Lucan’s gaze came back to meet Zael’s. “And you’re certain Selene won’t risk weakening her shield now to use her crystal against anyone?”

“She’d be a fool to try. And Selene is no fool.”

“I sure as hell hope you’re right.”

So did Zael, although he kept that hope to himself.

Because if Selene’s need for vengeance should eventually overrule her logic and reason, everyone on this planet would be doomed.

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Brynne returned to her suite next to the library, her mind spinning from all she had learned over breakfast with Tavia and the other women.

The investigator in her had been fascinated by the facts of Jordana’s incredible origins. She’d listened raptly over a plate of crepes and fresh fruit as the pale blonde beauty had described the events surrounding her father’s efforts to safeguard his infant daughter.

Not to mention the powerful crystal he’d taken from the Atlantean realm.

Cassianus had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep both of his treasures from falling back into Selene’s hands.

Then there was Zael. From the way Jordana told the story, he had been ready to sacrifice anything for her safety too.

As professionally intrigued as Brynne had been about the details concerning the Atlanteans, their dangerous queen, and the powerful crystals at the center of so much bloodshed and strife, the woman in Brynne was equally fascinated by the deepening paradox that was Zael.

She couldn’t help thinking that perhaps she’d judged him too hastily, and too harshly.

That had long been one of her many flaws when it came to dealing with anyone—and not something she found easy to change. After all, she’d found out a long time ago that life was a hell of a lot easier to survive when it was lived in basic black or white. Things were either right or wrong, good or bad.

The people around her were either on her side or against her.

Friend or enemy.

With Zael, her old methods didn’t seem to hold up. Everything about the male shook the firm foundation she’d constructed for herself. He seemed to understand that too. Even worse, he seemed to enjoy knocking her off kilter, making her question herself. Making her squirm.

Lord knew he did that all too well.

She thought she’d had him pegged, but he kept proving her wrong. Now that she was forced to look at him in the flattering light of Jordana’s praise and affection, Brynne didn’t know what to think about Zael.

Stepping into the solace of her guest room, she hoped to find a few moments alone to rest and freshen up. She needed a shower and a change of clothes, the latter having been generously provided by Gabrielle. A light blouse and pressed linen slacks were folded neatly at the end of the bed. Brynne traced her fingers over the crisp fabric, moved by how readily everyone in the Order had welcomed her.

That didn’t mean she wanted to stay.

It didn’t mean she could. Not for long, anyway.

Not without letting them all see what was wrong with her.

Not without earning everyone’s fear—and rightly so.

Because sooner or later, she would need to feed. Not on fancy breakfasts or other human food she was fortunate enough to enjoy in spite of her Breed genetics. Sooner—rather than later—she would need to nourish herself with blood.

An act that was as normal as breathing for any other member of the Breed was torment for her. Damned if she drank and damned if she didn’t, Brynne had grown accustomed to stringing herself out as long as she could, if only to avoid the pain . . . the horror.

The shame.

She only hoped she could last until she was able to return to London and resume her life. What remained of it, that is.

Zael had accused her of being lonely and he was right.

He was right about so much where she was concerned, and it terrified her that he could see through her so easily when she’d worked all her life to shelter herself.

With her thoughts dimmed by the reality of her existence, Brynne drifted farther into her private suite. Sunlight streaming in through the parted drapes drew her across the soft Persian rug to the window where the estate’s grounds spread out in an explosion of lush green and brightly colored blooms.

She had forgotten how breathtaking the back gardens were. Flowering bushes and elegant topiary trees complimented an intersecting maze of manicured hedges that meandered from one corner of the grounds to another. Off the back of the mansion, a broad terrace patio led out to flagstone walking paths that drew the eye from one tranquil corner of the grounds to the other.

And that’s when she saw him.

Zael, standing in the center of the garden with his head tipped back, muscular arms spread wide open beneath the morning rays. This was almost exactly how she’d found him that other morning here at the Order’s headquarters. The day they’d met for the first time.

As she had then, Brynne froze, utterly transfixed by the sight of him.

Bare-chested, his smooth skin and copper-shot, golden hair gilded by sunlight, Zael seemed to both absorb and reflect the sun’s rays as he stood there, engrossed in his private ritual. Light radiated from the impressive outline of his body, gathering with brighter intensity in the open palms of his upturned hands.

He was unearthly…powerful.

Heart-stoppingly sexy.

She tried not to stare, but it was futile. Against her will, she felt those strong arms wrapped around her the way they had been on that dance floor. Warm, sheltering, so unexpectedly tender.

She could still taste his kiss. Catching her lip between her teeth and the tips of her emerging fangs, she groaned with the memory of his mouth on hers.

She wanted him.

And, maybe, she acknowledged ruefully, she had been wrong about him. After hearing what he’d done for his friend, Cass, and Jordana, Brynne struggled to hold on to her initial opinion of Zael.

In fact, she struggled to do much else right now besides gaze at him from her window and try to resist the urge to go out to the garden and join him. If for no other reason than to try to unlock their horns and see if they could move forward as something other than adversaries.

Not that they’d felt anything close to adversarial on that dance floor in London.

And not that the low thrum of her pulse had anything to do with making peace with him and moving on as if their kiss—and her embarrassing proposition—hadn’t happened.

Brynne gnawed her lip in silent indecision as she watched him slowly lower his arms to his sides. She was about to collect her nerve and hurry down when Zael lowered his head, turning to face someone who approached him in the gardens.