Once admitted, he veered off the long, paved drive and let the wooded grounds envelop him. Up ahead some few hundred feet, he could see the faint glow of the mansion’s lights through the thick cover of snow-dusted pines. Even though the Order’s true headquarters were housed in a subterranean compound beneath the Gothic manse, it wasn’t unusual to find one or more of the warriors and their mates using the house in the evenings for dinners or entertaining.
But whoever was there tonight wasn’t enjoying any kind of pleasant recreation.
As Tegan neared the building, he heard a fierce animal roar, followed by the crash of shattering glass.
“What the—”
Another loud crash sounded, more violent than the first, coming from the mansion’s opulent foyer. Like something—or somebody—big was tearing the place apart. Tegan leaped up the marble steps to the front door and threw open the aged slab of black-lacquered wood, a blade gripped hard in his hand. As he stepped inside, his boots crunched in a chaos of broken porcelain and glass.
“Jesus,” he muttered, taking in the source of the destruction.
One of the warriors stood at an antique sideboard in the center of the tiled entryway, his scarred olive-dark hands braced on the carved edges of the piece as if that was all that kept him upright. He was soaking wet and naked from the waist up, wearing only loose-fitting gray cotton sweats that looked like they’d been yanked on just seconds before. His dark head hung low, long espresso-brown waves sleek with water and drooping over his face. The dermaglyphs that tracked up his bare chest and over his shoulders were livid with color, the intricate pattern of Breed skin markings pulsing with furious life.
Tegan brought his weapon down, the blade concealed by his hand until he’d sheathed it again. “How we doing, Rio?”
The warrior grunted low in the back of his throat, less acknowledgment than aftershock of his rage. Water sluiced off him to pool around his bare feet and the scattered shards of a priceless Limoges bowl he’d swept off the sideboard. Polished glass littered the surface of the mahogany cabinet; above, the wall mirror and its ornate gilt frame were smashed to bits by the bloodied knuckles of Rio’s right hand.
“Doing some late-night home improvements, my man?” Tegan walked closer to him, keeping his eyes trained on the tight coil of the warrior’s bulk. “For what it’s worth, I never had any use for that froufrou French shit either.”
Rio exhaled a rough, shuddering breath, then swiveled his head to look at Tegan. Topaz eyes still held a trace of glowing amber; the light from them sliced through the dark fall of his hair, throwing off the heat of a lingering madness. The bone-white glint of fangs shone behind the vampire’s parted lips as he dragged in air through his teeth.
Tegan knew it wasn’t Bloodlust that called up the warrior’s savage side. It was fury. And remorse. The gunmetal tang of it filled the air, pouring off Rio in heated waves.
“I might have killed her,” he rasped in a voice that was sharp gravel and anguish, not the Spaniard’s usual rolling baritone. “Had to get out of there, pronto. Something inside me just fucking…snapped.” He sucked in air around a feral-sounding snarl. “Shit, Tegan…I wanted to—needed to—hurt somebody.”
Someone else might have known a current of alarm at those words, but Tegan absorbed them with calm observation, narrowing his eyes on the burn-scarred, shrapnel-ruined left side of Rio’s face that wasn’t quite concealed by the wet spikes of his hair. There wasn’t much left of the handsome, sophisticated male who’d once been the most laid-back member of the Order, always quick with a joke or an easy smile. The explosion he’d survived last summer had taken most of his looks; the revelation that his own Breedmate, Eva, had betrayed him into the deadly ambush had taken away everything else.
“Madre de Dios,” Rio whispered roughly. “No one should be near me. I’m losing my goddamn mind! What if I…Cristo, what if I did something to her? Tegan, what if I hurt her?”
Alarm tripped Tegan’s senses. The warrior wasn’t talking about Eva. She’d died by her own hand the day her treachery had been discovered. The only other female who had any regular contact with Rio now was Tess, Dante’s Breedmate. Since her arrival at the compound a few months ago, Tess had been working with Rio, using her healing touch to mend what she could of his broken body and trying to help him rehabilitate from both the physical and the mental wreckage left in the wake of his ordeal.
Ah, fuck.
If the warrior had harmed her, accidentally or not, there would be some serious hell to pay. Dante loved his woman with an intensity that had surprised everyone at the compound. Once the reckless bad boy, Dante was wrapped around Tess’s slender finger and didn’t care who knew it. He’d kill Rio with his bare hands if anything happened to his mate.