Bound to Darkness Page 13

  Darion, Gideon and Brock had joined them a few minutes ago, after Lucan and Zael had gotten acquainted and decided if the visit should proceed beyond cursory introductions and politely couched mistrust. Lucan had since put out calls to each of his district commanders to report to headquarters later that evening to meet the Atlantean in person and hopefully set a path toward a mutually beneficial alliance between Zael and the Order.

  So far, he had been forthcoming and engaging, answering all of Lucan’s questions about Jordana and her Atlantean father, Cassianus, AKA Cassian Gray, as well as another deceased immortal, Reginald Crowe. His azure gaze was shrewd and measuring, but not unfriendly, as Lucan and the other Breed males studied him from around the big table.

  “And you’re certain Crowe had no ties to the colony?” Lucan asked, after the other men were seated and the conversations resumed. “No one who might know about his activities with Opus Nostrum?”

  “None.” Zael gave a slow shake of his head. “Crowe was dead to our people long before the Order killed him. He belonged to the old guard—one of the royal legion, like Cass and me—before he decided to make his fortune in the human world. He was loyal enough to our queen, but his real interest had always been in conquest, whether that was business, pleasure, or war. His views went against everything the Atlantean people believe in.”

  Lucan acknowledged with a nod. “What about the names Riordan or Ivers? Do either of them sound at all familiar to you?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” Zael leaned back in his seat, getting more comfortable. He cocked his head to the side. “I assume our meeting today isn’t merely to discuss Crowe or his unsavory associates.”

  “No,” Lucan admitted. “I wanted to meet because I need to know if our interests are in alignment.”

  “That depends on what your interests are, Commander Thorne.”

  “Peace. True and lasting peace between the humans, the Breed and your kind.”

  Zael’s broad mouth pursed slightly. “A simple concept, but a thousand ways for it to fail. Or worse, end in irreparable catastrophe.”

  “We’ll have better odds without your queen plotting her war in the shadows.”

  “And the Order won’t be opposed to destroying her to achieve it?” Those oceanic blue eyes held steady, unreadable. “How does that make your goal any better?”

  A palpable tension poured over Brock, Gideon and Dare at the bold retort. Lucan was taken aback slightly too, but Zael’s forthrightness only served to remind him that, although the Atlantean had come to the meeting in peace, he was still a powerful being who would not be cowed. Not even by a room full of Breed warriors and their Gen One leader.

  “I’m not interested in a philosophical debate,” Lucan said, without heat. “We need to know which side the colony stands on if a war is to come.”

  “Neither,” Zael said. “All in the colony hope for peace, but enough of our lives have been spent already. That’s why the colony exists. That’s why its inhabitants defected from Selene’s rule after the fall of the realm. They want no part of anyone’s war or vengeance—yours or hers.”

  Lucan cursed. “So, you’ll all just stand by and wait for the dust to settle around a victor, then determine your course? I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what that makes you in my eyes, Zael.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t choose a side.” Zael’s expression was placid, but there was a dangerous gleam in his gaze. “The colony is my people, but so is Selene. And there are others like me—her former legion and a handful of advisors—who feel her rage has blinded her to what is right. Cassianus was one of those people too. That’s why he stole his daughter away, to protect her and give her better a life outside Selene’s new realm.”

  “Is that why Cass stole one of the Atlantean crystals?” Lucan asked. “To keep Selene from using it war against the Breed and man?”

  Zael’s brows arched. “Jordana told you about the crystal her father was rumored to have taken?”

  “She didn’t tell us. She showed us.”

  “Jordana has Cass’s crystal?” Zael didn’t even seem to try to conceal his astonishment. Or his interest.

  Lucan shook his head. “The Order has it now. She entrusted it to us.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me see it to substantiate that fact?”

  Lucan grunted. “Today is about trust. We hope it’s about building an alliance. With you, with the colony. With anyone else who doesn’t want to see our world destroyed by an enemy we’re not even sure how to fight yet.”

