by Lara Adrian
“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly, her face devoid of any recrimination, utterly forgiving. “You never failed me. You sent me back inside the club that night because you thought I would be safer there. How could you have known I would be taken? You always did everything right for me, Brock.”
He shook his head, astonished by her absolution, humbled by the resolve in her voice. She didn’t blame him, and some of the leaden guilt he’d been carrying for so long simply broke away.
In the wash of relief that poured over him, he thought of Jenna, and the life he wanted to begin with her.
“You are involved with someone,” Corinne said, studying him in his silence. “The woman who helped save all of us today.”
He nodded, pride swelling inside him despite the dull ache of regret that still held him when he looked at the young girl—now the frail, serious woman—that Corinne had become during her years of imprisonment with Dragos.
“You’re in love?” she asked.
He couldn’t deny it, not even for her. “Yeah, I am. Her name is Jenna.”
Corinne smiled sadly. “She’s a lucky woman. I am pleased that you’re happy, Brock.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, he couldn’t help himself from reaching out to Corinne and pulling her into a tight embrace. She was stiff in his arms at first, her small body flinching as if the contact startled her. But then she loosened slightly, her hands coming to rest lightly on his back.
He let go after a moment and drew away from her. “What about you? Will you be all right, Corinne?”
She gave him a weak smile as she lifted one frail shoulder. “All I need now is to go home.” Something empty and raw, something that seemed to bleed inside her like an open wound, shadowed her gaze. “All I need now is to be with my family.”
Dragos’s lieutenant trembled as he broke the day’s bad news.
All of the females Dragos had collected over the past several decades for his private laboratory—the ones who’d survived his prolonged experimentations and breeding requirements, that is—had been discovered and released by the Order.
Even worse, it had been the Order’s women, not Lucan or his warriors, who made the discovery earlier that day. The Minion nun who’d served him, first as a shelter worker who had assisted him in locating Breedmates for his cause, then, more recently, as the warden of his little prison by the sea, had failed to protect his interests. The useless cow was dead, but not before she’d cost him the roughly twenty females in her care.
And now the Order had managed to chip away at another brick in the bedrock of his operation.
First, they took his autonomy, ending his years of unchecked power as a director within the Enforcement Agency. Then they took his secret lab, raiding his headquarters and forcing him to ground. Next, they killed the Ancient, although Dragos likely would have put the creature down sooner than later himself.
And now this.
Standing just inside the vestibule of Dragos’s hotel suite in Boston, his lieutenant fidgeted with his hat, wringing it in front of him like a wet rag. “I don’t know how they managed to find the captives’ location, sire. Perhaps they’d been watching the house for some reason. Perhaps it was pure luck that brought them there and they—”
Dragos’s furious roar silenced the prattle instantly. He vaulted off the silk sofa, his arm sweeping out in front of him to lash out at a crystal vase of orchids that sat on a delicate pedestal nearby. The piece exploded against the wall and shattered, spraying glass and water and bits of flowers in all directions.
His lieutenant gasped in fright and leapt backward, hitting his spine against the closed door. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head, his face stricken with ball-shriveling fear. His expression turned even more dread-filled as Dragos bore down on him, seething with rage.
In those terrified, widening eyes, he saw his lieutenant’s remembrance of a threat Dragos had made in this very hotel room just a week before.
“Sire, please,” he whispered. “The Minion failed you today, not me. I am only responsible for the message, not the mistake.”
Dragos didn’t care about any of that. His anger was too far gone to be reined in now. With an animal war cry meant more for Lucan and his warriors than the insignificant pawn who stood quivering before him now, he reeled his fist back and punched it hard into the vampire’s chest. He smashed through clothing, skin, and bone like a hammer and plucked out the frantically beating organ caged inside.
The dead lieutenant collapsed at his feet. Dragos glanced down at him, his closed fist blood-soaked and raining a scarlet cascade onto the corpse and the white carpet around it.
Dragos tossed the vampire’s heart like so much trash, then tipped his head back and bellowed, his fury vibrating the air around him like a roll of thunder.
“Dispose of this rubbish,” he snarled to the pair of assassins who looked on in silence from the other side of the hotel suite.
He stalked into the bathroom to scrub the offending gore from his hands, calming himself with the knowledge that although the Order had managed to deliver yet another strike against him today, he still had the upper hand. A pity they didn’t realize it yet.
Very soon, they would.
He had the Order squarely in his sights now.
And he was more than ready to pull the trigger.
CHAPTER
Thirty-four
When Jenna woke up, she was staring at the ceiling of the compound infirmary. She blinked slowly, waiting to feel the searing pain of the knife wound in her side. Instead, she felt a warm touch skating tenderly along her arm.
“Hey” came the deep, velvet voice that she’d been hearing in her sleep. “I’ve been waiting for you to open those pretty eyes.”
Brock.
She turned her head on the pillow and was struck to see him seated next to her by the bed. He looked so handsome, so caring and strong. His dark brown gaze drank her in, his sensual mouth curving with just the barest traces of a smile.
