by Lara Adrian
“I know what you’re sacrificing by allying yourself with the Order in this. I also know what it is to be torn between the people you belong to and the ones you know are doing the right thing.”
He’d been toeing that same line since Lucan Thorne had summoned him to Washington, D.C., last week with a request to join forces. In truth, it had been something more than a request. A demand. Hell, it had been nothing short of a plea—no doubt, a first for a man like Lucan.
Zael held Brynne’s skeptical look. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, I’m fine.” She broke his stare on a quiet scoff. “If you came here for a front row seat to watch my career implode, you’re too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was relieved from duty this afternoon.” Quiet words, heavy with restraint. For all of this female’s cool control and confidence, it was plain enough that the loss of her job had cut her deeply.
“Shit. No wonder you’re sitting here trying to drown yourself in whisky and other bad choices.”
Her sidelong glance was as dry as her voice. “Let me guess. You’re available to be one of them?”
Zael cocked a brow at her. “Are you asking?”
“Never.” She gave him an arch look that should have withered him, but instead sent a flare of heat straight to his crotch. “There isn’t enough whisky in the world for that.”
“Madam, you wound me.”
“Ah, now, there’s an idea,” she said, her lips curving in a smile.
Zael chuckled, not the least dissuaded. He got up from his seat at the bar. “Come on, Brynne.”
She stayed put, frowning at his outstretched hand. “Come on where?”
He took her hand, and was surprised that she slid off her stool without a fight. Score one point for the Glenmorangie.
Taking the opportunity, and her, in a firmer grasp, he led Brynne away from the bar and through the busy club.
“You’re wasting your time with me,” she said as they wended between the clusters of human and Breed patrons. “Wouldn’t you rather go find a woman who might appreciate your so-called charms?”
“Not especially. I prefer a challenge.” He paused with her at the edge of the crowded dance floor. Music vibrated the walls and the floor, throbbing with an energetic beat he felt reverberating in his chest. Multi-hued laser lights swirled in all directions, the flashing colors illuminating Brynne’s wary expression.
“What are you doing?”
He gestured to the dance floor. “Helping you have a good time. That is what you said you were trying to do before I showed up, right?”
Her mouth flattened with the beginnings of a protest. “I’m not interested in dancing, Zael.”
“Then what are you interested in?”
She fell silent, her gaze holding his as more bodies pushed and jostled their way past them onto the floor. The heavy bass pounded all around them, punctuating the hammer of Zael’s pulse as he waited for Brynne to push him away, to deny the attraction he felt crackling like lightning between them.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Color rose in her cheeks. As he watched it bloom, the flush spread down her pretty throat and onto the pale smoothness of her chest. The embers in her Breed irises glittered with more fire—banked but burning. And although she was careful when she spoke to him, more than once he’d seen the delicate tips of her fangs gleaming behind the lush pink line of her mouth.
Finally, she huffed out a resigned sigh. “All right, fine. If you insist, then let’s get this over with.”
Zael chuckled. “That’s the first time a woman’s ever said those words to me before.”
Brynne pursed her lips. “I’m glad to know I stand out among the throng.”
Oh, yeah. Understatement of the century right there. “That you do, Ms. Kirkland. That you do.”
He brought her into the center of the floor where he found a small space for them amid the dancing couples, groups, and singles that filled the club. She stood there in front of him, unmoving. The normally cool and confident Breed female suddenly looked as lost and uncertain as a child.
“What’s wrong?”
“You should know that I don’t…” Her words trailed off, and she slowly shook her head. Then she leaned in close to speak over the noise. “I don’t normally do…this.” Her confession skated warmly against his skin, her breath laced with the sweetness of the whisky she’d imbibed. “I’m not very good at it, Zael. Not in front of an audience, anyway. And never with a partner.”
Fuck. Was she talking about dancing? For a second, he wasn’t sure. His mind had blown a circuit while she was explaining, and now all of his blood was rushing south in a hot instant.
He swallowed on a parched throat, wondering if she had any idea what her whispered words had done to him. He had to force himself to remain still, in control, as she listed a little on her heels, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder to hold herself steady.
Her body brushed against his, inflaming him as powerfully as if he was a teenage boy, not a long-lived immortal warrior whose appetite for beauty and pleasure were practically legend among his kind.
“You doing anything alone is a pity for a hundred different reasons,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire he could not hide.
To his shock, she didn’t resist when he gathered her into his arms to dance. She didn’t stiffen or pull away when he began moving with her to his own rhythm, ignoring the frenetic beat of the music and the jostle of the other writhing bodies crushed in around them.
To his utter amazement, she held on to him too. She swayed with him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her thighs woven lightly between his. Her head came to rest lightly on his chest. She felt so warm in his arms. Softer than he’d imagined. Each breath he took filled his senses with Brynne’s unique scent—vanilla and rain and an elusive sweetness that seemed at odds with the tough facade she seemed so determined to present to the rest of the world.
Or maybe just toward him.
Zael didn’t know. At the moment, he didn’t care.
