Like all Breedmates and the Breed offspring they bore, Mira had an extrasensory gift unique to her. More powerful than many, hers was the ability to show someone a glimpse of their destiny in the reflection of her clear, mirrorlike irises. Often those glimpses were unwelcome, even horrifying. She couldn't control what people saw, nor was she privy to the details of the vision herself. And the cost for using her gift was an incremental degeneration of her eyesight.
As a girl, she'd worn a short veil over her face to protect her vision and mute her Sight. After her parents, Nikolai and Renata, had brought her with them to live under the protection of the Order, Mira had been given special contacts like the ones she wore to this day.
The air behind her stirred subtly with Nathan's movement, then the smooth plastic lens case was pressed into her palm. "Why didn't you let me stand with you when Lucan called tonight? You didn't have to face him alone. I would have vouched for you, shouldered some of the blame for what happened."
"I would never ask you to do that nor allow you to," she said, dismissing the idea outright as she put the violet-colored contacts into her eyes. The last thing she would've wanted was for Nathan or any member of their two squads to be undeservedly penalized for her actions. The only one she'd like to see hurting was the rebel sympathizer she let slip through her fingers earlier tonight. "Has there been any word about Rooster? I suppose the JUSTIS detail has released him back into the wild by now."
When she swiveled around to look at Nathan, he gave a vague shake of his head. "He'd committed no crime, has no outstanding warrants. There was no cause to hold him, so he was free to go."
"Damn it," she muttered, ignoring the Breed warrior's assessing look. "Who knows how long it will take before the bastard resurfaces again."
Without waiting for his reply, she strode away from Nathan, down the length of the target range to retrieve her blades. When she returned, he was watching her in his cool, detached way, studying her as he might a tactical plan or a puzzle in need of solving. "I hear it didn't go well for you with Lucan."
She lifted her shoulder in acknowledgment. "He was right to be upset with me. I acted out of line, and that's unacceptable. I should have been more careful. If I wanted to take care of that human rubbish, I should've done it out of the public eye. Next time, I'll know to be more discreet."
"Next time." Nathan swore low under his breath. "You've been relieved of duty until further notice, Mira. There can be no next time, or you can expect to find yourself pulled from the ranks permanently. That's not what anyone wants. I know that's not what you want."
"No," she said. "What I want is vengeance."
"And so you charge into every battle with a head full of fury, guns blazing, knives flying, and damn the consequences." At another time, she might have taken it as a compliment to her bravery, but the indictment in her friend's expression was impossible to deny. He was silent for a long moment, studying her. "A warrior driven by such selfish means is not a warrior fit to lead others into battle. Maybe unfit to serve at all."
Lucan had told her much the same thing earlier tonight. That she had earned the disapproval of the Order's founder and commander was bad enough. Disappointing Nathan and the other warriors who served alongside her was much harder to bear. "I'm sorry," she said, meaning it wholeheartedly. "I wish I could forget him, Nathan, but I can't."
"You still love him."
Not a question, and she couldn't begin to deny it. Nathan, along with most of the Order and their mates, had long ago recognized the bond that had formed between Kellan and her over the years. What had begun for her as a childhood crush on a sullen, damaged boy had blazed into something much deeper as she matured into a young woman and watched Kellan become a courageous soldier, a good man of unshakable honor.
Mira had loved Kellan from the time she was eight years old. Growing up, he'd been her best friend, her favorite sparring partner when she'd entered training to become a warrior. He'd been her first kiss at fifteen. Her first taste of desire, when sparring and laughter turned to heated glances and caresses that left her virgin body trembling and hungry for more.
Kellan had been the only one for her. How many times had she imagined their life together? How often had she dreamed of their future, of sharing an eternity with him as his blood-bonded mate?
But he'd always held something of himself back from her. She'd never understood why. And then they'd shared one incredible night together - a night when she'd had all of him, at last - only to lose him forever a few short hours later in the blast that took his life.
"I can't forget him, Nathan. And I can't forgive the ones who tore him out of our lives. How do you do it? After all, Kellan was your friend too."
"The best I'll ever have." Nathan and Kellan had been as close as brothers. Maybe closer, having walked into combat together countless times as members of the same Order squad. They'd faced death together unflinchingly, dealt it without mercy when duty called for it. And they'd done it as friends, family, brothers-in-arms. Mira could see the pain of that loss in Nathan's greenish blue eyes, even though his handsome face held its stoic, soldier's expression. "I miss him too, Mira. I hate like hell that he's gone. But he is gone. He's dead. Throwing away your future won't bring him back."
God, if it would? For a brief, sharply desperate moment, she wondered what she would be willing to sacrifice to have Kellan alive again. Nearly a decade without him, and she still ached to see him, to touch him. Pathetic, how deeply she longed for that. Some stubborn piece of her still clung to the hope that this was just some awful, cosmic mistake that had to be corrected soon and then everything would be as it should be once again.
Right. Pathetic.
"When do you return to Montreal?" Nathan asked, a welcome break from her dark thoughts, drawing her back to reality. Which wasn't much brighter at the moment.
"I don't go back. Not for a while, that is." She slanted him a rueful glance. "I've been summoned to D.C. for an in-person Council review with Lucan and the other Order commanders. Where, I'm all but sure, I'll be asked to step down from my post as captain. Webb's standing in as my replacement. Lucan's decision. He's already sent the team back to base without me."
Idly, she traced her thumb over the scrollwork of one of her hand-tooled daggers - a gift from Nikolai and Renata, who were the closest thing to parents that she'd ever known. The blades were fashioned similarly to the ones Renata wielded so beautifully, but this pair had been designed especially for Mira, presented to her on the day she was promoted to captain.
The hilts of her two daggers were carved on each side, etched by the same artisan, bearing the same words that graced Renata's four: Courage. Sacrifice. Honor. Faith.
She'd never felt more unworthy of holding them.
Nathan eyed her in grave silence, and even though he spared her from his opinion on the matter, she could tell that he understood as well as she did that her position with the Order was tenuous at best. She'd been exiled to a kind of no-man's-land, not fully yanked from her footing but cut adrift just the same.
"Has a date been set for your Council review?"
She nodded. "Four days from now, just before the GNC peace summit begins. But my demotion starts immediately." Adding to the sting of her censure, she had also been relegated to a special assignment that was anything but special. "I've been drafted into nanny detail for one of the summit's award recipients. Some egghead recluse named Ackroyd or Ackerman."
"Ackmeyer," Nathan corrected. "Jeremy Ackmeyer. The human is a science wunderkind, Mira. Eccentric, but brilliant. Ackmeyer holds patents on everything from textiles and plant genomes to solar energy."