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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, Cori
“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 Je
“You are involved with someone,” Cori
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 Cori
“You’re in love?” she asked.
He couldn’t deny it, not even for her. “Yeah, I am. Her name is Je
Cori
Overwhelmed with gratitude and hope, he couldn’t help himself from reaching out to Cori
He let go after a moment and drew away from her. “What about you? Will you be all right, Cori
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—”
Dragos’s furious roar silenced the prattle instantly. He vaulted off the silk sofa, his arm sweeping out in front of him to lash out at a crystal vase of orchids that sat on a delicate pedestal nearby. The piece exploded against the wall and shattered, spraying glass and water and bits of flowers in all directions.
His lieutenant gasped in fright and leapt backward, hitting his spine against the closed door. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head, his face stricken with ball-shriveling fear. His expression turned even more dread-filled as Dragos bore down on him, seething with rage.
In those terrified, widening eyes, he saw his lieutenant’s remembrance of a threat Dragos had made in this very hotel room just a week before.
“Sire, please,” he whispered. “The Minion failed you today, not me. I am only responsible for the message, not the mistake.”
Dragos didn’t care about any of that. His anger was too far gone to be reined in now. With an animal war cry meant more for Lucan and his warriors than the insignificant pawn who stood quivering before him now, he reeled his fist back and punched it hard into the vampire’s chest. He smashed through clothing, skin, and bone like a hammer and plucked out the frantically beating organ caged inside.
The dead lieutenant collapsed at his feet. Dragos glanced down at him, his closed fist blood-soaked and raining a scarlet cascade onto the corpse and the white carpet around it.
Dragos tossed the vampire’s heart like so much trash, then tipped his head back and bellowed, his fury vibrating the air around him like a roll of thunder.
“Dispose of this rubbish,” he snarled to the pair of assassins who looked on in silence from the other side of the hotel suite.
He stalked into the bathroom to scrub the offending gore from his hands, calming himself with the knowledge that although the Order had managed to deliver yet another strike against him today, he still had the upper hand. A pity they didn’t realize it yet.
Very soon, they would.
He had the Order squarely in his sights now.
And he was more than ready to pull the trigger.
CHAPTER
Thirty-four
When Je
“Hey” came the deep, velvet voice that she’d been hearing in her sleep. “I’ve been waiting for you to open those pretty eyes.”
Brock.
She turned her head on the pillow and was struck to see him seated next to her by the bed. He looked so handsome, so caring and strong. His dark brown gaze drank her in, his sensual mouth curving with just the barest traces of a smile.
“They called me in Newport and told me about your injury,” he said, then exhaled a soft curse. “I saw the blood on you outside the Minion’s house, but I didn’t know it was yours, Je
She smiled up at him, her heart soaring to be near him again, even while she was afraid to be happy, uncertain whether or not he’d returned only to help her heal.
“How are you feeling, Je
“Okay,” she replied, and realized just then that she actually felt very good physically. She sat up a bit and moved aside the sheet and blanket that covered her. The ugly gash that should have been below her rib cage was nothing more than a small scab, the wound that had been bleeding so profusely now all but gone. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.” Brock’s expression softened as he looked at her. “You’ve surprised us all, particularly Gideon. He’s still trying to figure out what’s going on with your physiology, but it appears your body is learning to heal itself. Adaptive regeneration, I think he called it. He says he wants to run more tests, try to determine if the regeneration might also impact the aging of your cells over time. He seems to think there’s a decent chance that’s going to be the case.”