Table of Contents

Title Page
FALL OF NIGHT
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
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COPYRIGHT
 FALL OF NIGHT
A Midnight Breed Novel
Book 17

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

LARA ADRIAN
© 2021 Lara Adrian, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (v1)

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KING OF MIDNIGHT
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 FALL OF NIGHT
A Midnight Breed Novel

Blood and destiny collide in Fall of Night, the

newest action-packed, pulse-pounding novel in
Lara Adrian's New York Times and #1
international bestselling Midnight Breed vampire
romance series.

Breed warrior Micah is one of the Order’s best, his

reputation for cold justice and lethal skill rivaled
only by that of his formidable father, Tegan. So,
when a mission Micah’s leading in an off-limits
area called the Deadlands goes terribly wrong,
leaving him the sole survivor of an apparent
Atlantean attack, he won’t rest until he has
answers...and vengeance for his fallen team.

Phaedra thought it was only a dream, a hideous

nightmare. Yet somehow, she had been transported
from her life in Rome to a stretch of barren forest
when it suddenly lit up with unearthly fire,
obliterating everything in its path—including the
fiercely handsome Breed warrior she’d
encountered in the dream. Or so she believed, until
their paths cross again and Phaedra finds herself,
and her Atlantean people, at the center of Micah’s
wrath.
With tensions between the Breed and the
Atlanteans already edging toward war, and another
powerful nemesis growing bolder by the day,
uncovering the stunning truth about what happened
in the Deadlands will force Micah and Phaedra to
work together in an alliance forged by fate and an
undeniable desire neither of them can resist.

“A well-written, action-packed series that is just

getting better with age.”
—Fiction Vixen
 CHAPTER 1

It was the silence that disturbed her the most.

