by Lara Adrian
“No.” She touched his face, recalling very well how good it had felt to be kissing him, touching him, lying naked with him in his bed. She’d been more than willing to know that kind of pleasure with him, then and now. “It wasn’t like that, Brock. And you don’t have to explain—”
“Most of all,” he said, talking past her denials, “I owe you an apology for suggesting that sex with you would be purely physical, without strings or expectations beyond the moment. I was in the wrong. You deserve more than that, Jenna. You deserve far more than anything I can offer you.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything more.” She caressed the line of his jaw, then let her fingers drift down the strong column of his neck. “And the desire was mutual, Brock. My will was my own. It still is. And I would do it all over again with you.”
His answering growl was purely male as he drew her to him and kissed her deeply. He held her close, his heartbeat thudding powerfully, the heat of his body seeping in through her skin like a balm. When he broke from her mouth, his breath was ragged through his teeth and bright points of his fangs. His dark eyes glittered with brilliant amber sparks. “Christ, Jenna … what I want to do right now is turn this car around and drive off somewhere with you. Just the two of us. Just for a little while, away from everything else.”
The idea was more than tempting but made even more irresistible when he leaned in and caught her in a sensual, bone-melting kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and met his tongue with her own, losing herself in the erotic joining of their mouths. He made a low noise in the back of his throat, a rumbling growl that vibrated through her as he drew her deeper into his arms, deeper into his kiss.
Jenna felt the abrading scrape of his fangs against her tongue, felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her hip as he pivoted her around to the long bench seat and covered her with his body.
“Gideon’s waiting for us in the tech lab,” she managed to whisper as he broke away from her mouth to rain a dizzying trail of kisses along the sensitive skin below her ear. They’d phoned in from the road an hour ago, alerting Gideon and Lucan to the situation they’d encountered in New York and letting them know they were heading back to the compound. “They’re expecting us to report in as soon as we arrive.”
“Yes,” he growled, but he didn’t stop kissing her.
He unzipped her coat and slid his hand underneath her shirt. He caressed her breasts over the thin fabric of her bra, teasing her nipples to pebble-hard peaks. She writhed beneath him as he moved atop her, slow thrusts of his pelvis that made her body weep with the need to feel him naked against her. Buried inside her.
“Brock,” she gasped, all but lost to the passion he was stoking in her. “Gideon knows we’re in here. There’s probably a security camera trained on us right now.”
“Tinted windows,” he rasped, glancing up at her with a sexy grin that bared the gleaming tips of his fangs and made her stomach flip. “Nobody can see a thing. Now stop thinking about Gideon and kiss me.”
He didn’t have to tell her to stop thinking. His hands and lips erased all thought, except the yearning she had for more of him. He kissed her with demand, pushing his tongue into her mouth like he meant to devour her. His passion was intoxicating and she drank him in, clutching at him, inwardly cursing their inconvenient clothing and the confining interior of the Rover.
She wanted him even more intensely than the first time, her desire fueled by the sweetness of his unnecessary apology and the adrenaline that was still simmering in her veins from all they’d gone through together that day. Murmuring his name around broken, pleasured gasps as his mouth roamed along the side of her neck and his hands caressed the aching swells of her breasts, Jenna knew that if they stayed in the vehicle even one more minute, they would end up naked right there in the backseat. Not that she’d complain. She hardly had the breath to do anything more than moan in pleasure as he slipped his hand between her legs and rocked his palm against her in a masterful rhythm.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.”
But he did stop—not even a second later. He went still above her, his head snapping up. Then she heard it, too.
The roar of a fast-approaching vehicle outside the fleet hangar. The garage door opened and one of the Order’s other black SUVs came flying inside. It screeched to a halt a few spaces away from them, and one of the warriors leapt out of the driver’s seat.
“It’s Chase,” Brock murmured, frowning as he watched out the back window. “Shit. Something’s wrong. Stay in here, if you’d rather not let him know we were together just now.”
