Edge of Dawn
1
HUMANS.
The night was thick with them.
They choked the dark sidewalks and intersections of Boston’s old North End, overflowed from the open doorways of dance clubs, sim-lounges, and cocktail bars. Strolling, loitering, conversing, they filled the near-midnight streets with too many voices, too many bodies shuffling and sweating in the unseasonable heat of the early June evening.
And damned too little space to avoid the anxious sidelong looks—those countless quick, darting glances from people pretending they hadn’t noticed, and weren’t the least bit terrified, of the four members of the Order who now strode through the middle of the city’s former restricted sector.
Mira, the lone female of the squad of off-duty warriors, scanned the crowd of Homo sapiens civilians with a hard eye. Too bad she and her companions were wearing street clothes and discreetly concealed weapons. She’d have preferred combat gear and an arsenal of heavy firearms. Give the good citizens of Boston a real excuse to stare in mortal terror.
“Twenty years we’ve been outed to mankind, and most of them still gape at us like we’ve come to collect their carotids,” said one of the three Breed males walking alongside her.
Mira shot him a wry look. “Feeding curfew goes into effect at midnight, so don’t expect to see the welcome wagon down here. Besides, fear is a good thing, Bal. Especially when it comes to dealing with their kind.”
Balthazar, a giant wall of olive-skinned thick muscle and ruthless strength, met her gaze with a grim understanding in his hawkish golden eyes. The dark-haired vampire had been with the Order for a long time, coming on board nearly two decades ago, during the dark, early years following First Dawn, the day the humans learned they were not, in fact, the ultimate predator on the planet.
They hadn’t accepted that truth easily. Nor peacefully.
Many lives were lost on both sides in the time that followed. Many long years of death and bloodshed, grief and mistrust. Even now, the truce between the humans and the Breed was tentative. While the governing heads of both global nations—man and vampire—attempted to broker lasting peace for the good of all, private hatreds and suspicions still festered in each camp. The war between mankind and Breed still waged on, but it had gone underground, undeclared and unsanctioned but nonetheless lethal.
A cold ache filled Mira’s chest at the thought of all the pain and suffering she’d witnessed in the years between her childhood under the protection of the Order, through the rigorous training and combat experience that had shaped her into the warrior she was now. She tried to sweep the ache aside, put it behind her, but it was hard to do. Tonight of all nights, it was next to impossible to shut out the hurt.
And the part of this war that was personal, as intimate as anything in her life could be, now gave her voice a raw, biting edge. “Let the humans be afraid. Maybe if they worry more about losing their throats, they’ll be less inclined to tolerate the radicals among them who would like to see all of the Breed reduced to ashes.”
From behind her, another of her teammates gave a low purr of a chuckle. “You ever consider a career in public relations, Captain?” She threw a one-fingered salute over her shoulder and kept walking, her long blond braid thumping like a tail against her leather-clad backside. Webb’s laugh deepened. “Right. Didn’t think so.”
If anyone was suited for diplomatic assignment, it was Julian Webb. Adonis handsome, affable, polished, and utterly devastating when he turned on the charm. That Webb was a product of a cultured upbringing among the Breed’s privileged elite went without saying. Not that he ever had. His background—along with his reasons for joining the Order—was a secret he’d shared only with Lucan Thorne, and the Order’s founding elder wasn’t telling.
There were times Mira wondered if that’s why Lucan had personally assigned Webb to her team last year—to keep a close eye on her for him and the Council and to ensure the Order’s mission objectives were being met without any . . . issues. Since her humiliating censure for insubordination by the Council eighteen months ago, it wouldn’t surprise Mira to learn that Lucan had entrusted Webb to smooth out any potential rough patches in her leadership of the unit. But she hadn’t worked her ass off, trained to the brink of killing herself to earn her place with the Order, only to throw it away.
It was highly unusual—all but unheard of, in fact—for a female to come through the ranks with the Order and be awarded a place as captain of a warrior team. Her pride swelled to think on that, even now. She’d lived to prove herself capable, worthy. She’d pushed herself ruthlessly to earn the respect of the Order’s elders and the other warriors she’d trained with—respect she’d eventually won through blood, sweat, and stubborn determination.
