He told himself he was glad. He felt relief, for sure. Seeing her in the same room with men loyal to Fineas Riordan had been the worst kind of terror he’d ever known.
Her confusion and mistrust when they’d called him by his given name had wracked him. When she’d spied the black scarab tattoos on the men, there had been recognition in her keen gaze. She knew the mark, knew what it meant. Who it belonged to.
Which meant the Order knew it too.
Bad enough he had wounded her by standing her up at the Chase Darkhaven. Tonight, he’d lost her for sure. And if the Order found him first, her father would no doubt want to be the one to kill him personally.
Rune had never felt dread like he had when Carys had stood primed to strike tonight—for him. She never would have survived it. Her Breed genetics were powerful, but not even the purest of their kind was bulletproof.
Together, he and Carys might have taken out a few of Riordan’s men, but not without risking their own lives. Rune could hardly be troubled to worry about his own hide now, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Carys safe. Sending her away was the only choice.
If they had realized who—and what—she was . . .
If they had made any move to touch her tonight . . .
He couldn’t finish the thoughts. The mere idea raked his veins with icy talons. Let them do whatever they would to him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of how she might suffer at their hands.
Or at the hands of the bigger monster back in Dublin.
“How long has he known where I am?”
“A couple of weeks.” Ennis Riordan, the Breed male leading the pack of jackals, grinned at Rune. “Ever since one of the scouts he sent to Boston to keep tabs on the Order followed a team of warriors down to this hellhole and saw them talking with you and the Breedmate who came here tonight.”
Jesus Christ.
The ice in Rune’s blood turned even colder. They’d known that long, which meant they could have made their move on him at any time. Any one of the nights when Carys was in the club with him . . . or in his bed.
“Why wait so long to make your appearance? If bringing me back to Dublin is so damn important to him, why not do it as soon as he knew I was here?”
“The Order’s been keeping us busy, trying to fuck up our plans. Forcing us to sacrifice pawns along the way to stay ahead of them while we focus on important work.” He shrugged. “Finding you in Boston after all this time was a surprise, Aedan. I can’t tell you what it means to your father to know you’ll be home again soon. Back in the family fold where you belong. He has great plans for you, boyo.”
Rune forced himself to keep his fists at his sides, struggled to keep his fangs concealed behind his curling lip as he listened to his uncle speak. He had to maintain his patience. He had to wait for his chance to strike.
Because he hadn’t realized until that moment that he had plans of his own too.
He was going back to Dublin willingly. Eagerly, in fact.
He would return to his father’s hellish domain . . . and when the moment was right, he was going to kill the bastard and burn his house to the ground.
CHAPTER 25
In his thousands of years of living, Zael had seen vast and astonishing libraries belonging to pharaohs, emperors and kings. Yet as he stood in the archive room of the Order’s Washington, D.C., headquarters, he could hardly keep his jaw from dropping in amazement.
The floor-to-ceiling walls of leather-bound journals were beyond impressive. The fact that they represented two decades of handwritten work—of painstakingly recorded memories—from one woman made the collection even more remarkable.
Then again, Zael had never seen anything quite like the woman herself, either.
He’d been told she was human, but the dermaglyphs covering her body told another story. The skin markings tracked along her neck and onto her scalp beneath her short brown hair. More glyphs ran along the top of her chest, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt, only to reemerge below the short sleeves, the intricate pattern continuing on her arms and the backs of her hands.
She seemed more Ancient than Homo sapiens, and Zael’s Atlantean senses were piqued in response to the close proximity of enemy DNA. But her smile was warm and welcoming, her hazel eyes bright with pride as she watched Zael take in the scope and breadth of her work.
“Feel free to look at anything you like,” she told him, standing beside her mate, Brock.
While Lucan had left to greet arriving warrior commanders he’d summoned to headquarters that evening, Brock had opted to remain protectively at his mate’s side after her introduction to Zael.
Not that Zael could blame him.
Jenna was a beautiful woman, even more so because of her unusual appearance.