“Forget it. I’m going with you,” she said, then pulled herself together and followed him out of the Rover to meet the other Breed male. Sterling Chase was heading for the compound elevator at an urgent clip. He glanced over at Brock and Jenna as they approached. If he guessed at what he’d interrupted, the shrewd blue eyes gave nothing away.
“What’s going on?” Brock asked, nothing but business in his deep voice.
Chase was equally grim, hardly slowing down to talk. “You haven’t heard?”
Brock gave a curt shake of his head. “We just came in ourselves.”
“Got a call from Mathias Rowan a few minutes ago,” Chase said. “There’s been an abduction at one of the Boston area Darkhavens tonight.”
“Oh, my God,” Jenna whispered, stricken. “Not another Breedmate?”
Chase shook his head. “A young male, fourteen years old. He also happens to be the grandson of a Gen One elder named Lazaro Archer.”
“Gen One,” Brock muttered, instincts prickling with alarm. “That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”
“Doubtful,” Chase agreed. “The Enforcement Agency is questioning witnesses, trying to grab any leads they can on where the kid might have been taken, and why. Meanwhile Lazaro Archer and his son, Christophe, the boy’s father, are making noise that they want to meet with his abductors personally—whoever they are—to negotiate for his release.”
“Ah, Christ. Bad fucking idea,” Brock said, sliding a tense look at Jenna as they followed Chase across the garage. “There’s only one person I can think of who’d have any cause to snatch a Gen One’s family member. It’s a trap, Harvard. I smell Dragos all over this.”
“So do I. And so does Lucan.” Chase paused with them in front of the hangar’s elevator and pressed the call button. “He’s arranged a meeting with the Gen One and his son here at the compound. Tegan’s going to pick them up within the hour.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-two
Lucan and Gideon were waiting for them as soon as Brock came off the elevator with Jenna and Chase.
“Hell of a goddamned day,” Lucan muttered, taking them in with a glance. “You both all right?”
Brock stole a look at Jenna, who stood calm and steady beside him. She was a little scraped up and bruised, but thankfully she was whole. “Could’ve been worse.”
Lucan raked a hand through his dark hair. “Dragos is getting bolder all the time. Minions in the fucking FBI, for crissake.”
“What the hell?” Chase frowned, shooting an incredulous look between Brock and Jenna. “You mean the Fed you met with today—”
“He belonged to Dragos,” Brock replied. “He and another of Dragos’s mind slaves grabbed her inside the building and took off with her. I pursued the vehicle but wasn’t able to catch up to them until they crashed on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge.”
Chase exhaled a low curse. “You two are lucky to be alive.”
“Yeah,” Brock agreed. “Thanks to Jenna. She took out both Minions, then saved my bacon from going crispy, as well.”
“No shit?” Some of the edge left Chase’s hard blue gaze as he looked at her. “Not bad for a human. I’m impressed.”
She shrugged off the compliment. “I should have known something wasn’t right with the agent I met with. I did know, actually. I had a certain … sense, I guess you could say. I couldn’t quite p
ut my finger on it, but all through the meeting I kept thinking something was odd about him.”
“What do you mean?” Gideon asked.
She frowned, considering. “I don’t know exactly. It was just something instinctual. His eyes made me uncomfortable, and I kept getting a weird feeling that he wasn’t quite … normal.”
“You knew he wasn’t quite human,” Brock suggested, as surprised as the rest of the warriors to hear her admission. “You sensed he was a Minion?”
“I suppose I did.” She nodded. “But I didn’t know to call him that at the time. All I knew was he made my skin crawl the longer I was near him.”
Brock didn’t miss the silent glance that passed between Gideon and Lucan.
Neither did Jenna. “What is it? Tell me why you’re so quiet all of a sudden.”
“Human beings don’t have the ability to detect Minions,” Brock answered. “Homo sapiens senses aren’t acute enough to pick up on the difference between a mortal and someone whose will belongs to a Breed master.”
