Suddenly he understood why Hunter hadn't cared less which bed he claimed.
"You always sleep like that?" he asked, gesturing to the place where Hunter had been standing.
The uncanny Gen One gave a vague shrug. "Occasionally on the floor."
"Sure as hell can't be comfortable."
"Comfort serves no purpose. The need for it only implies and fortifies weakness."
Brock absorbed the flat statement, then swore under his breath. "What did Dragos and those other bastards do to you all those years you served them?"
Unblinking golden eyes met his scowl through the darkness. "They made me strong."
Brock nodded solemnly, thinking about the ruthless upbringing and discipline that was all Hunter knew. "Strong enough to take them down."
"Every last one of them," Hunter replied, zero inflection, yet the promise was as sharp as any blade.
"You want revenge for what they did to you?"
Hunter's head slowly pivoted in denial. "Justice," he said, "for what they've done to those unable to fight back."
Brock stood there for a long moment, understanding the cold determination that emanated from the other male. He shared that need for justice, and like Hunter--like any one of the warriors pledged in service to the Order--he would not rest until Dragos and everyone loyal to his insane mission was eliminated.
"You honor us well," he said, a phrase the Breed reserved for only the closest of kin or the solemnest of events. "The Order is fortunate to have you on our side."
Hunter seemed taken aback, though whether by the praise itself or the bond it implied, Brock couldn't be sure. A flicker of uncertainty shot through the golden gaze, and when Brock reached out to clap his hand against Hunter's shoulder, the Gen One drew away, dodging the contact as though it might burn him.
He didn't explain the flinching reaction, nor did Brock press him to, even though the question begged an answer. "All right, I'm outta here. I need to check in with Gideon about something."
Hunter stared at him. "You're worried about your female?"
"Should I be?" Brock meant to correct the reference about Jenna being his, but he was too busy dealing with the blood that had suddenly gone a bit cold in his veins. "Is she okay? Tell me what's going on. Did anything happen to her while I was out on patrol?"
"I am not aware of any physical issues with the human," Hunter said, maddening in his calm. "I was referring to her inquiry into TerraGlobal."
"TerraGlobal," Brock repeated, dread sitting in his gut. "That's one of Dragos's holdings."
"Correct."
"Jesus Christ," Brock murmured. "You're saying she contacted them somehow?"
Hunter gave a faint shake of his head. "She sent an email to someone she knows in Alaska--a federal agent, who ran a data search for her on TerraGlobal. An FBI unit in New York City responded to the inquiry. They are aware of TerraGlobal, and have agreed to meet with her to discuss their current investigation."
"Holy hell. Tell me you're joking."
There was no humor in the other male's face, not that Brock was surprised at that. "I understand the meeting is already set for later today in the FBI's New York offices. Lucan has arranged to have Renata accompany her."
The more he heard, the more Brock started feeling twitchy and needing to move. He walked back and forth, not even attempting to cover his concern. "Who will Jenna be meeting with in New York? Do we even know if this FBI investigation into TerraGlobal is legit? Good God, what the fuck was she thinking, getting involved in this shit in the first place? You know what--never mind. I'll go ask her that myself."
He was already pacing the room, so it only took a couple of hard strides to carry him out of the apartment and into the corridor outside. With his pulse jackhammering, adrenaline pouring into his veins, he was in no frame of mind to find himself face-to-face with his errant patrol partner.
Chase came stalking up the stretch of hallway at precisely that moment, looking like complete hell. His blue eyes were still shooting sparks of amber, pupils more slits than circles. He was breathing hard, each pull of air dragging through his teeth and fangs. Grime and dried blood caked his face in lurid streaks, still more of it caught in his short blond hair. His clothing was torn in places, stained with God knew what.
He looked and smelled like he'd been through a goddamn war zone.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Brock demanded. "I looked all over Boston for you after you ran off tonight."
Chase glared at him, baring his teeth in a feral sneer, but didn't offer any kind of explanation. He brushed past, letting his shoulder hit Brock and all but daring him to make an issue out of it. If Brock hadn't been so concerned about Jenna and the trouble she'd apparently stirred up, he would have taken the arrogant son of a bitch down.