Not the black, moonless night sky overhead.
Not the hours she’d spent wandering alone in that
darkness, trying to find her way through an endless
stretch of scorched forest and barren earth. No, it
was the complete and utter stillness that made her
blood run cold in her veins.
The deadness of the place chilled her to her
bones. It seeped into her marrow like poison, like a
warning, as her feet navigated the cinders and dead
foliage on the ground.
Phaedra didn’t scare easily. None of her
immortal kind did. Yet she couldn’t deny her
urgency to leave this place. Her heart hammered
with that need, the only sound she heard in the
maddening quiet surrounding her.
Out of old habit, she reached for the bracelet on
her wrist. She’d worn the leather thong with its
small piece of precious Atlantean crystal for as long
as she could recall. The amulet could teleport her
away in an instant. But her wrist was bare. She’d
given the bracelet to her friend Tamisia weeks ago,
never imagining she might need it herself.
Phaedra was on her own here. All she could do
now was push on.
The wasteland maze of denuded, skeletal trees
only seemed to expand the more she tried to escape
it. One jagged path turned into another, then
another. Straight trails morphed into circular loops
that carried her nowhere. Clearings she thought she
was heading toward instead moved farther away
before dissolving altogether, nothing more than
mirages.
Frustration gnawed at her.
There had to be a way out. She just needed to
keep going until she found it.
Against the pitch-dark night, a pale shape
emerged from behind a cluster of gnarled,
blackened trees several yards away.
A doe.
Graceful, calm, as white as milk, she stepped
out to the broken path ahead of Phaedra. Dark,
placid eyes blinked once in acknowledgment, no
trace of fear in the animal’s gentle face. It waited,
its breath softly misting in the chill night air.
“Hello, there,” Phaedra whispered.
 She didn’t dare move, loath to spook the
beautiful creature. All the anxiousness of her
frantic trek through the alien landscape faded under
the doe’s comforting presence.
“Where did you come from? Are you lost like
me?”
Carefully, she took a measured step forward.
The doe retreated a step.
Phaedra immediately paused, frowning in
disappointment. “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”
The deer backed up farther. Then she calmly
turned around and began to step back into the
lifeless forest.
Phaedra followed. The doe kept an ample
distance between them, but she didn’t bolt. She
didn’t abandon Phaedra to the wasteland. Instead,
she seemed to be leading her somewhere. Guiding
her toward something.
Not out of the forsaken woods, but deeper into
them.
The twisted trees grew thicker the farther she
followed the animal, the scorched bracken at her
feet more tangled and forbidding.
“No.”
Phaedra wasn’t sure if she spoke the word
aloud or voiced it only in her head. The doe
glanced back at her, halting in the darkness. There
seemed to be a question in the soft eyes, an
entreaty.
 Phaedra shook her head, her long brown hair
stirring in the night breeze. “I’m not going any
farther.”
She waited for the animal to resume its retreat
into the forest. She fully expected the unusual
creature to disappear like the apparition she was
certain it must be.
But the doe didn’t leave.
Slowly, it approached her.
It stepped toward her with serene purpose, until
it stood close enough for Phaedra to touch.
She couldn’t resist the temptation to brush her
fingertips over the gleaming white coat. The fur felt
like velvet under her hand, the steady pound of the
doe’s heartbeat a reassurance Phaedra didn’t even
realize she needed until the vibration of it
thrummed beneath her fingers.
Those gentle, fathomless brown eyes spoke of
eons of wisdom.
And something more elusive that Phaedra
yearned to understand.
“Why are you here?” She stroked her fingertips
over the doe’s smooth brow and delicate snout. “I
wish you could tell me wh—”
Phaedra’s words stuck in her throat.
Somewhere behind her, the stillness of the
wasteland forest shifted. It breathed.
Only the smallest change in the air,
imperceptible, except to someone with her
inhumanly acute senses. Her skin prickled at the
feeling of unease that washed over her. She let her
hand fall away from the white doe, slowly pivoting
her head to listen closer, to scan the skeletal
landscape for the intruders she instinctively knew
were there.
Men.
She didn’t see them yet; she felt them.
But that couldn’t be right.
Why would anyone be in this forsaken place?
What could they want?
Whatever their reasons, their presence here
wasn’t good. They moved on silent feet, carrying
the scent of violence and weaponry on them. And
they were coming closer every second.
Phaedra now caught a glimpse of their dark
shapes moving between the scorched trees in the
distance behind her. At least four of them, maybe
more. The group began to split up and fan out with
military precision.
With a whisper of warning at the tip of her
tongue, Phaedra turned back to the gentle white
doe to urge it to run with her for safety.
It was gone.
Vanished without a sound or a trace.
She only wished she could disappear too.
Glancing behind her, she gauged the oncoming
danger. The largest of the soldiers, the one in the
lead, abruptly halted the others with a sharp
upward slash of his black-gloved hand as he peered
in her direction.
Oh, no.
He’d spotted her.
Although she couldn’t see his face beneath the
black head covering and smudges of grease meant
to further camouflage him in the dark, she felt the
clash of his gaze as it slammed into hers across the
distance. The force of that connection pushed her
back on her heels. It zinged through her veins like a
lick of lightning, making the fine hairs on her arms
and at her nape stand on end.
He wasn’t human. Not Atlantean, either.
Breed. The longtime enemy of her people. The
blood-drinking, lethal offspring of the savage
otherworlders who nearly succeeded in wiping out
all of Atlantis many millennia ago.
That unerring stare locked on to her, the
immense warrior broke away from the rest of his
group and started for her through the bracken.
Phaedra started running.
Without her amulet to fly her home, she had no
other choice but to flee and pray she might be
faster than the heavily armed soldier at her heels.
His boots crunched in the cinders and dead
foliage on the ground behind her. Brittle branches
snapped like gunfire as he crashed through them.
He was going to catch her; she had no doubt
about that. What he meant to do with her once he
had, she didn’t want to guess.
She ran harder, drawing on all the preternatural
speed she could muster.
And still he kept coming. The chase pushed
them deeper into the wasteland, the rest of the
warrior’s companions far behind them now.
“Stop,” he called out to her, his deep voice tight
with urgency.
Phaedra kept running. She didn’t know where
she was headed, nor how long she could manage to
go before the dangerous Breed male caught her.
The only thing she knew for certain was the need to
get as far away from this place as she possibly
could.
She heard him gaining on her. She felt the sheer
strength and power of the male as his booted feet
chewed up the distance between them.
Faith, help her. She couldn’t hope to outpace
him. Though she wasn’t helpless—far from it.
Pure Atlantean blood coursed through her
veins. She felt the heat of it rising inside her with
every frantic step she took. Her palms tingled,
already beginning to glow at her sides.
From behind her, the warrior’s words grated in
a hiss. “Damn it, female, I said stop running.”
She sensed the instant he leapt into the air at
her back, but it still came as a visceral shock to see