She arched her brows. “You think this is also related to the implant, don’t you? The alien gift that keeps on giving.” She huffed out a sharp laugh. “Just how crazy have I become, that this can all just seem par for the course now?”
Brock narrowly resisted the urge to wrap his arm around her. Instead he turned a serious look on Gideon. “Have you found anything more in the blood work results?”
“Nothing significant beyond the anomalies we’ve already discovered. But I would like to run a few more samples, as well as conduct another stress test and further strength and endurance measurements.”
Jenna nodded in agreement. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m in. Since it appears there’s no way to get rid of the damned thing, I guess I’d better start trying to understand it.”
“The tests are going to have to wait a while,” Lucan interjected. “I want everyone gathered in the tech lab in ten minutes. A lot of shit went down today, and I need to make sure we’re all up to speed before our Darkhaven guests arrive.”
The Order’s leader slid an approving look toward Jenna, then Brock. “Glad to have you back in one piece. Both of you.”
Jenna murmured her thanks, but her expression was pinched with disappointment. “Unfortunately, since the meeting was a setup, we didn’t come away with any information on TerraGlobal.”
Lucan grunted. “Maybe not, but finding out that Dragos has Minions embedded in human government could prove to be even more valuable to us in the long run. It’s sure as hell not good news, but it’s something we needed to be aware of.”
“He’s stepping things up big-time,” Gideon added. “Between this discovery today and now the kidnapping of Lazaro Archer’s grandson, it’s pretty clear that Dragos isn’t about to give up.”
“And nothing is beneath him,” Brock remarked, grave with the possibilities. “That makes him more dangerous than ever. We’d better be prepared for the worst when it comes to this bastard.”
Lucan nodded, his gaze sober, reflective. “For now, we’ll take it one crisis at a time. Chase, come with me. I want you to ride shotgun with Tegan when he goes topside to collect the Archers. Everyone else, tech lab in ten.”
Lazaro Archer was rumored to be close to a thousand years old, but like any other Breed male, outwardly the jet-haired Gen One looked to be no more than thirty. The lines around his stern mouth and the shadows under his dark blue eyes, although pronounced, were just evidence of his distress over the abduction of his young grandson. Those shrewd but weary eyes scanned the faces of everyone who was gathered in the tech lab—the warriors and their mates, and Jenna at Brock’s side, as well—all of them watching and waiting as Lucan and Gabrielle escorted the Breed elder and his grim-faced son, Christophe, into the room.
Quick, courteous introductions circled the large conference table, but everyone there understood the meeting was hardly a social call. Brock couldn’t remember the last time a Breed civilian was admitted into the compound. Few in the vampire nation even knew where the Order’s headquarters were located, let alone stepped inside.
Neither of the Archers looked comfortable being there, either, particularly the abducted boy’s father. Brock didn’t miss the slightly superior tilt of the younger male’s chin as he scanned the tech lab and each of the warriors seated at the table, most of whom were still dressed in night patrol gear, weapons and all. Christophe Archer seemed reluctant, if not resistant, to be offered an empty chair among the heathens of the Order.
Desperate times, Brock thought gravely, inclining his head in greeting as the second-generation Breed civilian in his long cashmere coat and impeccably tailored shirt and pants settled carefully into the seat next to him.
Lucan cleared his throat, his deep voice taking instant command of the room as he glanced at the two newcomers. “First, I want to assure you both that everyone in this room shares your concern for Kellan’s safety. As I told you when we spoke earlier, Lazaro, you have the full commitment of the Order in seeing that the boy is found and brought home.”
“That all sounds very reassuring,” Christophe Archer said from beside Brock, a tense edge to his voice. “The Enforcement Agency has vowed the same thing, and as much as I want to believe it, the fact is we don’t even know where to begin searching for my son. Can anyone tell me who would do this? What kind of gutless criminals would break in to our home while we were away and take my boy?”
