Elise might have too. Lord knew, she wanted to do that very thing at first. But anger pulled her through the initial suffering.

Vengeance would take her the rest of the way.

You do what you must in order to survive it, she heard herself say to the stricken female who looked at her with so much pity it stung. You just do...whatever it takes.

Of course, Anna replied. She smiled, but it was a wobbly effort that didn't quite mask her discomfort with the conversation's awkward turn. How long will you be in town? Perhaps if you have time, I could show you around the city. We have some lovely parks and museums...

Perhaps. Elise glanced at her wineglass as if she just recalled it was empty. Will you excuse me? I think I'll take a little walk and refresh my drink.

Yes, Anna said, sympathy still softening her eyes. It was good to see you, Elise. Truly.

Elise gave her friend's hand a gentle squeeze. You too.

As she started to walk away, a low rumble of conversation carried through the crowd. Elise hardly had to turn to see what caused it; she felt the disturbance deep within her bones, and in the warm prickle of awareness that settled in her breast.

For God's sake, Agent Waldemar muttered from a few feet away from her. He and several of his cronies were gaping in open contempt toward the entrance of the ballroom. You'd think he'd at least have the decency to dress accordingly for a function like this. Despicable savages, every last one of them.

Elise swiveled her head and saw Tegan making his way into the gathering. He was a startlingly grim vision, dressed in full combat gear and dripping with weapons. His overlong tawny hair was wild around his head and broad, leather- clad shoulders, and there was a lethal sharpness to his green-eyed gaze as he casually scanned the crowd.

He had to know how nightmarish he must look to these pampered civilians, but he only sneered at those few inpiduals who dared to stare at him as he strode into their midst.

Just look at that uncouth Gen One barbarian, Waldemar chortled, much to his Agency companions' smirking amusement. The younger generations may be impressed by the Order's violent methods--particularly after that bit of spectacle last summer in Boston--but they need only take a hard look at this one to see the warriors for what they truly are: uncivilized hoodlums who have long outlived their purpose.

The group of them chuckled, so pompous in their silk tuxedos, their arrogance rolling off them like a sour wind.

Elise hated how the Darkhaven males were looking at Tegan. And in a small, shamed corner of her conscience, she knew that she had been guilty of the same thing at one time. She'd been raised in an Agency family nearly from infancy, taught to believe that the Order was exactly what this man claimed them to be.

And when it came to Tegan himself, Elise had to acknowledge that she'd been judging him most unfairly of all.

Tell me, Agent Waldemar, Elise said, putting herself squarely in front of the Breed male and staring up into his surprised expression. Have you lived in the Berlin Darkhaven for long?

He puffed out his chest with pride. One hundred and thirty-two years, my dear lady. As I mentioned, most of them spent in service with the Agency. Why do you ask?

Because it occurs to me that while you and your friends stand around at fancy parties, patting yourselves on the back and condemning the Order as obsolete, the warriors are on the streets risking their lives each and every night to protect a nation that hasn't bothered to so much as thank them for their trouble in the past few hundred years.

Waldemar blanched, but then his feathery blond brows lowered dangerously. You are Quentin Chase's widow, so I'll be kind and not burden you with the facts about just how brutal those thugs can be. But I assure you, madam, they are soulless killers, each and every one of them. Especially that one, he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. He would slit your throat in your sleep if he felt like it, you mark my words.

That one, Elise said, knowing that Tegan was coming closer all the time. Her veins were lit up like live wires, her temples buzzing. But she was furious and getting more incensed by the second. That warrior you would insult so freely is the main reason any of you are standing here tonight.

Indeed, Waldemar scoffed, clearly incredulous.

Is the historical memory so short in this area that you have forgotten about the band of Rogues who descended on your Darkhaven two hundred years ago, killing many of your citizens? It was that warrior who took it upon himself to hunt the Rogues down. He saved your community single-handedly, and he asked for nothing in return. I don't think a little respect for him now would be misplaced.

