"Nothing in the last hour. Brock said he or Jenna will call right away if the weather clears enough in Fairbanks to let them out."

Lucan cursed. "Even if the blizzard stops right now, they're easily a full day away yet. I'll have to put someone else on this instead. Maybe it's a good way to get Chase out of my hair for a while. Hell, after what I just heard tonight, it might be the only thing to keep me from killing him."

Gabrielle narrowed her gaze on his, all business now. "No way are you going to send that poor woman off to Detroit with Chase as her escort. Not happening, Lucan. I'll take her there myself before I let that happen."

He hadn't been totally serious to begin with, but he wasn't about to argue with her. Not when her chin was held at that stubborn upward angle that said she had absolutely zero intention of backing down. "Okay, forget I said it. You win." Grabbing her close with one arm, he let his hand roam down to the curve of her behind. "How come you always win?"

"Because you know I'm right." She moved in tighter, rising up on her toes until her mouth was brushing his. "And because - admit it, vampire - you wouldn't have me any other way."

With one slender brow arching, she nipped at his lower lip then slid out of his embrace before he could rise to her challenge. Not that he wasn't already rising. Gabrielle smiled, fully aware of his condition as she pivoted around and began to walk back toward the library and her waiting guest.

Lucan paused until she was out of the room, working to regroup his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he took Rowan off hold and put the phone back to his ear. He'd let the Agent hang in uncertain silence for long enough.

"Mathias," he said. "I want you to know that the Order appreciates all you've done to assist us thus far. As for what happened tonight in that club, I assure you it had not been my intent. I realize being the Agency's director for the region, this puts you in an uncomfortable position."

It was as close to an apology as he could muster. Although the long-standing, if unwritten, policy between Lucan's warriors and the Agency's members had been to refrain as best as they could from shitting in one another's yards, circumstances of late had changed. As in changed everything, and drastically.

"I'm not worried about myself," Rowan replied. "And I don't regret my decision to help you. I want Dragos apprehended, whatever it takes. Even if that means making a few enemies of my own inside the Agency."

Lucan grunted in acknowledgment of the vow. "You're a good man, Mathias."

"After all the bastard's done, especially the terror of last week, how could I not want him stopped just as badly as you and your warriors do?" Rowan's voice was edged with a passion Lucan understood very well. "It doesn't shock me that there is corruption within the Agency, least of all that a Neanderthal like Freyne would ally himself with a twisted madman like Dragos. I only wish I'd seen that possibility before it blew up in my face the night of Kellan Archer's rescue."

"You aren't alone in that regret," Lucan replied, sober at the thought. He'd sent several warriors out on that mission as well, added insurance that the Darkhaven youth would be brought home safely from his abductors - a trio of Gen One assassins who'd taken the boy on Dragos's orders. That primary objective had been achieved, but not without a lot of collateral damage and disturbing questions rising in its wake. "How is the boy?" Rowan asked. "Still recovering in our infirmary." Kellan Archer's physical abuse had been severe, but it was the mental anguish he'd suffered during and after his abduction that had Lucan even more concerned for the young Breed male's long-term well-being. "And his grandfather?"

Lucan considered the elder Archer male in grim silence for a moment. Lazaro Archer was one of the few remaining Gen Ones in the Breed population, and an aged one at that. Nearly a thousand years old, he had lived an esteemed, peaceful life, the last couple of centuries spent in New England as the head of his family Darkhaven. He had raised strong sons who had raised sons of their own - Lucan wasn't even sure how many progeny Lazaro and his lifelong Breedmate could claim.

Not that it mattered.

Not anymore.

In a single blood-soaked evening, Lazaro's mate and all their kin who made the Boston Darkhaven their home had been wiped out. One of Lazaro's sons, the boy's father, Christophe, had been murdered at close range by Freyne, the traitor who'd been part of Kellan's Enforcement Agency rescue detail. Lazaro and Kellan were all that remained of the Archer bloodline, although their survival had not yet been made public.

