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“Accommodations here at the compound are limited, but we can rearrange a few things to make space for you and Kellan in one of the bunk rooms. You’re welcome to stay for as long as needed.”
Archer held up his hand in polite dismissal. “That’s more than generous; however, I have personal holdings elsewhere. There are other places that my grandson and I can go.”
“Yes,” Lucan replied, “but until we can be certain that you and Kellan are not in imminent danger from Dragos, I’m not comfortable releasing you from the Order’s protection.”
“Dragos,” Archer said, his face hardening with restrained fury. “I recall that name from the Old Times. Dragos and his progeny were forever corrupt. Devious, co
Lucan grunted. “A second-generation son remains, hidden for decades behind multiple aliases but not dead. Not yet. And there is more, Lazaro. Things you don’t know. Things the civilian population would not wish to know about Dragos and his machinations.”
Grim, ageless eyes held his stare. “Tell me. I want to understand. I need to understand.”
“Come,” Lucan said. “Let’s walk.”
He guided Archer away from his grandson’s infirmary room and along the quiet corridor outside. The two Gen Ones strode in silence for a short distance while Lucan considered where to start with the facts they knew about Dragos. At the begi
“The seeds of this war with Dragos were sown centuries ago,” he said, as he and Archer progressed up the white marble hallway. “You must remember the violence of those times, Lazaro. You lived through it the same as I did, when the Ancients ran unchecked, driven by their thirst for blood and the thrill of the hunt. They were our fathers, but they had to be stopped.”
Archer nodded gravely. “I do remember how it was then. As a boy, I can’t tell you how often I witnessed my own sire’s savagery. It seemed to escalate over time, growing more feral and uncontrolled, particularly after he’d return from the gatherings.”
Lucan cocked his head. “The gatherings?”
“Yes,” Archer replied. “I don’t know where he and the other Ancients met, but he would be gone for weeks or months at a time. I always knew when he was back in the area because then the killings in the human villages around us would begin again. I was relieved when he finally left for good.”
Lucan frowned. “My father never mentioned gatherings, but I know he roamed for long periods. I know he hunted. When he killed my mother in a fit of Bloodlust, I knew it was time to put an end to all of the savagery.”
“I remember hearing what happened to your mother,” Archer replied. “And I remember your call to arms to all Gen One sons to band with you in war against our alien fathers. I didn’t think it possible that you would succeed.”
“Not many did,” Lucan recalled, but he wasn’t bitter, not then or now. “Eight of us went up against the handful of surviving Ancients. We thought we’d killed the last of them, but we had traitors in our ranks—my brother, Marek, as it turned out, and the Gen One father of Dragos, as well. They plotted in secret and built a hidden mountain crypt to house the last of the Ancients. They’d claimed he was dead but kept him protected in hibernation for centuries. He was later removed from the crypt, and survived under Dragos’s control until only recently. Dragos kept him drugged and starved in a private laboratory. We don’t know the extent of Dragos’s madness, but we are sure of one thing: Over some decades, he’s used the Ancient to breed a small army of Gen Ones. These offspring now serve Dragos as his personal, homegrown assassins.”
“Good God,” Archer murmured, visibly stricken. “I can hardly believe all of this is true.”
Lucan might have felt the same at one point, but he had lived it. He thought back on everything that had occurred in the past year plus. All the betrayals and revelations, the explosive secrets and unexpected tragedies that had stabbed deep into the fabric of the Order and its members.
And the fight wasn’t over. Not even close.
“So far, Dragos has managed to elude us, but we’re getting closer to him every day. We’ve driven him to ground by destroying what was likely his primary location. He lost another key piece when the Ancient escaped some of his men in Alaska. We tracked the creature down and took him out. But a lot of the damage has already been done,” Lucan added. “We don’t know how many Gen One assassins Dragos managed to create or where they might be. We intend to find them, however. And we have one working with us now. He joined the Order not long ago, after freeing himself from Dragos’s bonds.”
Archer’s face drew into a cautious look. “Do you think that’s wise? Placing your trust in anyone who’s been so closely linked to Dragos?”
Lucan inclined his head. “I had the same reservations at first, but Hunter has proven more than worthy of the Order’s trust. You’ve met him yourself, Lazaro. He was there tonight with you, and helped to kill Christophe’s assassins.”
The Gen One exhaled a quiet curse. “That warrior saved my life. No one could have acted swiftly enough to save my son, but if not for Hunter, I would not be here, either.”
“He is an honorable male,” Lucan said. “But he was bred and raised to be a killing machine. Based on the descriptions we received of Kellan’s abductors, we’re all but certain that it was three of Dragos’s Hunters who took him from your home.”
“I thought I heard some of the warriors tonight say that the captors who were killed inside the building earlier were humans—Minions.”
Lucan nodded. “They were. For some reason, they’d been made to look like the same individuals who took Kellan, but the Minions were part of some larger scheme. As was the attack on your Darkhaven, I have no doubt.”
“But why?” Archer murmured. “What did he hope to gain by taking nearly all of my family and reducing my home to ash?”
“We don’t have that answer yet, but we won’t rest until we do.” Lucan paused in the corridor, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dragos has given us a hell of a lot to deal with lately, and my gut tells me we’re only seeing the begi
Archer cursed, low under his breath. “To think all of this has been taking place right under our noses. Lucan, I don’t know what to say, other than I regret not giving you my support sooner. You can’t know how sorry I am for that.”
Lucan shook his head. “It’s not necessary. The fight belongs to the Order.”
Lazaro Archer’s expression was grim with purpose. “As of now, the fight is mine, as well. I am in, Lucan. In whatever means that I can serve you and your warriors, if you’ll accept my offer—belated as it is—then I am in.”
Dragos’s black limousine pulled up to the ice-crusted curb where his lieutenant waited, huffing and shivering under a streetlamp in his dark cashmere coat and low-brimmed hat.
As the Minion driver braked to a stop, Dragos’s man came over to the back passenger door and climbed inside the vehicle. He pulled off his hat and gloves, pivoting to face Dragos beside him in the backseat.
“The Order was tipped off about the building where the boy was being held, sire. They showed up tonight just as we’d anticipated, along with Lazaro Archer and his son and a unit from the Enforcement Agency. The Minions who’d been guarding the boy were killed within moments of the confrontation.”
“Hardly a surprise,” Dragos said with a mild shrug. “And Agent Freyne?”
“Dead, sire. He and his men were killed by one of the warriors as they were attempting to carry out their mission. Christophe Archer was eliminated, but his father still lives.”