HUMANS.
The night was thick with them.
They choked the dark sidewalks and intersections of Boston’s old North End, overflowed from the open doorways of dance clubs, sim-lounges, and cocktail bars. Strolling, loitering, conversing, they filled the near-midnight streets with too many voices, too many bodies shuffling and sweating in the unseasonable heat of the early June evening.
And damned too little space to avoid the anxious sidelong looks—those countless quick, darting glances from people pretending they hadn’t noticed, and weren’t the least bit terrified, of the four members of the Order who now strode through the middle of the city’s former restricted sector.
Mira, the lone female of the squad of off-duty warriors, scanned the crowd of Homo sapiens civilians with a hard eye. Too bad she and her companions were wearing street clothes and discreetly concealed weapons. She’d have preferred combat gear and an arsenal of heavy firearms. Give the good citizens of Boston a real excuse to stare in mortal terror.
“Twenty years we’ve been outed to mankind, and most of them still gape at us like we’ve come to collect their carotids,” said one of the three Breed males walking alongside her.
Mira shot him a wry look. “Feeding curfew goes into effect at midnight, so don’t expect to see the welcome wagon down here. Besides, fear is a good thing, Bal. Especially when it comes to dealing with their kind.”
Balthazar, a giant wall of olive-skinned thick muscle and ruthless strength, met her gaze with a grim understanding in his hawkish golden eyes. The dark-haired vampire had been with the Order for a long time, coming on board nearly two decades ago, during the dark, early years following First Dawn, the day the humans learned they were not, in fact, the ultimate predator on the planet.
They hadn’t accepted that truth easily. Nor peacefully.
Many lives were lost on both sides in the time that followed. Many long years of death and bloodshed, grief and mistrust. Even now, the truce between the humans and the Breed was tentative. While the governing heads of both global nations—man and vampire—attempted to broker lasting peace for the good of all, private hatreds and suspicions still festered in each camp. The war between mankind and Breed still waged on, but it had gone underground, undeclared and unsanctioned but nonetheless lethal.
A cold ache filled Mira’s chest at the thought of all the pain and suffering she’d witnessed in the years between her childhood under the protection of the Order, through the rigorous training and combat experience that had shaped her into the warrior she was now. She tried to sweep the ache aside, put it behind her, but it was hard to do. Tonight of all nights, it was next to impossible to shut out the hurt.
And the part of this war that was personal, as intimate as anything in her life could be, now gave her voice a raw, biting edge. “Let the humans be afraid. Maybe if they worry more about losing their throats, they’ll be less inclined to tolerate the radicals among them who would like to see all of the Breed reduced to ashes.”
From behind her, another of her teammates gave a low purr of a chuckle. “You ever consider a career in public relations, Captain?” She threw a one-fingered salute over her shoulder and kept walking, her long blond braid thumping like a tail against her leather-clad backside. Webb’s laugh deepened. “Right. Didn’t think so.”
If anyone was suited for diplomatic assignment, it was Julian Webb. Adonis handsome, affable, polished, and utterly devastating when he turned on the charm. That Webb was a product of a cultured upbringing among the Breed’s privileged elite went without saying. Not that he ever had. His background—along with his reasons for joining the Order—was a secret he’d shared only with Lucan Thorne, and the Order’s founding elder wasn’t telling.
There were times Mira wondered if that’s why Lucan had personally assigned Webb to her team last year—to keep a close eye on her for him and the Council and to ensure the Order’s mission objectives were being met without any . . . issues. Since her humiliating censure for insubordination by the Council eighteen months ago, it wouldn’t surprise Mira to learn that Lucan had entrusted Webb to smooth out any potential rough patches in her leadership of the unit. But she hadn’t worked her ass off, trained to the brink of killing herself to earn her place with the Order, only to throw it away.
It was highly unusual—all but unheard of, in fact—for a female to come through the ranks with the Order and be awarded a place as captain of a warrior team. Her pride swelled to think on that, even now. She’d lived to prove herself capable, worthy. She’d pushed herself ruthlessly to earn the respect of the Order’s elders and the other warriors she’d trained with—respect she’d eventually won through blood, sweat, and stubborn determination.