, struggling to finish like a man. And couldn't.

He gazed over at her, feeling the strain build. Wrong. Wrong girl beside him, wrong time, wrong place.

He rubbed the medal ion hanging from his neck, frantical y circling his thumb over it-

He shot upright, shoving his fist against his mouth to hold down whatever meager slop he'd forced himself to eat during the day. Chil s seized him, his muscles shaking.

He felt this way every time he was with a woman.

Hel , he felt a measure of the strain constantly. Whenever Declan woke, his anxiety was worse than the day before, as if acid seethed in his bel y and barbed wire cinched around his heart.

Tracks lined his arms; he could take or leave food even though he was still growing like a weed; bouts of nightmares plagued him.

For as long as he could remember, he'd had a frenzied sense that he was supposed to be doing something. No matter where he was, he felt like he was supposed to be some-where else.

And that strain was kil ing him.

After sex, it grew stronger, like a beast lived inside him, clawing at his insides to get free. Though only seventeen, he was ready to give up women altogether.

For now, he'd numb the feeling the only way he knew how. He reached toward the battered crate beside his mattress on the floor and plucked up the syringe that lay ready.

Why did he always expect to feel different after sex? When he knew better?

Because, Dekko, ye're not ready to admit ye're done as a man.

He frowned at the weight of the syringe in his hand. He'd been shooting he**in for three years, and knew it was too light. Dread seized him as he gazed down. Empty.

Rage building, he hurled the syringe across the room, then turned on the girl. Jostling her awake, he yel ed, "Ye feckin' slag! Ye stoled it?" That was all he'd had. No money to buy more.

She woke, mumbling, "Needed a wee bump-"

"Get out!" he roared, shoving her up and out on her arse, tossing her clothes at her before slamming the door in her face.