  Zael narrowed his gaze on him. “Today is about trust, I agree. So, help me to trust that what you say is true. How can I be sure you have the crystal if you’re not willing to show it to me?”

  “Because I told you I have it. We found the egg-sized, silvery crystal hidden in a titanium box. The box was hidden inside a sculpture that sat in a public museum in Boston, right in front of everyone’s noses for more than two decades.”

  Zael smirked as he listened. “Concealed within a sculpture. How like Cass to hide his treasure inside an object of art. What kind of sculpture was it?”

  “An eighteenth-century Italian piece called Sleeping Endymion. Or rather, an expert replica of that piece. Jordana said Cass had the original at his villa on the Amalfi coast.”

  Zael started to chuckle. “Of course. The moon goddess, Selene, and her doomed human shepherd lover.”

  “You know the myth?”

  “The story is myth, but Endymion was a man,” Zael said. “He was our queen’s consort. He was also her betrayer. He’s the one who gave her enemies—your race’s Ancient fathers—two of the realm’s crystals.”

  Astonished murmurs traveled between the other men at the table. Lucan stared at Zael. “Pity about your queen’s poor judgment in men, but what kind of power do the crystals have? We need to understand how it can be harnessed. How it can be unleashed.”

  “The crystals are a power source. They’re meant to protect, to energize and sustain life. Not destroy it.”

  “And yet that’s exactly what the Ancients did with them,” Lucan countered. “Somehow, they used the crystals’ power against Selene. Against Atlantis. They did something with them to create that massive explosion and the wave that followed.”

  Zael’s golden brows quirked in surprise. “I wasn’t aware that the specifics of the attack on Atlantis were common knowledge among the Breed.”

  “They weren’t. Not until recently.”

  Now the Atlantean’s expression darkened to wary suspicion. “And you know this, how?”

  Lucan glanced at Brock, whose grim face looked less than amenable about bringing his mate into the conversation. “Today’s meeting is about establishing trust and forming a meaningful alliance. That effort has to work both ways, but if you’d rather we don’t discuss her—”

  “It’s all right,” the warrior replied. “We need to extend our trust to Zael too. And if telling him puts Jenna in any kind of danger, I’ll know who to go to first for explanations.”

  Lucan nodded and glanced at their guest. “Brock’s mate, Jenna, saw the attack on Atlantis take place. In a memory. Not her own, but the memory of an Ancient. One who was there when it happened.”

  Zael frowned. “I don’t follow.”

  “Before he died in a confrontation with my men, this Ancient had been wounded and on the run. He attacked a human woman named Jenna. For reasons we’ve yet to understand, he implanted a piece of himself inside her. Now, at the base of her neck, she carries a biotechnology chip that contains his DNA. It’s been responsible for some . . . interesting changes in her. It’s also given Jenna recurring glimpses into the Ancient’s memories.”

  “Has she seen how your ancestors relentlessly hunted my people before they destroyed our community and killed three-quarters of our population?”

  “She has.”

  Zael nodded. “We were a peaceful race before the attack on Atlantis. We came here to colonize. We lived in secrecy, in harmony, with one anoth
er and our human neighbors for thousands of years. We had no interest in war or bloodshed or conquest.”

  Lucan grunted. “Whereas the Breed’s ancestors thrived on all three. We know the Ancients were a violent, predatory race. They hunted humans with the same ruthlessness as they did your kind, Zael. They fed and destroyed and conquered. But they are not us. The Breed should not be judged based on the sins of our fathers.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time convincing Selene of that.”

  Darion blew out a low curse on the other side of the table and met his father’s grim stare. “If the Atlantean queen can’t be reasoned with, then she leaves us no choice but to meet her in war.”

  Lucan agreed with that logic, but he’d seen enough war in his long lifetime. He hoped his son, and those of his fellow warriors, would not have to wade through rivers of blood and cities reduced to cinders the way he and his comrades of the Order had done over the centuries.

  But Dare was right. If Selene truly was blind with vengeance, then she would leave the Order no choice but to destroy her.

