Kiss of Crimson by Lara Adrián Page A

too; then, after a long moment, so did the Darkhaven agent, retrieving his polished leather case from the floor beside him. Dante took a step out from the table. When Chase tried to move past him, he got the edge of Dante‘s thick shoulder blocking his path. Given no choice, he paused.
    ―Folks like you call us savages,‖ Dante said harshly, ―yet here you are, all posh and shiny in your suit and tie, asking for our help. Lucan speaks for the Order, and if he says we‘re going to bail your ass out on this little problem, then that‘s good enough for me. But it doesn‘t mean I have to like it. Doesn‘t mean I have to like you either.‖
    ―I‘m not hoping to win any popularity contests. And if you have misgivings about my proposed role in this investigation, by all means, state them.‖
    Dante chuckled, surprised by the challenge. He didn‘t think the guy had it in him. ―Well, now, I don‘t mean to stand on ceremony, Special Investigative Agent Chase—‘scuse me, Senior Special Investigative Agent—but what I do, what all of us in this room do, each and every night, is some dirty fucking work. We fight. We kill. We sure as shit don‘t run some kind of tourist program for Darkhaven agents looking to build their political careers on our blood and sweat.‖
    ―Nor is that my intention, I assure you. All that matters to me is my charge to locate and recover the individuals who‘ve gone missing from my community. If the Order can stop the proliferation of Crimson in the process, so much the better. For all of the Breed.‖
    ―And how is it you feel you‘re even remotely qualified to go out on patrols with us?‖
    Agent Chase glanced around the room, possibly looking for support from any one of the warriors standing around the table. The room was quiet. Not even Lucan spoke on his behalf. Dante narrowed his gaze and smiled, half-hoping the silence would drive the agent away. Send him running back to his quiet little sanctuary with his tail between his legs. Then Dante and the rest of the Order could get back to the business of dealing death to the Rogues—preferably without an audience and a goddamn scorecard.
    ―I hold a BA in Political Science from Columbia University,‖ Chase finally said. ―And, like my brother and my father before me, I have a law degree from Harvard, where I graduated at the top of my class. In addition, I am trained in three schools of martial arts and have an expertmarksman rating in a shooting range of eleven hundred feet. That measure being without the aid of a scope.‖
    ―Is that right?‖ The résumé was impressive, but Dante hardly flinched in reaction. ―So, tell me, Harvard, how many times have you used your training—martial arts or weapons—outside of a classroom? How much of your blood have you spilled? How much have you taken from your enemies in the heat of battle?‖
    The agent held Dante‘s flat stare, the cleanshaven, square chin climbing up a notch. ―I‘m not afraid to be tested on the street.‖
    ―That‘s good,‖ Dante drawled. ―That‘s real good, because if you‘re thinking about going to the dance with any of us, you sure as hell will be put to the test.‖
    Chase bared his teeth in a tight smile. ―Thanks for the warning.‖
    He brushed past Dante, murmured his good-byes to Lucan and the others, then strolled out of the lab with his briefcase clutched hard in his hand. When the glass doors slid closed behind the agent, Niko ground out a curse in his native Siberian tongue. ―That‘s some messed-up shit, Darkhaven pencil-pusher thinking he‘s got balls enough to ride with us.‖
    Dante shook his head, sharing the same opinion, but his thoughts were churning on something else equally troubling. Maybe more so.
    ―I got jumped downtown tonight,‖ he said, meeting the tense faces of his brethren. ―I thought it was a Rogue stalking prey outside a club. I fought with the son of a bitch, but he wasn‘t going down easy. Ended up pursuing him down