“They called me in Newport and told me about your injury,” he said, then exhaled a soft curse. “I saw the blood on you outside the Minion’s house, but I didn’t know it was yours, Jenna. I couldn’t get back here fast enough to make sure you were okay.”
She smiled up at him, her heart soaring to be near him again, even while she was afraid to be happy, uncertain whether or not he’d returned only to help her heal.
“How are you feeling, Jenna?”
“Okay,” she replied, and realized just then that she actually felt very good physically. She sat up a bit and moved aside the sheet and blanket that covered her. The ugly gash that should have been below her rib cage was nothing more than a small scab, the wound that had been bleeding so profusely now all but gone. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.” Brock’s expression softened as he looked at her. “You’ve surprised us all, particularly Gideon. He’s still trying to figure out what’s going on with your physiology, but it appears your body is learning to heal itself. Adaptive regeneration, I think he called it. He says he wants to run more tests, try to determine if the regeneration might also impact the aging of your cells over time. He seems to think there’s a decent chance that’s going to be the case.”
Jenna shook her head, astonished. Also wryly amused. “You know, I’m starting to think it might be kind of fun being a cyborg.”
“It doesn’t matter to me what you are,” he replied soberly. “I’m just glad to see you’re doing well.”
In the silence that stretched out between them, Jenna fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “How are the other women—the Breedmates we rescued?”
“They’re all settling in at Reichen’s place. Gonna be a long road for a lot of them, but they’re alive and Dragos can’t touch them ever again.”
“That’s good,” she replied quietly. “And Corinne?”
Brock’s face grew solemn. “She’s been through hell and back. She wants to go home to her famil
y in Detroit. She says there are things she needs to take care of back there, in her past, before she can think about her future.”
“Oh,” Jenna said.
She understood how Corinne felt. She’d been thinking about her own past a lot, as well, and about the things she’d left unfinished back in Alaska. Things she had been too cowardly to face before but now felt ready to confront as soon as she was able.
Since the rescue today, she’d been thinking about her future, too. It was impossible to picture without Brock in the equation, especially now that she was looking up into his handsome face, feeling the warmth and comfort of his dark gaze and his gentle touch.
“Corinne has asked me to take her back home,” he said, words that tore at her heart.
She bit back the selfish reply that might have implored him not to go. Instead she nodded, then blurted out the things she knew he’d need to hear.
Things that would relieve him of any guilt about what they’d shared together or the tender promises he’d made her in the time before he knew his past love would be delivered back into his arms.
“Brock, I want to thank you for helping me the way you have. You’ve saved my life—more than once—and you’ve been the kindest, most tender and giving man I’ve ever known.”
He frowned, parting his lips as if to say something, but she talked over him.
“I want you to know that I’m grateful for the friendship you’ve given me. Most of all, I’m grateful for the way you’ve shown me that I can be happy again. I didn’t think I ever would be, not really. And I never thought I’d be able to fall in love again—”
“Jenna,” he said, his voice stern, his dark scowl deepening.
“I know you have to go with Corinne. I know I can’t give you any of the things that she can, as a Breedmate. We could never have children, or a blood bond. There’s a good chance we won’t have anything close to the time you’ll be able to share with her.” He shook his head, muttered a low curse, but she couldn’t stop until she’d said it all. “I want you to go with her. I want you to have your second chance—”
“Stop talking, Jenna.”
“I want you to be happy,” she said, ignoring his quiet demand. “I want you to have everything you deserve in a mate, even if that means without me.”
He finally silenced her with a hard kiss, putting his hand on the back of her neck and bringing her up against him. He drew back, holding her gaze in a passionate, possessive stare.
“Stop telling me what I need to do.” He kissed her again, softer now, his mouth covering hers, tongue demanding entrance. She felt his need, and the emotion that seemed to say he never wanted to let her go. When he finally released her, his dark eyes were glittering with amber sparks. “For one damned second, Jenna, let someone else be in charge.”
She stared at him, hardly daring to hope she knew where he was heading.
“I’m in love with you,” he whispered fiercely. “I love you, and I could give a damn if you’re human, cyborg, alien, or some mixed-up combination of all three. I love you, Jenna. I want you to be mine. You are mine, damn it. Whether we only have a handful of decades together or something closer to forever. You are mine, Jenna.”
She sucked in a ragged breath, overcome with joy and relief. “Oh, Brock. I love you so much. I thought I’d lost you today.”
“Never,” he said, staring deeply into her eyes. “You and me, we’re partners. Partners in everything now. I’m always gonna have your back, Jenna.”
She laughed around a sob, and gave him a shaky nod. “You’ll always have my heart.”
“Always,” he said, then pulled her into his arms for a deep, never-ending kiss.
Epilogue
Jenna’s boots crunched in the moonlit snow as she stepped onto a patch of pristine, hallowed ground just outside the tiny village of Harmony, Alaska.