Time slowed. The song blaring over the sound system was loud and relentless, but the cacophony of the music and the hundreds of other people around them faded into the background as Zael held Brynne in his arms.
He hadn’t come to London expecting any of this.
But then, Brynne Kirkland was nothing if not unexpected.
Unpredictable. Unforgettable.
And now he had to add another superlative to the growing list where she was concerned.
Irresistible.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel her body pressed against him without the barrier of clothing between them. He wanted her so badly, he moaned with the force of his need.
She had to know how she was affecting him. Holy hell, she had to feel it.
She did. He saw the knowledge register in her widened eyes as she lifted her head from his chest. A small crease burrowed between her brows.
But instead of pushing him away or making a break for the nearest door, beautiful, tipsy Brynne did something else he wasn’t expecting.
Reaching up to lace her fingers behind his neck, she pulled him into a shocking, mind-blowingly deep kiss.
CHAPTER 3
She didn’t know what had gotten into her.
With her mouth locked on Zael’s in a kiss that seemed to stagger them both, Brynne wanted to blame her rash—not to mention mortifying—impulse on the whisky.
It was because of the whisky.
Had to be.
How else could she explain the fact that this unwelcome reunion with the Atlantean had been the highlight of her entire day?
What other excuse could she possibly find for the fact that she was currently wrapped within the arms of a man who had done nothing but unsettle and annoy her from the instant they met, and she liked it?
God help her, she more than liked it.
Moaning, she speared her fingers deeper into his thick go
lden hair as she pulled him closer and her tongue dove deeper into his mouth. Her fangs surged, elongating as her desire intensified. Behind her closed eyelids her vision burned blood-red, and beneath her silk blouse and tailored pants, her skin tingled with the awakening of her dermaglyphs.
She was overcome with need, no doubt because it had been so long since she’d given in to her body’s demands—carnal and otherwise. Surely, that had to be the reason.
Every cell in her body lit up with a sudden and startling current of electricity as she sparred and tangled her tongue with Zael’s. Heat licked through her senses, into her veins, with each brush of his lips over hers.
It wasn’t as if she’d never kissed a man before. She had—although admittedly, infrequently at most. To her chagrin, kissing Zael made the memory of those other encounters dissolve into oblivion now.
And regardless of the fact that an audience of other clubgoers surrounded Zael and her from all sides, Brynne couldn’t get enough of him.
Just how many shots had she drunk tonight?
She couldn’t remember, nor did she care. With Zael’s mouth moving so hotly over hers, the only thing she could answer to now was her desire.
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Distraction from her problems. From her failures.
And yes, from her loneliness too. Zael had been right about that. She’d wanted a release from the emptiness of her life.
Just for a little while.
For a night.
With someone who wouldn’t judge her, or be inclined to stick around long enough to see just how fucked up she truly was. With her train wreck of an upbringing, she had no experience with emotional bonds, aside from the half-sister she’d met just several years ago.
And if having spent the first twenty-odd years of her life simply trying to survive wasn’t bad enough, she also had the added bonus of a cellular metabolism flaw that was slowly tearing her apart. She wasn’t wired for relationships. Long-term romantic commitments were not in her DNA—literally.
Which kind of made a player like Zael the perfect sexual outlet she was looking for tonight.
Hell, she was almost halfway there with him already.
Her veins felt like rivers of fire under her skin. The low hum of her need was rising swiftly in her temples, building with each heavy pound of her heart.
Panting as she tore her mouth away from his, Brynne stared up into his heavy-lidded, darkened blue eyes. “Let’s get out of here. My flat is just across the river.” She licked her lips, no easy feat when her fangs were fully extended and filling her mouth. “I want to go. Right now. With you.”
It was intended as a command, which should have been clear enough to him. But he stood unmoving. His handsome face was taut with desire, his mouth wet and slack from their kissing. Sexual interest radiated off every hard, golden inch of him. Most obviously in the rigid length of the erection that pressed against her hip.
Yet he slowly shook his head in denial.
“What are you trying to do here, Brynne? You’ve had too much to drink. I doubt you even know what you’re saying.”
She reached up, grabbing a fist full of the front of his shirt. “I’m saying I want to have sex with you, Zael. No strings attached, no need to call me in the morning. We don’t ever have to see each other again. In fact, I’d prefer that we don’t.”
She fully expected him to jump on the offer. At the very least, she expected she’d have to endure the Atlantean’s self-satisfied grin as he tossed off one of his snappy, arrogant comebacks before dragging her out of the club like the caveman she was certain he was.
Instead, he held her slightly unsteady gaze. His square jaw remained firm, unyielding.
When he spoke, his voice was low, utterly serious. “I should take you to bed, if only because you strike me as a woman who’s never been properly fucked in your life. But I won’t. Not like this.”
He pried her fingers from his shirt and took a step back from her.
Good lord, was he . . . offended?
Brynne scowled, weaving slightly on her feet. Her body vibrated with stalled need. “Aren’t you the one who’s been putting the full court press on me every time I’ve seen you? I thought you wanted me. It sure as hell felt like you did just now.”
