The Warrior Vampire(33)
“He hasn’t left,” McAlister replied with more of that wonderful disinterest. “Ian Gregor isn’t going anywhere. He’s in the city, Christian. Find him.”
Christian gave a derisive snort. “Has being holed up in this office deprived you of oxygen, McAlister? This is your protocol he’s violated. Gregor knows the consequences. There’s no way he’d stick around. The bastard is probably halfway to Scotland by now.” Along with an army of the Sortiari’s berserker warlords. Christian didn’t dare voice his concerns, but McAlister had to know that without Gregor and his brethren the Sortiari were as good as impotent.
McAlister paused and turned to face Christian. It wasn’t exactly concern in his expression, but Christian hoped he’d gotten his point across. “He won’t run. He’s been harboring too much hatred for far too long to flee. Penalties be damned. Truth be told, I don’t give a great hairy fuck about Gregor or his vendettas. What I am concerned about are the three hundred berserkers who would abandon their service with nothing more than a word from him. Find him. Kill him if he won’t come back. Just bring me his army.”
Well. It looked as though McAlister had priorities beyond saving his own ass after all. Christian folded his arms across his chest. “It’s hard to win loyalty from men when you murder their general.”
He was answered with more of McAlister’s derision: “I’ll buy their loyalty. I’m not concerned.”
What an asshole. Christian wasn’t about to let the director bait him into an argument, and so he stood stoic and silent, staring a hole right through the fucker’s forehead.
The director sighed and turned away from whatever had kept his attention focused on his computer screen. “A purchased man can be just as loyal as one with an axe to grind. Gregor’s men won’t stand by and play along to his overinflated ego or skewed sense of vengeance for long. Get me my army back.”
McAlister’s arrogance rivaled Gregor’s. That the director didn’t recognize it was going to cause a hell of a lot of trouble for all of them. But the asshole was right. Gregor’s men, whether his kinsmen or not, wouldn’t entertain his madness for long. “I’ll need at least a week,” Christian said, turning on a heel. “If I can’t track him by then, I’ll assemble a team—”
“No!” The director barked out the word as if he was afraid Christian was going to evacuate the place and leave him unprotected. “You take care of this yourself. I’m not wasting personnel or resources on this. Gregor will expect me to send a force of men and that’s not going to happen. You go. Alone.”
What a crock of shit. If this wasn’t a suicide mission, he didn’t know what was. “It sucks balls that you just don’t give a shit about this organization or its people anymore.” Christian opened the door and turned to face the director before closing the door behind him. “Have fun hiding in your fortress, McAlister. If you think Gregor has fucked up by abandoning his post in favor of his own personal agenda, maybe you’d better take a look in the mirror. Because if you ask me, you’re not interested in doing anything but saving your own neck. I just hope it’s worth all of the lives you’re putting in danger because of your own irrational fear.”
Christian didn’t give McAlister a chance to respond. He slammed the door behind him and stalked through the secretary’s office. “Hope he lets you out of your cage every once in a while,” he murmured as he passed her desk. “If I were you, I’d watch my back, though. No telling who he might use as a human shield.”
You had to give it to her; the secretary was loyal. She didn’t even bat a lash at Christian’s harsh words. “Good day, Christian,” she said in a stiff, professional way. “I trust you can see yourself out.”
Yeah, he sure as hell could. He just couldn’t understand what could prompt that sort of devotion. God knew Tristan McAlister didn’t deserve it. Christian gave her a lazy salute as he stormed out into the hallway. He didn’t even bother to heckle the apes standing watch at the door. He was too riled to get any real enjoyment out of taunting them.
Christian checked his watch as he continued down the dimly lit corridor. The track opened in a half hour; he could probably make it there by the second race. Nothing like a few harmless bets to take the edge off. And one fucking thing was certain: He’d need all of the calm he could get if he was going to single-handedly take down an immortal warlord while simultaneously usurping control of his army. Fuck the races. Nothing short of a trip to Vegas was going to level him the fuck out.