None of the Darkhaven males said a word as she finished her diatribe and waited for their reaction. They were looking past her now, Agent Waldemar the palest of them all.

Chapter Seventeen

Tegan had known it was a mistake to walk into the reception. He'd been half a mile away from the mansion on foot when the urge suddenly struck him to go back and make his presence known to all of the Darkhaven idiots who thought they were better than him.

Or maybe he just wanted to make his presence known to the woman who had been turning his head inside out since the moment he first met her. Some masochistic part of him wanted to stake a claim here, even though he fully expected her to be appalled by his presence--much like everyone else who saw him strolling into their pleasant little party dressed for war.

What he never expected was to hear Elise rising to his defense as if he needed to be protected from a bunch of blowhards in tuxedos and bow ties. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the sting of humiliation, but he felt it now, left standing alone with Elise as the rest of the crowd shrank back.

Excuse me, she said, ignoring his demand that she explain herself. Without waiting for him to speak, she simply walked away. Tegan stood there, following her with his eyes as she deposited her empty wineglass on a server's tray and headed for the wall of glass doors that looked out over the estate's lakefront back lawn and gardens. When she slipped outside alone, Tegan snarled a curse and went after her. She was halfway to the water by the time he reached her, the frozen grass crunching under the slender heels of her shoes.

Tegan grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. You want to explain to me what that was about back there?

She shrugged. I didn't like what I was hearing. Those self-righteous stuffed shirts' as you call them were wrong, and they needed to hear it.

Tegan exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the chill air. Look, I don't need anyone coming to my defense--especially not with a bunch of assholes like that. I fight my own battles. Next time, spare me the concern.

Her eyes narrowed in the dark as she stared up at him. No, you can't accept even the smallest kindness from anyone, can you, Tegan?

Last time I checked, I was doing just fine on my own.

She laughed at him. Threw her pretty head back and really laughed, right in his face. You're unbelievable! You can take on an army of Rogues all by yourself, but you're scared to death that someone might actually care for you. Or even worse, that you might be tempted to care for someone else.

You don't know the first thing about me.

Does anyone? She yanked her arm out of his light hold. Her face seemed stark in the moonlight, her soft features drawn tight. Go away, Tegan. I'm tired and I just...I really want to be left alone right now.

He watched her lift her long indigo skirt above her pale ankles as she began another trek farther out toward the dark lake glistening at the end of the lavish grounds. She paused in the shadows of an old stone boathouse at the shoreline, her arms wrapped around herself. Tegan considered doing as she asked, just turning around and letting her have her space. But now he was pissed off and he wasn't about to let Elise deliver him a verbal slap in the face and simply walk away.

He was fully prepared to lace into her for presuming to know anything of what he'd been through or for thinking she could possibly know how he felt, but as he came up behind her he saw that she was trembling. Not just shuddering from the cold, but really shaking.

Jesus Christ, was she crying?

Elise...

She shook her head and pivoted to move farther up the lawn, out of his reach. I said go away!

Tegan went right after her, moving faster than her human eyes would be able to track him. He stopped in front of her, blocking her path. Pale, tear-filled eyes lifted and widened before she pivoted to get around him. She didn't make it even a single step. He reached out, holding her still, his fingers wrapped over her trembling bare shoulders.

Her grief sliced through him the instant his hands made contact. He hadn't helped the situation any, but most of what she was feeling was something bleaker than the anger he stoked in her. Tegan felt her emotions seep in through his fingertips, registering the cold ache of loss. It was fresh again, like a wound ripped open before it had fully healed.

What happened in there?

Nothing, she lied, her voice thick with sorrow. It will pass, right?

The very words he'd said to her at her apartment when he'd callously dismissed her bereavement. She threw them back at him now, her flashing lavender eyes daring him to say something kind, or to so much as think he might offer her comfort.

He wanted to offer that to her. The realization hit him hard, squarely in the center of his chest. He didn't want to see her in pain.

He wanted...God, he didn't even know what to want when it came to this woman.

I know what you're going through, he admitted quietly. I understand loss, Elise. I've been there too.