"Both the boy and his grandfather are doing as well as can be expected," Lucan replied.

"Until I can determine why they were targeted by Dragos, they can't be safe anywhere but here, in the compound."

"Of course," Rowan answered. There was a pause on his end, then a quiet inhalation of his breath. "Knowing Chase, I'm sure he blames himself for part of what occurred during the rescue mission ..."

Lucan felt his brows draw tight at the reminder of yet another of Chase's recent troubles while on duty. "Let me worry about my men, Mathias. You keep a close eye on your own."

"Certainly," he replied, even-toned and professional. "I'll handle any fallout from the incident at the club tonight. If anything interesting turns up in the meantime about Freyne or his connection to Dragos, rest assured I'll be in touch."

Lucan murmured his thanks. If Rowan hadn't carved such a solid career for himself within the upper ranks of the Agency, he might have made a fine warrior instead. God knew the Order could use extra hands and a few more level heads if things got any worse in their war with Dragos.

Or if things continued to go south with a certain member of their current team. No sooner had the thought put a hard tick in Lucan's jaw, the compound's internal line rang with a call from the tech lab. He ended his conversation with Rowan, then punched the speaker button on the intercom.

"They're here," Gideon announced before Lucan had the chance to bark out a hello. "Just watched them roll through the gates of the estate. Got them on surveillance cameras as we speak. They're driving around to the fleet hangar right now."

"About fucking time," Lucan snarled.

He cut off the intercom and stalked out of his quarters. The pound of his black combat boots echoed down the lengths of snaking, white marble passageways that ran like a central nervous system through the heart of the underground compound. He rounded a corner and chewed up the distance toward the tech lab where Gideon was stationed practically 24/7 these days.

Up ahead of him, his acute hearing picked up the whispered hydraulic whine of the secure elevator as it made its descent from the garage located topside to the compound a few hundred feet belowground.

As he passed the tech lab, Gideon came out to meet him in the hallway. The British-born warrior and resident genius of the compound was letting his inner geek have its freedom tonight, dressed in slouchy gray jeans, green Chuck Taylor sneakers, and a yellow Hellboy T-shirt. His cropped blond hair was more disheveled than usual, as if he'd raked his hands over his scalp more than once during the wait for news of Hunter and Chase.

"Been a long time since I saw that murderous scowl," Gideon said, his blue gaze sharp over the pale lenses of his rimless shades. "Looks like you're about to chew these guys up and spit them out."

"Smells like someone already did that for me," Lucan growled, his nostrils tingling with the scent of freshly spilled Breed blood even before the polished steel doors of the elevator had opened to let out the pair of errant warriors.

Chapter Three

Are you sure I can't get you something else to eat or drink?"

Gabrielle came back into the library, her cheeks flushed, her brown eyes seeming somehow brighter than they had been when she'd left with the tea tray a few minutes ago. Her gaze drifting for a moment, Lucan Thorne's Breedmate brought her fingertips to her lips in an absent gesture that did not quite hide the small, private smile that curved her mouth. She blinked it away an instant later and walked over to resume her seat on the sofa.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Lucan and I got caught up in a small negotiation," she said, as kind and hospitable as an old friend, despite the fact that they'd been complete strangers until just a few hours earlier that evening. "Is it too cold for you in here? Look at you, you're shivering."

"It's nothing." Corinne Bishop burrowed deeper into her pale gray wrap cardigan and shook her head, even as a further tremor rattled deep within her bones. "I'm all right, really."

Her discomfort had nothing to do with the temperature inside the Order's compound. Luxury and warmth surrounded her here, the likes of which she could hardly comprehend. She had marveled at the astonishingly expansive underground headquarters from the moment she'd arrived, and certainly the elegant library where she was seated now with Gabrielle was the most exquisite room she'd been in for quite some time.

