He conquered.
He destroyed.
His training as a boy in the Hunters’ cells permitted nothing less. And although his rescue at age thirteen had saved Nathan, a part of him had never come out of Dragos’s lab and likely never would.
He was the fighting dog, rescued from the squalor and violence of the betting pits and brought into a kind, loving home to live a better life.
He had been spared, given a new chance. He had parents and friends he cared for. He had fellow warriors who would die for him, as he would for them.
Yet, like the dog removed from the ring, when a hand reached out to him—in play or in comfort—it was all he could do to keep from biting it.
The distance between who he was now and what he’d been raised to be was a thin razor’s edge that he toed with meticulous discipline each and every day. No one knew the effort it took for him to seem normal. To appear that he fit in with decent people, that he belonged.
They saw what he wanted them to see, and nothing more.
No one knew him beyond what he’d allowed them to perceive.
No one took anything from him that he wasn’t prepared to give up.
No one ever had, until Jordana Gates.
His blood ran hot at the thought of her, their conversation—and the all-too-tempting memory of her body in such close proximity to his—making his veins light up with hunger.
If he’d thought the beautiful Breedmate an unwanted distraction before, crossing paths with her this morning had only confirmed what he’d been striving so hard to deny.
Jordana Gates was going to be a problem for him.
She already was. After one brief kiss and a couple of chance encounters—all told, only a few minutes’ time in her presence—she had aroused a fierce desire in him. She was impacting his focus, diminishing his concentration.
Making him burn with the need to seek her out and take what he craved.
Nathan cursed under his breath and cut off the water.
With his squad and Aric trading insults and banter along with their punches and body checks on the other side of the showers, Nathan stalked out to dry off and dress in the other room alone.
Rafe came out as Nathan was pulling on a fresh black T-shirt. The blond vampire grabbed a white towel from a folded stack and wrapped it around his lean hips. “Something going on with you that I should know about?”
“No.” Without looking over at his comrade, Nathan rubbed his towel over the damp black spikes of his hair.
“You sure about that?” Rafe walked over to the lockers next to Nathan and leaned one beefy shoulder against the metal. “Something’s bugging you. I noticed it in the meeting this morning. Your head is somewhere else.”
Christ. Nathan wasn’t accustomed to being read by someone, let alone getting called on it. He bristled at the weakness in himself but shot his cold glare at Rafe as he slammed his locker shut. “You got issues with my leadership, take it up with Commander Chase.”
Rafe blew out a curse and scowled, studying him closer. “This isn’t about the team, you asshole. I’m asking as your friend. You’ve been wound tighter than usual all day. Actually, ever since that night we went looking for Carys and ended up at Jordana Gates’s place.”
Nathan froze, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he faced Rafe’s steady, knowing blue gaze.
“You do know she’s to be mated soon, don’t you?” Rafe pressed. “Some good ol’ boy Darkhaven lawyer who’s been sniffing around her skirts practically since she came of age, according to Carys.”
Nathan growled at the reminder. “Like I said, there’s nothing going on that you need to know about. Nothing I can’t handle. And as your friend, I’m asking you to trust me on that.”
It took a long moment before Rafe finally nodded his agreement. He turned away and started getting dressed. “Any further word from D.C. today?”
“Nothing yet,” Nathan replied, glad for the change in subjects. “They’re still arranging the meetings with Crowe’s widow and exes. When I spoke with Gideon at Headquarters today, he said they expect to have the interrogations completed within a couple of days. Which is better than I can say about our mission to bring in Cassian Gray. I’ve been digging into the bastard’s records all day and coming up empty. No personal records, no past, no kin. The man’s a fucking ghost.”
Rafe grunted. “He’s got property. La Notte.”
Nathan gave a dubious shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. I hit a wall trying to chase down the title holder of the club. Records are private, sealed. Far as I could tell, there’s about half a dozen layers of lawyers and holding companies in the way.”