He reached out to touch her, but she backed away with a small shake of her head. He let his hand drop, fist hanging at his side. "Ah, Christ, Corinne. Can you ever forgive me?"
Her slim brows knitted slightly. "No ..."
Her softly voiced denial blasted him deeply. He deserved it, he knew, and he could hardly say a word in his own defense. He'd failed her. Perhaps more than if she had died all those years ago. Death would have been better than what she'd likely endured while imprisoned by a sick bastard like Dragos.
"I am sorry," he murmured, determined to get the words out even though she was mutely shaking her head, her frown deepening. "I know my apology doesn't mean anything now. It doesn't change a damned thing for you, Corinne ... but I want you to know that a day hasn't gone by that I didn't think about you and wish that I had been there. I wish I could have traded places with you, my life instead of yours--"
"No," she said, her voice stronger than before. "No, Brock. Is that what you thought? That I blamed you for what happened to me?"
He stared, astounded by the lack of anger in her eyes. "You have every right to blame me. I was supposed to protect you."
Her dark gaze went a little sad now. "You did. No matter how impossible I was, you always kept me safe."
"Not that night," he reminded her grimly.
"That night, I don't know what happened," she murmured. "I don't know who took me, but there was nothing you could do, Brock. You were never to blame. I never wanted you to think that."
"I looked everywhere for you, Corinne. For weeks, months ... years after they pulled the body from the river--your body, I thought--I kept looking for you." He sucked in a sharp breath. "I never should have let you out of my sight that night, not even for a second. I failed--"
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly, her face devoid of any recrimination, utterly forgiving. "You never failed me. You sent me back inside the club that night because you thought I would be safer there. How could you have known I would be taken? You always did everything right for me, Brock."
He shook his head, astonished by her absolution, humbled by the resolve in her voice. She didn't blame him, and some of the leaden guilt he'd been carrying for so long simply broke away.
In the wash of relief that poured over him, he thought of Jenna, and the life he wanted to begin with her.
"You are involved with someone," Corinne said, studying him in his silence. "The woman who helped save all of us today."
He nodded, pride swelling inside him despite the dull ache of regret that still held him when he looked at the young girl--now the frail, serious woman--that Corinne had become during her years of imprisonment with Dragos.
"You're in love?" she asked.
He couldn't deny it, not even for her. "Yeah, I am. Her name is Jenna."
Corinne smiled sadly. "She's a lucky woman. I am pleased that you're happy, Brock."
Overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, he couldn't help himself from reaching out to Corinne and pulling her into a tight embrace. She was stiff in his arms at first, her small body flinching as if the contact startled her. But then she loosened slightly, her hands coming to rest lightly on his back.
He let go after a moment and drew away from her. "What about you?
Will you be all right, Corinne?"
She gave him a weak smile as she lifted one frail shoulder. "All I need now is to go home." Something empty and raw, something that seemed to bleed inside her like an open wound, shadowed her gaze. "All I need now is to be with my family."
Dragos's lieutenant trembled as he broke the day's bad news.
All of the females Dragos had collected over the past several decades for his private laboratory--the ones who'd survived his prolonged experimentations and breeding requirements, that is--had been discovered and released by the Order.
Even worse, it had been the Order's women, not Lucan or his warriors, who made the discovery earlier that day. The Minion nun who'd served him, first as a shelter worker who had assisted him in locating Breedmates for his cause, then, more recently, as the warden of his little prison by the sea, had failed to protect his interests. The useless cow was dead, but not before she'd cost him the roughly twenty females in her care.
And now the Order had managed to chip away at another brick in the bedrock of his operation.
First, they took his autonomy, ending his years of unchecked power as a director within the Enforcement Agency. Then they took his secret lab, raiding his headquarters and forcing him to ground. Next, they killed the Ancient, although Dragos likely would have put the creature down sooner than later himself.
And now this.
Standing just inside the vestibule of Dragos's hotel suite in Boston, his lieutenant fidgeted with his hat, wringing it in front of him like a wet rag. "I don't know how they managed to find the captives' location, sire. Perhaps they'd been watching the house for some reason. Perhaps it was pure luck that brought them there and they--">Niko awkwardly cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt, man, but we need to get moving. The Rover is almost full, and Rio's called the compound for a couple more vehicles to pick up the rest of the females. Chase and Hunter are already en route with additional transport."
Brock nodded. "They're going to need shelter somewhere."