Normally, the death of a Breed cage fighter would be the last of the Order’s concern. And neither Syn nor Rune had many friends among the warriors. But this was a night unlike any other, and a deadly attack on Cassian Gray’s club within hours of Jordana having gone missing was far from coincidental.
Without slowing down, Nathan grabbed the comm unit and put it to his ear. “What happened?”
“That’s what I wanna know.” Rune’s breath was tight, shallow. His deep, growling voice held an edge of wariness that Nathan had never heard before. “We just took a bad hit down here at the club. Couple of thugs tossed Cass’s office. They fucking killed Syn, broke every bone in his body.”
Like Rune, Syn was a proven champion in the cages. It would take a hell of an opponent to knock him down. “You see who did it?” Almost too much to hope.
Rune grunted. “Yeah, I saw them. Heard a ruckus in the office above the arena, then I smelled blood. Lots of blood. Found three men tearing the place up. Syn was already in bad shape, no more fight left in him. I dropped one of the bastards, but the other two got away.” Rune paused. “The one I killed? He didn’t go down easy, man. Not until I took his fucking head from his shoulders. Then the whole damn place lit up with the glow he threw off as he died. Sure as hell wasn’t human, but he wasn’t Breed either.”>“How do you know my name?” Her panic climbed. “Where are we? What is this place? How the hell did you get me here? What did you do to my friend Carys?”
“So many questions,” he murmured. “It’s understandable. Your friend is fine, I didn’t harm her. I won’t harm you either. I only wish to help. That’s why your father called me—”
“My father?” She hardly dared hope he was telling her the truth, but it was all she had. “When did you talk to him? Did the Order let him go? I want to see him, right now. Please. You must take me to him.”
As her words spilled out of her, the golden man looked at her in sympathetic, gentle silence. “I wish there had been an easier way to explain all of this to you. There wasn’t time. If I hadn’t taken you out of Boston, they would’ve gotten to you first. They were already closing in on you, Jordana.”
“What are you talking about? Who was after me?”
“Your father’s enemies. The soldiers who once served under his command—as I did, a very long time ago. I was your father’s friend. My name is Ekizael.”
Jordana shook her head. This guy may look like a fallen angel, but he was obviously very disturbed. “Look, Eh-kee-zayel—”
“Zael,” he said, offering her a courtly bow of his head.
She stared at him. “Whoever you are, you don’t know my father. His name is Martin Gates. He’s a businessman. A Darkhaven leader. He was never a soldier and he doesn’t have any enemies.”
“No, Jordana,” he said quietly. “I’m not talking about the Breed male who raised you. Your true father was a royal guard. He was once the most decorated warrior in the queen’s legion.”
“The queen’s legion? Oh, right, of course.” She couldn’t bite back the small, nearly hysterical laugh that bubbled up from her throat. “And which one would that be—the Queen of England or the Queen of Sheba?” The golden man—Zael, she mentally amended—remained sober, utterly serious. “Her name is Selene. She’s been my people’s queen for many thousands of years. Your people, Jordana.”
She wanted to scoff at this insane statement too, but as her captor spoke, his hands began to emit the same soft light that hers had just a moment ago.
Even more unsettling, in the center of his broad palms glowed a symbol she recognized all too well: the teardrop-and-crescent-moon mark she bore on the underside of her left wrist.
“You have the Breedmate mark,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. How can you—”
“It is our symbol, Jordana. The symbol of the Atlantean race. The one on your wrist was put there as a decoy. Your father hoped the tattoo would help you fit in among the Breed and the halfling daughters of our kind born outside our realm.”
“I was born with this mark,” she argued. “The same as any other Breedmate.”
“No. You, Jordana, are something different from them.” Zael’s deep voice was unnervingly rational as he spoke. “You’re no halfling, not even close. You are full immortal. A pureblood Atlantean.”
She looked at her symbol with fresh eyes, realizing only now that it might not be a birthmark after all, but crimson ink embedded meticulously under her skin.
Confusion swirled inside her. She wanted to deny what she was seeing—she wanted to deny everything she was hearing—but the evidence was too compelling to dismiss.
She already lived in a world where vampires and humans coexisted. Why did it terrify her so deeply to think she might be something other too?
Because it would mean accepting the fact that her entire life had been a lie.
“Did he know all of this? Martin Gates, I mean. Does he know?”
Zael gave a mild nod. “He agreed to raise you and keep you safe as his child, as a Breedmate. For your protection, you were never to be told that you were different. Cass trusted him with that secret implicitly—”
“Cass,” Jordana whispered, her breath drying up in her lungs. “Cassian Gray.”
She closed her eyes as the realization sank in, a wave of shock washing over her. Then sorrow, when she recalled Cass’s strange visit to the museum.
The enjoyable, far-too-brief time she’d spent talking with him. And the unthinkable way he died, just a short while later.