Undying. V.K. Forrest

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СКАЧАТЬ like this, the human inside Arlan’s dog brain warned. This must be done correctly. There can be no mistakes. You cannot let your fury take over your common sense.

      It was all Arlan could do to relax his jaw. He tore his mouth away, his teeth shredding through delicate human flesh.

      Two daggers were required by law for the execution, but one would have to suffice. Arlan would answer to the High Council later.

      With a blink of the dying man’s eye, Arlan morphed back into a man. “Go,” he ordered the dogs that had come to his aid.

      Shocked by the transformation, the big gray fell back on the ground, eyes rolling in his head.

      “Go on! Get out of here,” Arlan grunted in Greek.

      The gray took off, followed by his pack, whining and yelping as they made their frightened retreat.

      Thank you, Arlan telepathed after them. You did a good deed tonight, my canine friends.

      The metallic taste of human blood in his mouth, Arlan slipped the ancient dagger from his leather jacket and leaned over Romano. “For the little children”, he said softly, in ancient Irish Gaelic.

      Arlan plunged the dagger into Romano’s heart and the light behind his eyes flickered. By the time Arlan was drawing back the steel, the light had already gone out.

      A pity he did not suffer longer.

      Arlan stared for a moment at the dead man, then glanced up. He could hear voices in the distance. A drug buy. But no one had seen him kill Romano. No one would see him go.

      He plucked the silly handkerchief from the man’s bloody suit jacket pocket. First, he wiped his mouth, then he wrapped the handkerchief around the blade. He slid the dagger into his leather jacket, stepped over the dead body and walked out into the dim light cast by the Acropolis high on the hill behind him.

      “Looking for a party?” one of the whores called to him as he headed west, back toward the pulse of the city and the restaurant where the rest of the team would meet him later for a glass of wine.

      “Nah,” Arlan answered in perfect Greek, Romano’s blood still on his breath. “Already had one tonight, sister.”

      Chapter 3

      Arlan was on his second glass of wine by the time Jimmy and Sean arrived at God’s Restaurant on Makrygianni Street. Both men took seats at the sidewalk table. Jimmy poured two glasses of wine and refilled Arlan’s.

      “Task complete?” Jimmy lifted the tumbler to his lips to drink the bloodred house wine.

      “Complete.”

      Jimmy glanced at the fourth glass, still empty. “Regan?” He looked around.

      Arlan swirled his wine, watching the way it climbed up the side of the glass before spinning in the center in a whirlpool. “A no-show.”

      “Ah, Jezus,” Sean cursed under his breath. Like his father, he was a big man, and also like his father, the chief of police in their hometown, he still carried a slight Irish accent, even after all these centuries. It became especially pronounced for both father and son when they became emotional. “Yer shittin’ me.”

      Arlan didn’t meet either of his companions’ gazes. He lifted the tumbler to his lips, sipped, and glanced up at the Acropolis, lit up and gleaming in the darkness. As the wine touched the tip of his tongue, he realized he could still taste Romano’s blood.

      “And you went through with it anyway?” Jimmy’s voice was taut. Jimmy was the worrier of the team. Jimmy worried, Arlan teased, so that the others didn’t have to. “That’s not protocol. You should have aborted.”

      “You get the kids?” Arlan asked. He was in a dark mood. Had been since his encounter with the dogs and Romano. Tonight he had almost lost control, almost given in to the animal inside him, and he didn’t like it. It scared him. After all these years he thought he had learned temperance. He thought he had become a better person. More human. Had he been kidding himself? He glanced at Jimmy. “Did we get them?” he repeated. “The kids?”

      “Yeah, we got them. Both were still alive, seemed to be scared but…unharmed,” Jimmy said delicately.

      Unmolested was what he meant. Jimmy was a tenderhearted man. Emotional. Always had been, even after the fall from grace that had hardened many of the Kahills.

      “And I got Romano, so all’s well that ends well.”

      “We saw that play. Shakespeare.” Sean pointed at Arlan. “Like 1740 in London. Goodman’s Fields…or was it Drury Lane? You remember? The orange girls—”

      Jimmy dropped his empty glass on the table. “Sean.”

      “Sorry.” Sean reached for the carafe of wine and poured the last of it into his glass. He lifted the carafe to a waiter who was serving a table of tourists.

      Jimmy looked back at Arlan. “You’re missing the point. Again. You don’t go it alone. You’re supposed to follow protocol. It’s what keeps you safe,” Jimmy said.

      “What was I supposed to do?” Arlan turned his dark gaze on Jimmy. “Let that pervert, that murderer, walk?”

      “Protocol is what keeps us all safe,” Jimmy insisted firmly. “This isn’t just about you. Or even us.” He drew his glass in a circle, indicating their tight knit group.

      Arlan set his glass down and ran his fingers through his dark hair, still not making eye contact. “All right,” he said quietly. “You’re right. Next time, I follow protocol.”

      “Sure you will.” Sean chuckled under his breath.

      The men were silent as the waiter approached, bringing another carafe of wine. He took the empty one with him.

      “So what do we do about Regan? He call in?” Jimmy asked when the waiter had gone.

      Arlan plucked his cell phone from the pocket of his leather jacket and checked the screen. “He never called.”

      Sean poured more wine for everyone. “We know where he is?”

      Arlan shook his head. “Haven’t heard from him since the meeting in the airport two nights ago.” He shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t expect to see him until tonight unless there was a problem.”

      “Well, we’ve got to find him.” Jimmy wrapped his fingers around his glass. “He could be in trouble.”

      “Oh, I’m sure he is.” Sean plucked an olive from a tray on the table and sucked on it noisily.

      “I’m serious.” Jimmy looked to Sean, then back at Arlan. “We have to find him.”

      Arlan didn’t pick up his glass. Suddenly he no longer wanted wine. Or the company of his friends. The situation with Regan had been out of hand for some time. What if Regan really was in trouble this time and not just off binge drinking, whoring, and gambling—simply losing track of time, which was usually his excuse? It would be Arlan’s fault if something happened to Regan. Arlan was the one who had insisted that СКАЧАТЬ