Lucan glanced briefly at Lazaro Archer. "Leverage. The inpidual who ordered this abduction will, no doubt, issue a demand before too long."
"A demand for what?"
"For me," Lazaro said quietly. When his son's gaze slid to him in question, the Gen One looked at him in frank remorse. "Christophe is not aware of the conversation we had nearly a year ago, Lucan. I never told him about the warning you gave me and the other few remaining Gen Ones that someone was seeking to erase us from existence. He doesn't know about the other killings among our generation."
Christophe Archer's face went a bit pale. "Father, what are you talking about? Who is seeking to harm you?"
"His name is Dragos," Lucan replied. "The Order has been waging a private war with him for some time now. But not before he had the chance to spend several decades--centuries, in fact--building his secret empire. He has already killed several other Gen Ones in the past year alone, and that, unfortunately, is only scratching the surface of his madness. All he knows is power, and the need to claim it. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and no life is sacred."
"Jesus Christ. You're telling me this sick bastard is the one who took Kellan?"
Lucan nodded. "I'm sorry."
Christophe vaulted to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind the table. "We have to get him back. Damn it, we have to bring my son home, no matter what it takes."
"We are all agreed on that," Lucan said, speaking for everyone gathered in solemn silence in the tech lab. "But you have to understand that no matter how this unfolds, there will be risks--"
"Damn the risks!" Christophe shouted. "We're talking about my son, my only child. My beloved, innocent boy. Don't tell me about risks, Lucan. I will gladly trade my own life for Kellan."
"As will I," Lazaro put in soberly. "Anything for my kin."
Brock watched the emotional exchange, knowing what it felt like to be helpless in the face of such a loss. But even more than he was moved by the Archers' pain, he was struck by how raw Jenna looked beside him.
Although she held her jaw still, tension bracketed her mouth. Her lips quivered slightly, and her hazel eyes were moist with unshed tears. Whether in sympathy for what the two Breed males were going through or remembrance of her own anguish at having a loved one yanked away so abruptly, he wasn't sure. But the tenderness he saw in her touched him deeply.
Beneath the table, her hand slid over to reach for his. He gathered her slender fingers in his grasp and she glanced to him, smiling faintly as their fingers twined together in silent reassurance. Something deeper passed between them in that moment--an unspoken acknowledgment of the growing bond they shared.
He knew she was strong. He knew she was a courageous, resilient woman who had taken more than her fair share of hits in her lifetime and still came up swinging. But seeing her now, gripped in a moment of quiet vulnerability, made his heart crack just a little.
He loved that she wasn't some delicate flower that wilted under the smallest bit of heat. But he loved this glimpse of softness in her, too.
God, there was so much to love about her.
If not for the slight problem that she hadn't been born a Breedmate, Jenna Darrow was a woman he could easily envision at his side--a true partner, in life and in all things. But she was mortal, and falling for her would inevitably mean losing her. What happened in New York earlier today--seeing her in the hands of Dragos's Minions--had only driven that point home with sharper clarity.
Corinne's death had been a blow he hadn't been prepared for, but he'd managed to go on. Losing Jenna, whether to the age that would eventually take her or by any other means, had somehow become impossible even to imagine.
As he held her hand in his, he knew that he could no longer pretend that she was simply another mission, or that protecting her was merely his duty to the Order. He'd fallen too far and too fast to deny just how much she meant to him.
He was still turning that troubling realization over in his mind as Lucan rose from the table and went to stand near Christophe Archer. Lucan put his hand on the other male's shoulder, his dark brows knitted together in a solemn look. "We won't rest until we find your son and bring him home.
You have my word, and you have the word of my brethren here in this room."
At his pledge, Brock and the other warriors also rose from their seats around the table in a show of solidarity. Even Hunter, the Gen One who knew firsthand how ruthless Dragos and his assassins truly were, stood in support of their new mission.
Christophe turned a hard gaze on the Order's leader. "Thank you.
There is nothing more I can ask."
"And there is nothing I won't give," Lazaro said, joining his son and Lucan near the back of the room. "The Order has my faith and my full trust.
I cannot forgive myself for ignoring your advice a year ago, Lucan. Just look what it's costing me now." He shook his head sadly. "Perhaps I have lived too long, if an evil inpidual like Dragos can exist among us. Is this what is to become of the Breed? Making war on one another, letting greed and power corrupt us, just like humankind. Perhaps we're not so different from them, after all. For that matter, are we any different from the savage otherworlders who spawned us?"
Lucan's steel gray gaze had never looked more resolute. "I'm counting on it."
Lazaro Archer nodded. "And I am counting on you," he said, sweeping a look over each warrior and the females who now stood with them. "I am counting on all of you."
Chapter Twenty-three