  “Crowe said the queen has been plotting her war for a long time. Do you know how she might accomplish it?”

  “I do not,” Zael admitted. “But if I were her, I’d be looking to recover the two crystals the Ancients stole.”

  “Do they still exist?”

  “I’m quite certain they must. It’s not easy to destroy that kind of power source. And I doubt the Ancients would have been eager to let go of such a valuable weapon.”

  Holy shit.

  Gideon’s intrigued gaze seemed to echo Lucan’s thoughts. “Where would you look?” he asked Zael.

  The Atlantean gave a slow shake of his head. “Even if I knew, I’m not convinced that’s a secret anyone needs to have.”

  “Maybe not,” Lucan agreed. “But if you did know, or were to find out, can we count on you and the colony to keep that information a secret from your queen too?”

  “As I said, the colony wants peace. I want peace. So long as the Order’s actions demonstrate the same, you’ll have my alliance. You’ll have my trust.”

  “And you have mine,” Lucan said.

  He extended his hand to the immortal. Zael grasped it in a firm, strong grip, and the two powerful males sealed their pact.

  Zael turned to Brock then, his tropical blue eyes lit with curiosity. “Now, I would very much like to meet your Jenna.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Rune checked his reflection in the mirror for the third time that night as he got ready to leave his quarters at La Notte.

  Showered and dressed, he’d finally settled on a pair of charcoal slacks and a pale gray Charvet shirt. Shiny black oxfords gleamed on his large feet. As he stood in front of the mirror, he shrugged into a black suit jacket usually reserved for funerals or mating ceremonies—on those rare occasions he’d actually attended either one.

  He felt ridiculous, but tonight wasn’t about him. It was all about Carys, and he didn’t want to disappoint her or her family. He wanted to make Carys proud. And yeah, there was a part of him that wanted her family’s acceptance too.

  He wasn’t part of their world and didn’t fool himself that he ever truly could be, but he’d be damned if he wanted to walk into that Darkhaven tonight and feel unworthy. He’d do his best to look the part, if nothing else.

  Finger-combing his unruly mane of hair back from his face, he bit off a low curse. Good thing the other fighters weren’t there to see him primping and fussing in the mirror for the past half-hour. If they had, they’d bust his ass about it from now until next year.

  He glanced at the time. Twenty minutes across town would get him there just before nine. He didn’t want to show up too early, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be late and give Carys’s father another reason to despise him.

  Shit. Maybe the pall-bearer jacket was pouring it on a bit thick.

  Rune took it off . . . then froze when the club’s sound system in the arena suddenly went from silent to ear-splitting.

  What the fuck?

  It was still a couple of hours before the first of the staff were due to show up to open the place, so who was there? He stalked out of his quarters and into the main floor of the arena, cutting the noise with a sharp mental command.

  A large man leaned on the bar, one foot jacked up on the boot rail below.

  No, not merely a man.

  A Breed male.

  His head was shaved, showcasing a blend of dermaglyphs and tattoos that snaked up his thick neck and onto his skull. He wore black pants and a black shirt, the kind of clothes that were standard issue for any urban street thug. A black nine-millimeter pistol was holstered at his hip.

  Rune’s hackles rose in warning. “Club’s not open now. You lost or something?”

  “Just lookin’ for someone,” the guy said without bothering to look Rune’s way. “Thought I’d have me a little peek around in the meanwhile.”

  The gravelly voice, dark with amusement, carried an unmistakable Irish brogue. The sound of that accent turned the warning that clamored in Rune’s veins to something colder.

  “I think you misunderstood me,” he growled at the stranger. “What I meant was, get the fuck out of my place.”

  Now the vampire grinned. He drew to his full height, and Rune realized he wore one of the spiked cage gloves on his hand. He curled a fist and met Rune’s stare across the arena. “Ya know, as efficient as a nine semiauto is, I’ll wager slicing into some asshole with one of these is a lot more satisfying.”

  “Aye,” Rune said. “Come back tonight after we open, and I’ll be glad to demonstrate for you.”