After speaking again with Mathias Rowan of the Enforcement Agency, Chase had briefed them all on the troubling details of the abduction before the Archers had arrived. Three immense, heavily armed Breed males had apparently invaded the Darkhaven estate where Lazaro and Christophe Archer lived with their families. The elder Archers and their Breedmates had gone to a charity fund-raiser that evening, leaving teenage Kellan home alone.
By the sound of it, the kidnapping had been as stealthy as it was precise—all of it hinged on a very specific target. In a span of what could have only been mere minutes, the intruders entered the Darkhaven through a back window, killed two of Christophe’s security personnel, then snatched the youth from his upstairs bedroom and drove away with him.
The sole witness to the abduction was a cousin, several years younger than Kellan, who’d hidden in a closet as the invasion took place. Understandably afraid and upset, he could hardly describe the abductors, except to say that they’d been dressed from head to toe in black, with masked faces that obscured everything but their eyes. The boy had also noted that the three males each wore a strange, thick black collar around their necks.
While the Enforcement Agent hadn’t fully understood the ramifications of that one crucial detail, every member of the Order did. They had suspected Dragos was at the heart of this, but hearing that a trio of his homegrown assassins—Gen Ones bred and trained to serve him, their loyalty ensured by the lethal UV collars each was forced to wear—had confirmed their suspicions were correct.
“I simply cannot comprehend this kind of madness,” Christophe said, leaning his elbows on the table, his features stricken, eyes pleading. “I mean, why? Certainly our race is not so crude as the humans who would grapple and connive over money, so what could anyone possibly have to gain by stealing my only child?”
“No,” Lucan replied, the word as grim as his expression. “We do not believe this has anything to do with a potential financial gain.”
“Then what could they possibly want with Kellan? What can they gain by taking him away?”
Lucan glanced briefly at Lazaro Archer. “Leverage. The individual who ordered this abduction will, no doubt, issue a demand before too long.”
“A demand for what?”
“For me,” Lazaro said quietly. When his son’s gaze slid to him in question, the Gen One looked at him in frank remorse. “Christophe is not aware of the conversation we had nearly a year ago, Lucan. I never told him about the warning you gave me and the other few remaining Gen Ones that someone was seeking to erase us from existence. He doesn
’t know about the other killings among our generation.”
Christophe Archer’s face went a bit pale. “Father, what are you talking about? Who is seeking to harm you?”
“His name is Dragos,” Lucan replied. “The Order has been waging a private war with him for some time now. But not before he had the chance to spend several decades—centuries, in fact—building his secret empire. He has already killed several other Gen Ones in the past year alone, and that, unfortunately, is only scratching the surface of his madness. All he knows is power, and the need to claim it. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and no life is sacred.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re telling me this sick bastard is the one who took Kellan?”
Lucan nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Christophe vaulted to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind the table. “We have to get him back. Damn it, we have to bring my son home, no matter what it takes.”
“We are all agreed on that,” Lucan said, speaking for everyone gathered in solemn silence in the tech lab. “But you have to understand that no matter how this unfolds, there will be risks—”
“Damn the risks!” Christophe shouted. “We’re talking about my son, my only child. My beloved, innocent boy. Don’t tell me about risks, Lucan. I will gladly trade my own life for Kellan.”
“As will I,” Lazaro put in soberly. “Anything for my kin.”
Brock watched the emotional exchange, knowing what it felt like to be helpless in the face of such a loss. But even more than he was moved by the Archers’ pain, he was struck by how raw Jenna looked beside him.
Although she held her jaw still, tension bracketed her mouth. Her lips quivered slightly, and her hazel eyes were moist with unshed tears. Whether in sympathy for what the two Breed males were going through or remembrance of her own anguish at having a loved one yanked away so abruptly, he wasn’t sure. But the tenderness he saw in her touched him deeply.
