Crave the Night: A Midnight Breed Novel (34 page)

“Wine or water with your coq au vin?” he asked, waiting politely as she took her seat at the table. The meal smelled delicious, and looked even more incredible.

Not that she was hungry in the least.

“Water, please.” Her head was still a little woozy, and the electrical buzz that had been with her all day was only intensifying. She put her prickly hands on her lap under the table and tried to ignore the warm tingling of her palms. “How soon will we be going?”

“As soon as you’re ready.” Zael retrieved a bottle of San Pellegrino and poured some in her glass. He gave her a sober look that said she hadn’t fooled him by trying to hide that the power within her was getting stronger by the moment. “It’s not too late to change your mind. But we don’t have long.”

“Do you think I’m making the right choice?”

Zael’s expression was mild, deliberately neutral. “Only you can answer that.”

She nodded and took a sip of the sparkling water. Zael seated himself across from her at the dining table, then attacked his culinary masterpiece with abandon.

He seemed relaxed, confident, and unrushed, but Jordana hadn’t missed the fact that at some point that day, he’d acquired a slender, gleaming sword from somewhere in the villa.

The long blade leaned against the table at his right, easily within his reach.

It didn’t look like any other kind of blade she’d seen before. The steel was inscribed with some kind of ancient-looking lettering and symbols. And the pommel bore the symbol Jordana now recognized as the Atlantean mark.

“You don’t really think you’ll need that, do you?”

Zael lifted one bulky shoulder as he shoveled another mouthful of food to his mouth. The corner of his lips quirked with unrepentant male pride. “If I do, don’t worry. I know how to use it.”

As he finished speaking, the joviality faded from his eyes. He dropped his fork, face turning lethal in an instant.

Jordana glanced behind her to the open French doors to the terrace. A man stood there, dark and grim in his black combat fatigues. Shock and disbelief—along with a piercing, desperate hope—sprang to life inside her.

She pivoted and started to rise. “Nathan?”

She had barely gasped his name before Zael was in motion.

One second, he was seated across from her at the table; the next, gone and materialized again to stand in front of her like a full-body shield. He held his Atlantean sword in a defensive angle in front of them, poised to kill.

While Zael squared off at Nathan, Nathan stood unarmed, all of his weapons holstered and sheathed, his hands held loosely at his sides.

“No.” She put her palms briefly on the Atlantean male’s shoulders, her eyes locked on Nathan in tentative, uneasy question. “It’s okay, Zael. Nathan is my … he’s with the Order.”

The tension in Zael’s big body relaxed only slightly. He didn’t lower his blade, but he didn’t move to attack either.

Nathan said nothing, his thundercloud eyes moving away from Jordana’s protector to her, standing behind Zael. His gaze was unreadable in the shadows of the terrace patio. His face remained impassive, emotionless and schooled.

More than anything, Jordana wanted to move around Zael and rush into Nathan’s arms.

Instead, she stayed the impulse, terrified of his rejection. And she was still too wounded by the way things had ended between them last night to risk another heartbreak.

In the heavy silence, Zael took a step away from Jordana. The look he turned on her said he understood that Nathan was the man she’d been thinking of earlier today. The man she’d been longing for when she spoke of the way few had considered how she wanted to live her life or where her heart might be the happiest.

Zael’s wise, ageless gaze said he recognized that this was the man she loved.

He gave her a faint, almost reverent, bow of his head. “You’ll want some privacy, no doubt. I’ll be just in the other room, if there is anything you need.”

“No,” Jordana murmured. As relieved and hopeful as she was to see Nathan standing there, she was afraid of what she might hear. Afraid for what the Order might have done to her father.

Afraid for herself, and the heart that was beating so frantically in her breast, a heedless organ that wanted to forgive Nathan and believe she meant something to him simply because he was there.

But she didn’t know why he had come, and she refused to be the trusting, naive fool after everything that had happened since she last saw him.