him land on the ground right in front of her.
Phaedra jolted to a halt, her breath heaving. As
tall as she was, this Breed male towered over her
by several inches. Hulking shoulders and muscled
limbs moved with the predatory grace of a big cat.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The gaze that had skewered her across the
distance when he first spotted her was no less
arresting up close. His eyes were too beautiful on
the face of a male built for war. The stormy shade
of lavender burned away as she stared at him,
amber sparks lighting his irises with unearthly fire.
“Answer me.” Full, sculpted lips peeled back
from gleaming white teeth and long fangs. “Who
are you? What are you doing out here?”
Phaedra edged backward. “I could ask you the
same thing.”
His lips flattened. “It’s not safe for you.”
She didn’t think this awful stretch of deadness
could be safe for anyone, possibly not even this
dangerous male or his comrades. “What is this
place?”
“You don’t know?” A flicker of confusion
softened the hard edge of his suspicion, but only for
a moment. He glanced down at her hands and a
tendon jerked in his jaw. She could feel the glow in
her palms increasing under his scrutiny. He cocked
his head. His eyes glowed now, filled with amber
fire and suspicion. “Holy shit. You’re one of them.”
He took a step toward her.
“Stay back.” Phaedra brought her hands up in
front of her like a shield.
More than a shield, they were a terrible
weapon. The Atlantean light she carried inside her
was a fearsome power, one she was loathe to wield,
especially when this Breed warrior hadn’t
threatened her with any harm.
Yet.
He reached out a black-gloved hand. “You’re
coming with me.”
“Don’t move any closer or I’ll—”
Far from afraid, he bit off an incredulous-
sounding curse, his teeth and fangs flashing white in
the moonless night. “Or you’ll what?”
Faith, she didn’t know what she’d do. Nor did
she have the chance to respond.
All at once, the inky night sky exploded.
Blinding white light erupted all around them.
Unearthly light.
Not from her, but not of the mortal world,
either. Phaedra closed her eyes, but it did little to
block the blast of illumination behind her eyelids.
The power of it buffeted her, taking her legs out
from beneath her.
She felt herself flying backward, yanked by an
invisible hand. She waited to feel her body crash
down onto the hard forest floor. Instead she was
still in motion, pulled backward even faster, as
though caught in a vortex.
Somewhere, growing ever more distant, the
sound of men’s screams shook the lifeless forest.
Agonized screams. The sounds of indescribable
suffering.
Was the lavender-eyed warrior among the
tortured and dying?
For reasons she didn’t understand, the thought
that he might be sent an arc of pain like a dagger
into her breast.
“No!” Phaedra felt the cry erupt inside her, but
it stayed trapped in the back of her throat. Caught
in that invisible grasp that hauled her backward, she
couldn’t speak at all. She tumbled through an
endless chasm, the sounds of annihilation still
ringing in her ears.
The anguish of it raked her to her soul.
“No . . . no. No!”
“Phaedra?” Soft pressure landed on her
shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Phay, wake
up.”
Her eyelids flew up and she found herself
blinking up into the sky-blue eyes of her friend,
Tamisia. The platinum-blonde Atlantean female
frowned, her beautiful face filled with worry. “Are
you all right?”
“What? Oh, yes. I—I’m fine.” Phaedra sat up
in her chair, embarrassed by her outburst. “I’m
sorry, I must’ve dozed off.”
She and Sia had been enjoying some tea and a
light lunch on the rooftop garden area of Phaedra’s
little house in Rome before her friend had stepped
away to take a call from her mate, Trygg. She
couldn’t have been gone for more than a few
minutes, yet it was evidently long enough for
Phaedra to drop into a thick sleep.
A disturbing and awful one.
Sia lowered herself into the chair next to
Phaedra. “That must’ve been some nightmare.
You’re as pale as a sheet.”
Phaedra swallowed. “I dreamt about the
scorched forest again, and the white doe.”
For more than a week now, it had been a
recurring theme every time she laid her head down
to sleep. The dream had played out roughly
unaltered, until now.
“It started the same way it always does,” she
murmured, still caught in the weblike strands of her
sleep. “I followed the doe into the charred woods,
but someone else was there too. Sia, the dream
changed into something terrible this time. And all of
it felt so real.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” Phaedra shook her head. The anguish of
what she’d heard and imagined behind her closed
eyelids as the wasteland went bright with
annihilating power was still too fresh in her senses.
She didn’t want to think about it any longer, much
less try to put the nightmare into words. “It was just
a silly dream, that’s all. I don’t want you thinking
your friend has gone mad.”
Tamisia’s gaze was sympathetic, her expression
gentle with concern. “Do you want to know what I
really think? You’re working too hard, Phay.
Running the shelter here at the house is a twenty-
four hour obligation. It’s too much for just one
person to handle, even for you.”
“It’s not work,” Phaedra insisted. “Looking
after the women and children who come here
looking for safety and protection never feels like an
obligation to me.”
“I know it doesn’t.” Sia knew that better than
most.
Very recently, she had helped Phaedra run the
shelter for a few weeks after Sia had been exiled
from the Atlantean colony where she’d once been a
high-ranking member of the Council of Elders. Sia’s
misplaced alliance with one of the colony’s own
had cost her dearly, but she had since redeemed
herself. Now, she lived at the Order’s compound in
Rome with Trygg, the Breed warrior she’d fallen in
love with and taken as her mate.
For Phaedra, an immortal who’d lived for as
many countless centuries as her friend, the shelter
had become her life’s purpose.
It was all she had left in this world.
“I’m perfectly fine, Tamisia. Please, don’t
worry about me.”
“I’m your friend. Worrying about you comes
with the territory.” She placed a tender hand on
Phaedra’s arm. “You need a break. Actually, what
you really need is a full-time assistant here at the
shelter. I’d be more than happy to help you find
someone trustworthy and qualified. In fact, I’ll
manage the shelter myself while you’re gone.”
“No. It’s really not necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do for you, and besides,
I’ve already worked with most of the residents.
They know me. And if anything should come up,
between Trygg and me, I’m sure we can handle it.”
“I appreciate the offer, Sia, but—”
“Wonderful. Then it’s settled.” Sia gave her a
look that invited no argument.
While Phaedra had once been part of the
Atlantean royal court with her parents, those days
were long past. Tamisia had only been exiled from
her station as an Elder for a matter of months, and
it showed in her unwavering gaze.
“First, we’ll have our tea and lunch, and you
can tell me what happened in the dream this time,”
Sia said. “Then we’ll start making plans for you to
take a well-deserved, and much needed, break.
Someplace relaxing and stress-free.”
Phaedra knew better than to argue once
Tamisia had made up her mind about something.
And she had to admit, if even to herself, that the
idea of getting away from the crowds and bustle of
Rome for short time did sound appealing. She
wasn’t sure where she might want to go, nor did it
matter.
Wherever she went now, she knew nothing
would ever deliver her from the soul-shredding
cries of the men who had perished so horrifically in
the terrible light of her dream.
 CHAPTER 2