Her home for the past many years had been little better than a tomb. From the moment of her abduction when she was just eighteen, Corinne had been kept prisoner along with a number of other young females, all of them taken captive by a madman named Dragos for the simple fact that each of the women had been born a Breedmate.

Her hands folded in her lap, Corinne glanced down and idly ran her thumb across the tiny scarlet birthmark on the back of her right hand - the same small birthmark that every Breedmate bore somewhere on her skin. It was that teardrop-and-crescent-moon stamp that made her part of an extraordinary world - the secret, eternal world of the Breed. It was the reason she'd been lifted out of certain poverty and neglect as an infant, after she'd been abandoned at the back door of a Detroit hospital just hours following her birth.

That diminutive, bloodred birthmark had been her entree into the lives of Victor and Regina Bishop, her adoptive parents. The blood-bonded couple with a Breed son of their own had opened their sumptuous Darkhaven mansion to both Corinne and her adopted younger sister, Charlotte, giving two unwanted, unclaimed girls a loving home and nothing but the best that life had to offer.

If only she'd been adult enough then to appreciate all the blessings she'd had. If only she'd had the chance to tell her family one more time that she loved them ... before a villain called Dragos had yanked her away and thrown her into what had seemed an interminable hell.

It was the small red birthmark on the back of her hand that had caused her so much pain and heartbreak. She'd been tortured and abused, kept alive against her will and made to endure things she could hardly think about, let alone speak of now that she was free of the horrors. Both she and Dragos's other captives - somewhere close to twenty of them who had managed to survive his torment and experiments long enough to be rescued by the warrior members of the Order and their incredibly courageous, resourceful Breedmates.

For the past few days since their rescue, Corinne and the other freed captives had been living in Rhode Island, at the Darkhaven of another couple whose generosity and caring had been a godsend. Trusted friends of the Order, Andreas Reichen and his mate, Claire, had provided all of the evacuees with shelter, clothing - anything they could possibly need to help reclaim some sense of normalcy as their lives began again outside of Dragos's reach. The only thing Corinne needed was her family. She had been astonished to learn that of all the Breedmates captured and imprisoned by Dragos, she was the only one taken from a Darkhaven family. The other females had all been collected from runaway shelters or plucked from solitary existences, unaware that they were special in any way until Dragos's evil tore the blinders from their eyes.

But Corinne had known what she was. She'd had a family that had loved her, one that had surely missed her and eventually mourned her when the decades passed without her return. She was different from Dragos's other victims. Yet she'd suffered the same as them - perhaps more, as the thought of her anguished parents and siblings had made her defiant in the face of her captor.

The urgency to be back where she belonged, back among the people who could help her heal - perhaps the only people capable of helping her recover everything she'd lost during her time in captivity - was a need that consumed her, more and more as the days and hours ticked past, costing precious time.

She could only hope that they would welcome her into their fold once more. She could only pray that during the long years she'd been gone they hadn't forgotten her. She could only wish with all her heart that they might still love her.

She glanced up and met Gabrielle's concerned look. "When did Brock think he would be back in Boston?"

Gabrielle exhaled a soft sigh as she slowly shook her head. "Probably not for another day or so. It could be longer than that, if the snow doesn't let up in Fairbanks very soon."

Corinne could hardly hide her disappointment. Coming out of her captivity and discovering that her childhood bodyguard from Detroit was one of her rescuers had given her the first true taste of hope. Brock had become a member of the Order in the time since her disappearance. He had also recently fallen in love. It was that love that had taken him to Alaska a few days ago, but he'd given Corinne his word that as soon as he and his mate, Jenna, returned, they would personally see to it that she made it safely home to Detroit. Corinne needed Brock's support. He'd always been her confidant, a true friend. As a young girl, she had always trusted him to keep her safe. She needed to know she was safe now and to be certain that no danger could touch her as she made her journey home. Some frightened little part of her worried that she might not have the strength to knock on her family's front door without someone like Brock, someone she could trust completely, standing at her side.