“No, Zael. I want you to stay,” she told him. “Anything the Order has to say to me can be said in front of you.”

Nathan exhaled a short sigh, the first crack in his iron-clad composure. “I guess I deserve that.”

Jordana held tight to her resolve, but his low voice still had the power to make something inside her melt. He glanced at Zael briefly as the Atlantean relaxed his stance with his blade, then settled back on his heels to remain, at Jordana’s request.

“Are you all right?” Nathan took a step toward her, emerging into the light of the villa’s living room. “You haven’t been hurt?”

“No. Not by Zael.” Sharp words, but she couldn’t bite them back. She steeled herself as Nathan took another few steps inside. “Where’s my father? What have you and the Order done to Martin Gates?”

“He’s at the command center in Boston. He’s worried about you, Jordana. The Order is very concerned for you as well. So is Carys.” Nathan’s cool gaze slid to Zael in unspoken warning. “Everyone wants you returned home safe. I mean to ensure that happens. And make no mistake, I’m not leaving without you.”

She bristled at the idea that he expected to dictate any aspect of her life. Especially when he was doing it on behalf of a committee: her father, her friend, the Order.

Everyone except him.

She raised her chin, hoping he wouldn’t see through her to the sting she was feeling all over again. “And if I decide I don’t want to go with you? What then? Do you mean to physically force me into custody, the way you did my father?”

Beside her, Zael tensed with palpable menace. Nathan’s brows furrowed as he looked at her and gave a slow shake of his head.

“Jesus.” He uttered the low, ripe curse. “Do you think I would do that to you?”

“I don’t know what to think, Nathan. Last night, I thought I knew you. Not the warrior or the Hunter—I thought I knew
you
. I thought I could trust you. I thought that you and I—” She stopped herself before the confession—the dashed hope—could escape her. “It doesn’t matter what I thought last night. Today nothing is the same.”

“That’s right. Today everything is different,” Nathan agreed. “Last night, we took Martin Gates into custody because we discovered he’d secretly been in business for years with Cassian Gray.”

“In business with him? How?”

“La Notte belongs to Martin Gates, not Cass.”

The news came as a surprise, but she was beyond the capacity to be shocked. A club like that, with its illegal sporting arena and gambling operation, to say nothing of the BDSM dens, would be the last kind of business her father would be involved in. Then again, if it had been a front for Cass, what was to say her father hadn’t been secretly holding the club as some further means of protecting Cass and his secret?

“We had to assume that as Cass’s longtime business partner, Gates knew he wasn’t human. We needed to know why they were keeping
those kinds of secrets, Jordana. And more urgently, we needed to determine whether Martin Gates and Cass could also have ties to Opus Nostrum.”

“No. That’s impossible.” As incredible as it was to her to imagine Martin Gates having anything to do with Cass’s notorious club, she refused to believe her father—either of them, for any reason—would ever be part of the terrorist group responsible for multiple assassinations and the recent attack on the global peace summit in D.C.

Nathan nodded. “We realized soon enough that wasn’t the case. Martin Gates and Cassian Gray were keeping a very big secret, but it wasn’t Opus Nostrum. It was you.”

He stepped closer, but she retreated a pace. “How long did you know the Order would be coming after my father? Did you know the whole time last night?” Jordana’s voice sounded broken, even to her own ears. “Were you planning for his arrest even while you and I were alone together in my office? Did you use me, Nathan?”

Now Zael growled, low under his breath.

Nathan’s scowl deepened. “Did I use you? Fuck no. Never, Jordana.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “But understand I also had to do my job.”

She scoffed quietly, even while her heart caved to him a little more. “Are you just doing your job now too? Is that why you’re here—because of what I am? Because of who I am?”

“I came because as soon as we figured out where you might be, nothing would’ve kept me from finding you.
Nothing
.”