His answering grunt was sharp, caustic. “I can have any woman under the terms you just described. And I have.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He didn’t answer, just started walking away from her. Brynne fell in behind him, hurrying to catch up as he sliced through the crowd. She didn’t reach him until they were through the bar and heading for the exit.
“Zael, wait. Please.”
He paused just inside the club’s vestibule.
“I shouldn’t have come.” He stared at her as if he was going to say something more, then changed his mind. He shook his head. “You want to go home, I’ll take you home. I’ll even put you to bed, Brynne. But I won’t fuck you. Not like this. No matter how much I want to.”
His toneless reply took her so aback, he might as well have slapped her.
She swallowed back her humiliation, but it sat at the back of her throat, bitter as acid.
“Come on,” he said tightly. “I’ll hail us a taxi.”
As they stepped outside the building, Brynne’s apology sat on the very tip of her tongue. All of the alcohol in her bloodstream seemed to dissolve under the weight of her embarrassment, leaving her feeling cold and foolish.
And never more alone.
“Zael, I—”
She didn’t know what she could say to fix things. She wasn’t even sure she knew how.
But then something bright in the starlit distance caught her eye—something disturbing, setting the skyline across the Thames aglow.
A fire.
No, it was more than a fire. It was a churning, massive plume of flames and roiling, thick gray smoke. Outside the club, a crowd was gathering to look at the spectacle.
As they all watched in silent horror, a low rumble sounded across the water…followed by the unspeakable crash and roar of crumbling metal, glass, and mortar.
“Oh, my God,” Brynne murmured. She glanced over at Zael, feeling all of the blood drain from her face. “That’s the government block at Vauxhall Cross. That building that just went down? Zael…It was JUSTIS headquarters.”
CHAPTER 4
Order Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
Lucan Thorne had been a warrior far too long and seen too damned much for anything to take him by surprise anymore. Yet as he stood in front of a wall of video monitors in the Order’s war room at headquarters, watching with most of his lieutenants and their mates as the heart of London’s government district burned, he couldn’t deny the cold sense of disbelief that gripped him.
The iconic white building that once housed the famed British MI6, and, for the past twenty years, the global operations headquarters for JUSTIS…gone.
Nothing but rubble. The highly secured, impenetrable modern fortress and all who’d been inside it tonight, consumed by the massive cloud of dark ash and searing fire that lit up the London skyline like a volcano.
“Opus Nostrum wasted no time claiming responsibility,” Gideon said grimly from beside Lucan. “It’s all over the Internet now.”
The Order’s technology expert had a tablet in hand, scanning underground sites where hackers and other society misfits liked to boast and preen for one another. Gideon was as much a warrior as any of his comrades, but he also had skills that would leave any black hat computer genius in his wake.
Lucan ground out a tight curse. “We should’ve seen this coming.”
“No one saw this coming,” Gideon said. “There was no chatter, no posturing. No threats. Nothing but silence leading up to this attack.”
“Even so, we should have known they wouldn’t let us take out two of their key players without some kind of response.”
Sterling Chase, head of the Boston command center, shook his
head as he considered. “This kind of assault takes time. It takes planning and coordination. You don’t just roll up to a high-security government facility with enough firepower to raze the place.”
Dante, another of the longtime Order members, grunted in agreement. “Not without getting your own ass blown to pieces as soon as your toe crosses the property line.”
“There were no reports of unusual activity anywhere in the area,” added Tegan.
The massive male was first generation Breed, like Lucan—both of them powerful Gen Ones, both of them centuries-old founding members of the Order. They had gone from friends to enemies and back again in the long time they’d known each other. Now, both mated to extraordinary women who’d given them each brave sons who shared their fathers’ commitment to the Order, Lucan and Tegan had become as close as kin.
“No one saw this coming,” Tegan said, “let alone had time to prevent it.”
As much as Lucan wanted to believe that was true, the leader in him didn’t feel the weight of the blame on his shoulders any less.
“Is that what we’ll tell the public when they ask how this was allowed to happen? That we were all caught unaware and now we’re standing around with our dicks in our hands?”
“JUSTIS never wanted our help, Father.” Lucan’s son, Darion, stared at him from the other side of the room. The adult Breed male stood with a few of the other warriors’ grown sons who had gathered in the war room as the first reports were coming in from London.
As he spoke, several heads of the younger recruits nodded.
“Ask anyone in JUSTIS or the Global Nations Council,” Dare went on. “They don’t trust us and they don’t approve of our methods. They haven’t from day one.”
“Neither did the old guard of the Breed’s famously ineffective Enforcement Agency,” Rio pointed out. “But we outlasted them too.”
The Spanish warrior’s statement drew assenting comments from his fellow comrades Brock and Kade. Even Hunter, the formidable former assassin, voiced agreement.
Lucan glanced back to the fiery destruction still filling the video monitors. “I don’t give a damn about JUSTIS’s approval, or the GNC’s, or any other organization that talks a good game right up until a real threat comes around and blows them all to shit. I care about peace. I care about protecting the lives of the innocents who can’t do it for themselves.”