Ah, hell.

What was he doing? Some ancient part of him roused in a defensive panic as soon as the words left his tongue. He hadn't aired out his bleak history in ages. He knew he was exposing the soft belly of a long-sleeping beast, but it was too late to call the admission back.

Elise's expression muted from distress to tender surprise. A sympathy he wasn't sure he was ready to accept. Who did you lose, Tegan?

He cast his gaze out over the moonlit water and the twinkle of lights shining across the way, thinking back on a night he'd relived a thousand times in his mind. More than five hundred years of imagined alternate scenarios--endless things that he could have, would have, should have done differently--but the outcome never changed. Her name was Sorcha. She was my Breedmate a very long time ago, when the Order was new. She was abducted by Rogues one night when I was out on patrol.

Oh, Tegan, Elise whispered. Did they...hurt her?

She's dead, he replied, simple stated fact.

He didn't think she'd want to know the horrific details of how her captors had sent her back to him, abused and violated, a broken shell of who she had been. God knew, he didn't want to talk about the guilt and rage that had torn at him when Sorcha had come back alive--but only barely, drained of her blood and her humanity. To his horror, she'd come back to him a Minion.

Tegan had lost his mind, certainly lost his self-control, in those dark days following his Breedmate's abduction and return. He'd fallen into the grip of Bloodlust, and had come deadly close to going Rogue.

All for nothing.

Death, when it finally came for Sorcha, had been a mercy.

I can't bring her back, and I can't take away what happened.

No, Elise said softly. Would that we could. But how long does it take before we stop blaming ourselves for everything we wish we'd done differently?

He looked back at her now, unused to this feeling of affinity. But it was the regret in her eyes that made something inside him thaw just a little. You didn't give your son the drug that corrupted him, Elise. You didn't push him over that edge.

Didn't I? I thought I was protecting him, but I held him too close all the time. He rebelled. He wanted to be a man--he was a man--but I couldn't bear to lose my child because he was all I had left. The more I tried to keep him close, the harder he pulled away.

Every kid goes through that. It doesn't mean you caused his death--

We argued the last night I saw him, she blurted out. Camden wanted to go to some kind of party--a rave, I think he called it. There had already been a few Darkhaven youths who'd gone missing, so I was worried something might happen to him. I forbade him to go. I told him that if he did, he shouldn't come back home. It was just an empty threat. I didn't mean it...

Jesus, Tegan muttered. We all say things we regret, Elise. You were only trying to keep him safe.

Instead I killed him.

No. Bloodlust killed him. Marek and the human he paid to create Crimson killed your son. Not you.

She crossed her arms over herself and gave a mute shake of her head. He didn't miss the sudden flood of tears that filled her eyes.

You're shivering. Tegan shrugged out of his heavy leather coat and draped it around her before she could refuse him. It's too cold. You shouldn't be out here.

Not with him, he thought, so very tempted to touch her now.

Before he could stop himself, he was raising his hand to her cheek and smoothing away the wetness that streaked down her fair skin. He caressed her face, letting his thumb brush across her lips. It was all too easy to recall how sweet her mouth had been, pressed against his wrist. How heated her tongue had been when she lapped at him, drawing strength from his blood.

How the feel of her body, hungry and writhing next to his, had inflamed him.

He wanted that again, with a ferocity that stunned him.

Tegan, please...don't. Elise sighed, closing her eyes as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. Don't do this if you don't mean it. Don't touch me like that if you don't...if you don't feel it.

He lifted her chin, tenderly sweeping his fingertips over her petal-soft eyelids, compelling her to see him. They opened slowly, dark lashes framing pools of beautiful light amethyst.

Look at me, Elise. Tell me what you think I'm feeling, he murmured, then bent his head to hers and pressed his mouth to her parted lips.

The warmth of her kiss was like a flame, kindling the cold space in his chest. He let his fingers thread into the short, silky hair at her nape, holding her against him as he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips. She parted for him on a gasp, trembling in his arms as he tasted the wet velvet of her mouth.