It had been a couple of days since she’d awakened in the compound infirmary, fully healed from the stab wound she’d received during the rescue of the captive Breedmates.
Only a couple of days since she and Brock had promised to spend their future together as lovers, mates … partners.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” he asked her, wrapping his strong arm around her shoulders.
She knew he hated the cold of this place, yet he’d been the one to suggest the trip north. He’d been patient and understanding, and she knew he would stand out here with her forever if he thought she needed the extra time. His breath steamed in the frigid night air, his handsome face solemn, yet reassuring within the deep hood of his parka.
“I’m ready,” she said, turning a misty glance onto the small cemetery that stretched out sleepily before her. Twining her gloved fingers through his, she walked with him toward the far corner of the plot, to where a pair of tall granite markers stood side by side in their thick blanket of snow.
She’d been prepared for the wave of emotion that swamped her as she and Brock approached Mitch and Libby’s graves for the first time, but it still took her breath away. Her heart clenched, her throat constricted, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure that she’d have the strength to see this through, after all.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
Brock squeezed her hand, his deep voice gentle. “You can do it. I’m gonna be right here next to you the whole time.”
She looked up into his steady, dark eyes, feeling his love enfold her, lending her his strength. She nodded, then continued walking, her wet gaze rooted on the etched lettering that made everything seem so irrefutable.
So very raw and real.
The tears started falling the moment she stepped onto the ground in front of the headstones. She let go of Brock’s hand and moved closer, knowing she had to make it through this part on her own.
“Hi, Mitch,” she murmured quietly, kneeling down into the snow. She placed one of the two red roses she’d brought with her at the base of his marker. The other one—fastened with a pink ribbon to a small, stuffed teddy bear—she laid carefully near the smaller gravestone. “Hello, sweetpea.”
For a long moment, she remained there, listening to the wind as it blew through the boreal pines, her eyes closed on her tears as she remembered happy times with her husband and daughter.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I miss you both so much.”
She couldn’t hold back the pain. It poured out of her in great, ugly sobs—all the pent-up anguish and guilt that she’d been holding locked inside her since the night of the accident.
She’d never been able to feel this purge before. She’d been too afraid. Too angry with herself to give into the grief and finally let it go.
But she couldn’t stop it now. She felt Brock’s steady presence behind her—her lifeline, her safe haven in the midst of the storm. She felt stronger now, safe.
She felt loved.
Even more miraculous to her, she felt worthy of being loved.
With a few more murmured words of good-bye, she touched each of the gravestones, then slowly rose to her feet.
Brock was right there, his open arms waiting to catch her in a tender embrace. His kiss was sweet and soothing. He looked down into her eyes, his fingers light and gentle as he swept away her tears. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, feeling lighter despite the lump that still rose in her throat. She felt ready to begin a new chapter in her life. Ready to start her future with the extraordinary Breed male she loved with all the mending pieces of her heart.
Gazing into Brock’s warm eyes, she reached out for him, slipping her hand into his. “I’m ready to go home now.”
Thirsty for more?
Don’t miss the next novel in Lara’s
hot and thrilling
Midnight Breed series
Deeper Than
Midnight
BY
LARA ADRIAN
Coming soon from Dell Books
The club was private, very much off the beaten path, and
for damned good reason. Located at the far end of a narrow, ice-encrusted back alley of Boston’s Chinatown district, the place catered to an exclusive, if discriminating, crowd. The only humans permitted inside the old brick building were the stable of attractive young women—and a few pretty men—kept on hand to satisfy the late-night clientele’s every craving.
Concealed within the shadows of an arched vestibule at street level, the unmarked metal door gave no indication of what lay behind it, not that any local or tourist in their right mind would pause to wonder. The thick slab of steel was shielded by a tall iron grate. Outside the entrance, a big guard loomed like a gargoyle in a knit skullcap and black leather.
The male was Breed, as were the pair of warriors who emerged from the gloom of the alleyway. At the sound of their combat boots crunching in the snow and frozen filth of the pavement, the guard on watch lifted his head. Under a thick, bulbous nose, thin lips curled away from crooked teeth and the sharp tips of the vampire’s fangs. Eyes narrowed at the uninvited newcomers, he exhaled a low snarl, his warm breath steaming from his nostrils to plume into the brittle December night air.
Hunter registered a current of tension in his patrol partner’s movements as the two of them approached the vampire on guard. Sterling Chase had been twitchy ever since they’d left the Order’s compound for tonight’s mission. Now, he walked at an aggressive pace, taking the lead, his fingers flexing and contracting where they rested none-too-subtly on the large-caliber semiautomatic pistol holstered on his weapons belt.
The guard took a step forward, too, putting himself directly in their path. Large thighs spread, boots planted wide in warning on the pitted pavement as the vampire’s big head lowered. The eyes that had been narrowed on them before in question now went tighter with recognition as they hit and settled on Chase. “You gotta be kidding me. What the hell do you want out here on Enforcement Agency turf, warrior?”