  The thug chuckled. “Won’t be staying in town that long. Neither will you . . . Rune, is it?”

  Rune didn’t reply. Although he hardly needed the confirmation, now he spotted the black scarab tattoo that rode on the back of the male’s hand. His molars clamped so tight, it was a miracle they didn’t shatter as he immediately began calculating the quickest way to kill the bastard.

  “You need to come with me,” the vampire said. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  Rune grunted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Really? Looks like you are. All polished up and fancy.” The vampire gestured toward him, the metal spikes glinting in the low light of the bar. “That shirt made outta silk? Sure as hell hate to ruin it for you.” He put his other hand down on top of his weapon, ready to draw.

  “Go ahead and try,” Rune said. “Only place you’re going tonight is your grave.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.”

  The thug’s fingers twitched. It was all the warning he gave.

  Then the gun was in his hand and exploding a fired shot. Rune dodged the bullet’s path, realizing as the round grazed his rib cage that the aim hadn’t been to kill. Not yet, anyway. No doubt this son of a bitch was saving that honor for someone else.

  Blood seeped warm and wet at his side as he rolled to the floor, then came up on the balls of his feet. On a bellow, Rune launched himself airborne at the vampire. The gun fired again—a shot squeezed off in panic this time.

  The bullet went wild, missing him completely.

  Rune body-slammed him, driving his assailant across the bar and into the large mirror behind it. The gun slipped out of the thug’s fingers and clattered across the floor. Glassware and bottles of liquor crashed down. Broken shelving crumbled all around them.

  The other male snarled and made a flailing slash at Rune with the glove’s spikes. Rune grabbed the fist as it came driving toward him. Titanium teeth cut into his fingers as he immobilized the strike and wrenched the thug’s wrist back with a savage thrust of muscle and fury.

  Bones popped as they broke, tendons grinding as they severed. The male howled in agony as his hand flopped uselessly in the wrong direction on his arm.

  And then, Rune’s rage really snapped its leash.

  Straddling the vampire on the concrete floor, he pounded his fists into the other ma
le’s face. Blood spurted. Teeth and fangs crunched under Rune’s relentless, punishing blows.

  He didn’t stop hitting the bastard—could not stop—even after the dead man’s face was a pulpy mash of pulverized bone and destroyed cartilage.

  Rune’s breath sawed out of his lungs, wheezing through his enormous fangs. His eyes burned red with rage. His veins hammered with adrenaline and anger . . . and the dawning realization of what he’d done.

  He turned his gaze away from the carnage to look at his torn, gore-soaked shirt and pants. His hands were gashed and bruised. The graze in his side licked at him like an open flame. Even with his Breed metabolism, it would take hours, possibly days, for the evidence of this altercation to fully heal.

  Fuck.

  Carys . . .

  He couldn’t go to the Chase Darkhaven now. Not like this.

  And the thought of calling Carys to tell her what had just occurred—and all of the ramifications that would follow when he’d have to explain why—would be the certain end of anything they had together.

  He dropped his head back and let out a roar of anger and frustration.

  As his bellow echoed in the cavernous arena, footsteps sounded behind him. Multiple pairs of feet crunched in the glass and fallen debris as they neared him.

  Rune tossed a searing glance over his shoulder, then launched onto his feet, braced for battle.

  Half a dozen armed Breed males stood there, all bearing black scarab tattoos.

  The big male in front peeled his lips back in a cold smile. “What are you going to do now, boyo? Think you can kill all of us?”

  ~ ~ ~

  He was late.

  At five minutes past the hour, Carys had told herself not to worry; Rune would arrive at any moment. Five minutes late wasn’t like him at all, but it wasn’t cause for worry either.

  He would be there. He knew what this night meant to her.

  He wouldn’t let her down.

  At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself as she sat beside her mother on the sofa in the Darkhaven’s living room, trying not to notice the increasingly impatient expression on her father’s face as his long fingers tapped idly on the arms of his chair across the room.