Crave The Night (Midnight Breed 12)

And while Jordana had no wish to be anywhere near the Order if it meant she might run into Nathan, she wasn’t about to let her friend go there alone.

“Come on,” Jordana said. “I’ll drive.”

Carys managed a faint nod and followed Jordana out to her car.

They made the short trek across town, arriving at La Notte’s block in mere minutes. The club was closed, the arched wooden doors of the old church building barred.

A pair of immense bouncers was parked at the top of the steps leading up to the place, standing shoulder to shoulder in the dark beneath the thin lamplight at the front entrance. As the club’s usual stream of patrons arrived to party upstairs or do other, less savory things in the lower level, the two bouncers turned them away on arrival.

“Drive past and turn down the side alley,” Carys instructed Jordana as she slowed outside the club.

They rounded the corner and found the alleyway access blocked by one of the Order’s huge, unmarked black patrol vehicles. Carys hopped out of the car the instant Jordana brought it to a full stop. Jordana followed her, only to be halted along with Carys by one of Nathan’s team.

“Out of my way, Jax,” Carys said as the pantherlike Asian vampire moved out of the shadows to intercept the women.

“Captain said no civilians, Carys. We’ve got a crime scene back there.”

“I know. Aric called me. I just want to see Rune.”

Jax gave a shake of his dark head. “He’s around back with some of the other club staff, but you ladies are gonna have to stay out here for now. Trust me, you don’t wanna see—”

“I’m going back there.” Carys shoved past the warrior, breaking into a bolt before he was able to react.

Jordana followed her, jogging to keep up as her friend rushed around to the rear of the building. Rune may not have been injured here tonight, but it was obvious there was no one, not Carys’s brother or any of the Order itself, who could keep the female away from the fighter she loved.

“Rune!” Carys called to the dark-haired Breed male as she and Jordana rounded the back of the club. Standing among a few of the other fighters and La Notte staff gathered in the gloom behind the old brick church building, Rune glanced up at Carys’s shout.

His hard face was grave, his eyes shadowed and grim as he broke away from his colleagues to meet her as she and Jordana approached. Carys launched herself into his arms.

“Rune, I was so worried! Aric called and told me someone died at the club. Even though he said it wasn’t you, I had to see for myself. I had to be sure—”

“Shh,” the brutal fighter soothed, stroking his broad palm over the back of Carys’s head as she clung to him. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”

While the couple embraced, sharing private words of comfort and affection, Jordana drifted away from them. Although she’d never been to a crime scene before, and didn’t want to be at one now, she found herself drawn toward the dark stretch of pavement where the apparent victim lay, surrounded by the team of warriors from the Order.

Her heels ticked hollowly on the asphalt, an odd sense of dread snaking around her with every careful step. Death hung in the air, cold and cloying. It lifted goose bumps on her arms, put a chill knot behind her sternum.

Although she didn’t want to look—didn’t want to know what kind of violent end someone had met with a short while ago—Jordana couldn’t keep her gaze from peering between the warriors at the slain individual on the ground.

She caught a glimpse of baggy, worn denim on the skewed legs of the victim. The brown loafers on the man’s feet were scuffed and aged … familiar.

Oh, no. It couldn’t be …

She was holding her breath. She knew that even before the ache in her starving lungs forced her to suck in air.

Even before she saw all the blood on the asphalt, and the object lying next to the body. An object that looked unmistakably like the dead man’s—

Before her horrified mind could confirm what her eyes were seeing, a deep voice was at her ear. “Holy hell.” A pair of strong arms swept her away from the scene, a firm hand holding her head against a rock-solid chest covered in black combat fatigues. “Jesus Christ, Jordana. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Nathan’s words were rough and dark, but his hands were warm and gentle on her as he held her close, keeping her face averted from the carnage. She didn’t want to acknowledge how welcome his touch was in that moment. She meant nothing to him, so feeling his comfort now only added a deeper sting to the shock she was feeling.

She pulled out of his hold on a ragged cry. “It’s him,” she murmured. “I know him.”

Nathan’s black brows crashed together over his stormy eyes. “Who?”

Jordana gestured in the general direction of the victim, too stricken to look again. “That man. I was just talking to him a couple of hours ago.”

Nathan’s scowl deepened. “You talked to him?” His dark voice went from concerned to demanding, almost bordering on suspicious. “You saw him today? Where, Jordana? When?”