He had been different from the start. Chillingly efficient. Coldly intelligent. Relentlessly disciplined, yet far from submissive. That was a lesson he'd never been able to learn, no matter how mercilessly it had been drilled into him.
Dragos should have had the son of a bitch put down, but he'd also been the best assassin in his personal Gen One army to date.
And now he'd apparently sided with Lucan and the warriors in this mounting war.
Dragos growled with outrage at the mere idea.
"Get out of my sight," he snarled to his lieutenant. "Await my orders to begin the next phase of the plan."
The other Breed male scrambled out of the car without another word, slamming the door behind him and hurrying off in the opposite direction of the street.
"Drive," Dragos barked to the Minion behind the wheel.
As the limo sped off into the hustle of Boston's evening traffic, he straightened the lapels of his Italian silk tuxedo and smoothed his hand over his meticulously styled hair. In the dim glow of the highway lights, he withdrew an embossed invitation from out of his jacket pocket and read the address of the political fund-raiser he had just attended downtown.
A small droplet of human blood stained the lower corner of the ivory paper, still fresh enough to smear under the press of his thumb.
Dragos chuckled under his breath, recalling how pleased the group of city officials had been with the generosity of his donation.
How stunned they had been just a few minutes later, when they realized what each of them would be surrendering to him in exchange.
Now he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the hum of the road lull him as he savored the buzz of power still swimming in his veins.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jenna had never seen Brock so quiet.
He and the other warriors had returned a short time ago, accompanied by Lazaro Archer and his grandson. The relief surrounding the boy's rescue was severely dampened by the cost at which it had come. While arrangements were made to accommodate the new arrivals at the compound and get them cleaned up and settled, Brock and the other warriors on tonight's mission had dispersed to their own quarters.
Brock had hardly uttered a word since he'd returned. He'd been covered in blood and grime, his face drawn taut with tension and not a little horror for what he and his brethren had witnessed during the recovery of the boy. Jenna had walked with him back to the room they now shared and had since been sitting on the edge of the bed alone, staring at the closed bathroom door while he ran the shower on the other side.
She didn't know if he'd welcome company or preferred his solitude, but after hearing about what had occurred on his patrol, she found she couldn't sit idle when he might be hurting on the other side of the closed door.
She walked over and tested the latch. It wasn't locked, so she cracked it open and peered inside.
Brock was naked under the steaming spray, his glyph- covered back toward the door, hands fisted and pressed against the shower wall in front of him. Although she didn't see any wounds on him, the water ran in red trails down his dark skin before swirling into the drain at his feet.
"May I come in?" she asked softly.
He didn't reply, but he didn't tell her to leave him alone, either. She entered, shutting the door behind her. She didn't need to ask him if he was all right. Despite that he seemed physically unharmed, every thick muscle in his broad back was bunched with tension. His arms were trembling, his head bent low against his chest.
"An entire family was blown to bits tonight," he murmured, his voice rough and raw with restrained emotion. "That kid's life is never gonna be the same."
"I know," she whispered, drawing nearer.
He lifted his face into the hot cascade of water, then slicked a hand over the top of his head. "I tell you, there are times when I don't think I can handle all of the goddamned pain and death."
"That's what makes you human," she said, then laughed quietly to herself at how easy it was to think of him as a man--her man--despite all the things that made him something more than that.
Hell, it was getting hard to think of herself as being purely human anymore. She was morphing into something she didn't quite understand--
more and more every day--but she was growing less afraid of the changes taking place within her. They were making her stronger, giving her a renewed sense of purpose ... a rebirth.
She found herself looking forward to the chance to have a different life. A new life, perhaps right here in this place. Perhaps with Brock at her side.
After the last time she'd been in his arms, she realized she was less afraid of the feelings she had for him, too.
It was that lack of fear that prompted her to take off her top and step out of her loose yoga pants. Her bra and panties went next, discarded on the floor as she walked into the shower with Brock and wrapped her arms around his strong back.