The way he viewed it, fucking was no different than feeding.
And he preferred to do neither close to the place he called home.
“We did learn something about Cassian Gray last night,” Nathan said, bringing his thoughts back in line where they belonged. “Cass’s office at La Notte was orderly, too much so. Anything of value to someone looking into him or his interests had been removed.”>“Good. Trust me when I say you wouldn’t want to know that one. It’s no secret that he’s a killer, Jordana. One of those laboratory-raised monsters the Order seems so willing to recruit into their ranks.”
As Elliott steered her farther toward the museum guests, Jordana chanced another look back to where Nathan stood.
He was gone.
Why that should disappoint her, she didn’t even want to guess.
As for Elliott’s warning, she knew he wasn’t exaggerating. Nathan had been born and raised under awful conditions. She’d heard a little about his background from Carys over the past few days, information she’d attempted to mine as casually as possible, afraid to let on even to Carys that her curiosity about Nathan was anything more than passing.
And it was only a passing curiosity, she insisted to herself now, despite the pang of sympathy she felt for the coolly remote warrior in light of his horrific upbringing.
Born to a Breedmate who’d been abducted as a young woman and forced to breed, like many other captives who’d been imprisoned in the lab of a madman named Dragos, Nathan had been created for one purpose: killing. As a baby, he and the other boys born into the program were taken away from their mothers and raised to be soldiers in Dragos’s private army.
Worse than that—they were born and raised to be emotionless machines. Assassins to be deployed on Dragos’s whim to murder his enemies without mercy or remorse.
Nathan had eventually been rescued by his mother and the Order, and he now led a squad of warriors for the Order’s command center in Boston.
“A Hunter,” Jordana murmured belatedly.
Elliott frowned at her again. “A what?”
“Hunters. That’s what they were called.”
He scoffed. “Hunter is too polite a term for what he is.”
“What he was,” Jordana corrected him quietly, but Elliott wasn’t listening, no longer interested in Nathan now that he was gone.
“I’m sorry they ruined your reception,” he said. “You worked so hard to make it perfect.”
She dismissed the concern with a smile she didn’t really feel. “It’s not ruined.” She gestured to the room full of well-heeled patrons at the private, invitation-only showing. The drone of conversation, even light laughter here and there, vibrated around them in the museum’s main level. “See? Everyone’s already moved on to enjoy the rest of the evening. You should too, Elliott. You worry too much about me sometimes.”
“Because I care,” he said, reaching out to stroke the side of her face. “And you should worry more than you do, particularly about the company you keep. What happened tonight will likely be gossiped about for weeks, if not longer.”
Jordana drew away from his touch and his censure. “If tongues wag over this, it’ll be free publicity for the exhibit. Museum contributions will probably double.”
Elliott’s look was skeptical, but he offered her a smile. “I still think it was a mistake having Carys Chase host this event with you. The exhibit is your baby, Jordana. You’ve been working on it for more than six months—too long to let anything, or anyone, jeopardize its success. After all, how many times did you cancel or stand me up because your work kept you late at the museum?”
Too many times to count, and Jordana inwardly winced at the reminder. Although Elliott was keeping his tone light, she knew it had wounded him that she’d become so preoccupied and distant in recent months. She didn’t want to hurt him or disappoint him.
Although they’d never been intimate in the year they’d been dating, Jordana did care deeply for him. She loved him. Of course, everyone loved Elliott Bentley-Squire. He was kind and attractive, wealthy and charitable. Everything that any woman could possibly want in a mate.
He was also a longtime family friend, having been her father, Martin’s, attorney and business associate for several decades.
Jordana’s father, a male who had adopted her as an infant yet had never been inclined to take a Breedmate for himself in all his century of living, had hardly concealed the fact that he hoped Jordana might develop a fondness for Elliott. Despite that he was easily three times her age, being Breed like her father, Elliott Bentley-Squire was physically as fit and youthful as a thirty-year-old.
As for Jordana, her twenty-fifth birthday loomed less than a couple weeks away—a date her father had emphasized since she was a child, reminding her constantly of the sizable trust she would be granted on that date, but only if she were mated and settled by then.
Not that she cared at all about the money. Neither did Elliott, who had already accumulated his own considerable riches.
No, their relationship had not been based on commerce or social standing. It had been the most natural thing in the world to assume that she and Elliott might one day seal their long-term friendship with a blood bond and take each other as their mate.
Except …
Except the closer their relationship came to that eventuality, the more absorbed Jordana became in her work. It wasn’t unusual for her to be at the museum seven days a week, including most nights. In her spare time, she served on a handful of charity boards and had picked up a couple of seats on city improvement boards.