Although it had been the right thing to do - the only sane thing to do - there were individuals of both races who held Lucan in contempt for the heavy-handed tactic. Some feared he would not hesitate to appoint himself sole judge and jury for the world once more, if the strife between man and Breed were to escalate.
Goddamn right he would.
Lucan only hoped it was a decision he'd never have to make.
A knock sounded on his study door, a welcome intrusion on the grim path of his thoughts.
"Enter," he called, more growl than invitation. Letting the drape fall back into place, he turned away from the window.
He'd been expecting Gideon, the Breed warrior who had long been the technical genius of the Order's complicated operations center and compound. Gideon was currently on task to provide Lucan with security updates on the summit meeting facility, so that Order assets could be assigned to cover the multiday event.
But it wasn't Gideon at the door.
"Darion."
"Am I interrupting your work, Father?"
"Not at all." He gestured for Darion to join him inside.
Just the sight of his boy - the tall, muscular nineteen-year-old man bearing a dark chestnut shade of his mother's auburn hair and her same soulful brown eyes - made the weight of Lucan's current burdens fall away. It was the other traits Darion bore - Lucan's angular facial structure and strong jaw, coupled with an inflexible iron will inherited from both parents - that usually put father and son at odds. Apart from Gabrielle's coloring and her extrasensory ability, both passed down to her son, for Lucan, being around Dare was like looking in a mirror.
Darion was too much like his father in many ways, a recognition that unsettled Lucan more than he cared to admit. But where Lucan had struggled with his natural tendency to lead others, Dare had no such qualms. Too bold, more often than not. Fearless in anything he attempted. These were qualities that made Lucan's blood run cold with a father's fear when he pictured his son eventually dressed for combat as a warrior of the Order and charging out to battle.
If Lucan had his way, that moment he'd been dreading would never come.
Darion strode into the study, casual in dark jeans and a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, unbuttoned at the collar. "More protesters tonight," he remarked, lifting his squared chin in the direction of the windows, where the din of voices outside was rising. "Seems like the numbers are increasing the closer we get to the date of the summit."
Lucan grunted, gave a curt nod. "For all their bleating, it's only background noise to bigger problems, unfortunately."
"I take it today's meetings did not go well?"
"No better or worse than any other these past few weeks." Lucan indicated a chair on the other side of his desk, then walked around to take his own seat as Darion sat down. "More and more, this summit is becoming a mockery. How can we expect to bridge the gap of mistrust between the races when the GNC's own Council members can't agree on the most basic principles?"
"That bad?" Darion asked, his deep voice as grim as Lucan's thoughts.
"Yes," Lucan said. "And then some. The politicians are using the summit as their personal campaign rallies. Corporations are seeing gold, turning the whole event into a media and advertising sponsorship circus. And let's not forget moneyed clowns like Reginald Crowe who're gilding every stage and pavilion with huge donations in exchange for seeing their names in lights around the world." Lucan muttered a ripe curse. "This summit should have been held sacrosanct from any exploitation. Instead, it's become a goddamned joke. Too much palm-greasing and favor-currying on both sides. Too many people - human and Breed alike - looking to cash in or use the summit as a platform on which to build their personal empires."
"So shut it down," Dare replied, dark brows flat over his serious gaze. He leaned forward, resting his strong forearms on his spread thighs. "Yank the plug on the whole bloody thing. Then set a new course, a better one, that you control. Let the other GNC members get in line behind you or get out of the way."
Lucan smiled with wry amusement, hearing a younger version of himself in Dare's decisive, black-or-white approach. "Tempting, Dare. I'll be honest with you on that. But it's hardly been twenty years since the last time I brought my fist down on human - Breed relations. To do it again now, in the middle of a high-visibility celebration of our so-called peace and optimistic plans for the future?" He shook his head, considering the idea for what hadn't been the first time. He was a warrior, and had been for most of his long life. He was accustomed to the feel of a weapon in his hand, the blood of his fallen enemies pooling at his feet. He was a hard man, not well suited to the diplomacy his new role required of him, let alone gifted with an iota of tolerance for reckless fools or oily opportunists. "Disrupting the summit would undo all the good strides we've made so far - few though they may be. Worse, there are those on both sides who would be all too eager to call it an act of treason by the leader of the Order. War, even."
Lucan felt too confined suddenly, and rose to pace behind his desk. "I tell you, Darion. More and more, I fear that true peace between mankind and Breed is sitting on a keg of gunpowder. All it will take is one spark to blow all hope for our shared future sky-high."
Darion listened, still and contemplative, while Lucan wore a track in the floor across from him. When he spoke, his deep voice was grave. "If someone were to light that spark, be they rebels or other malcontents, what better place to incite a war than at a peace summit? We need to be prepared for that, be ready to act on even the smallest threat."
Lucan's answering curse hissed through his teeth and emerging fangs. He'd thought the same thing, of course. Gideon and he had been taking every precaution to ensure the summit was nailed down and secure on every conceivable level. If he had to personally pat down every dignitary who entered the event, by God, he would do it.
He glanced at Darion, reflecting on how easily he slipped into confiding in his only son as his equal. He respected Dare as a man. Marveled at his keen intellect and the strength of his convictions. Darion, the squalling, helpless infant who had somehow become a man, seemingly overnight to someone like Lucan, whose life spanned nearly a thousand years.
Lucan had hoped that Dare might one day take a seat beside him on the GNC, despite the exemplary skill that the young male had demonstrated during his training in weapons and combat. That hope died a little as he met his son's intense gaze. The gaze of a warrior, though his father was loath to admit it. As a parent, he wanted to keep his son close. Keep him safe.
"I can help," Darion said. "You know I want to help. You know I'm ready."
Lucan dropped back into his chair and reached for the pile of documents still awaiting his approval. "Don't wish for war, boy. You're too young to remember the hell of that word."
"I was six when the wars were at their worst. I heard enough. I learned enough in my studies at the Order's compound and at university. I've listened to you talk about battles and fighting for most of my life. I understand what war means, and I understand what it takes to be a warrior."
Lucan's pulse spiked, more from concern than anger. He aggressively scrawled his name on one of the GNC agreements, then grabbed for another set of documents. "Reading and talking about war doesn't make you a warrior. It doesn't prepare you to witness or be part of the things people do to one another under the banners of war. As your father, I hope you never know those things."