He stared at her, moved forward despite the further warning that curled up from the back of Zael’s throat. “You need to come back with me, Jordana. Yes, because of everything we know about you now. You need to come back to Boston, where it will be my job and the Order’s to keep you safe from Cass’s enemies. Or anyone else who might think he has a claim on you,” he added, slanting a challenging look on Zael.

“I have no claim,” Zael said evenly. “But someone more powerful than any of us does. It was at her command that those soldiers tracked and killed my old friend Cassianus. And unless they’re stopped—or unless they lose the trail they’re most certainly on now—those same men will continue to look for Jordana by order of their queen.”

“Their queen,” Nathan murmured, clearly suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

“Jordana is her granddaughter.”

Nathan’s answering curse was rough, disbelieving. But Zael continued, undaunted. “The soldiers were closing in on Jordana last night in Boston.”

“Closing in on her,” Nathan said, then he seemed to understand. “Because her latent powers are maturing. Her Atlantean nature is leading them to her like some kind of beacon?”

Zael gave a grim nod. “They will track her to the ends of the earth unless steps are taken. They were in Boston since the night they located Cass. They would’ve found Jordana. If I hadn’t reached her first, they would’ve already taken her back to the realm.”

“Ah, Christ.” Nathan turned a stricken look on her. “And I had left you alone. They might’ve come for you, and I wasn’t there.”

Anger flared in her. “It’s not your job to protect me, Nathan. Dammit, it’s not anyone’s job to protect me!”

As her voice rose, the prickling in her hands intensified. The buzzing in her veins grew deeper, a pulsating thrum that filled her ears.

She swung a furious look between Nathan and Zael. “I’m not made of glass. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman, and I’m tired of being treated as if everyone else knows what’s best for me.”

She didn’t realize how strong the sensation of heat and energy had gotten in her hands until she noticed both Zael and Nathan staring at her. Only then did she look down at her palms.

At the fiery glow that emanated from their centers.

And in the midst of that ember-bright light was the outline of a crescent moon and teardrop.

The Atlantean mark.

“Holy hell,” Nathan gasped. His stormy eyes lifted to her gaze and he seemed speechless for a long moment, awestruck. “My God … Jordana.”

Zael’s response was less amazed than it was grim. “Son of a bitch.” He cocked his head, then shot a grave look at Jordana. “We delayed too long. They’re here.”

EVERY MUSCLE IN NATHAN’S BODY SNAPPED TO ATTENTION ON Zael’s warning.

There was no time to process the astonishing change he’d seen in Jordana. No opportunity to assess the newly arrived danger, or to catalog the numerous vulnerabilities of their surroundings in preparation for the battle to come.

“We cannot let Jordana be taken.” Zael looked to Nathan, gravity in his face and his words. As he spoke, Nathan noticed the leather thong looped around Zael’s wrist. The silvery emblem that dangled from the cord was lit with unearthly fire. “This crystal can transport her far from the queen’s reach, but I must take her now.”

Nathan gave the Atlantean warrior a nod. He looked at Jordana, his heart choking as though it were caught in a vise. “Go with him. I need to know you’re somewhere safe.”

“What about you?” Panic bled into her face, into the ice-blue eyes that had looked at him with so much pain and mistrust tonight. “Zael,” she said, an urgency—a clipped, regal demand—in her voice. “What about Nathan?”

The Atlantean shook his head in faint denial. “I’m sorry, Jordana. The crystal will only work for our kind. And besides, he can’t go where I must take you.”

His sword in one hand, Zael reached out for her with the other, the crystal’s light building.

“No. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t touch me, Zael.” Jordana
snatched her hand away from him. She swung a tormented look on Nathan. “How could you think I would leave you behind only to save myself? Don’t you realize what that would do to me?”

Nathan cursed. If anything happened to her, it would be worse than any abuse he’d ever suffered. He would never forgive himself. “Jordana, I don’t matter. I want you to go—”

“Dammit, Nathan, don’t you realize that I love you?”