One week later . . .

The translator seemed nervous.

Tegan wasn’t sure if the young Kazakhstani
looked ready to piss himself because of what he
was hearing from the wary old man he spoke with,
or because of the big, scowling vampire waiting
impatiently to receive the troubling news.
Tegan’s brows furrowed even deeper, his fangs
prickling in his gums. He was in no mood for
roadblocks or delays. He’d been gone from his
home and his beloved mate back in the States for
close to seven days now. His boots had covered
countless miles of rough terrain, starting in
Budapest where the missing Order warriors had last
been heard from, then through the forested taiga of
Siberian Russia where the team’s secret mission
had abruptly lost all contact.
 A combination of instinct, logic, and desperate
guessing had brought him down into neighboring
Kazakhstan last night. He’d waited out the daylight
hours in Petropavl, a small city just across the
border. With a train station and a university nearby,
there had been plenty of humans around to provide
him with the sustenance he’d sorely needed.
As a Gen One Breed, Tegan had to feed every
few days. After trekking alone for at least that long
through the Russian wilderness, he’d been half-
starved by the time he finally sank his fangs into
the throat of a young thug who’d had the bad sense
to try to pick his pocket outside the station after
nightfall.
It wasn’t until Tegan had taken his fill of fresh
red cells from the thug’s carotid that he noticed the
unusual weapon that had clattered out of the
human’s hand. The long dagger was too well-made
to belong to a common street hood, especially one
who likely hadn’t ventured more than a few
hundred kilometers away from the remote city or
the barren steppes of his homeland.
No, the blade was not some crude weapon. It
was beautiful, and crafted of something more than
pedestrian steel. Hand-forged titanium.
The kind of weapon that belonged to a Breed
warrior.
When Tegan saw the tooled grip that had been
custom-fitted to the hand of the Order member
who’d carried it, every cell in his body lit up with
recognition—and with a cold dread he refused to
acknowledge.
No warrior in the Order would ever willingly
surrender his blade. Most especially, not the
formidable male who had lost this one.
Tegan hadn’t needed to pick up the blade to
know that it would fit his own large hand nearly
perfectly.
After all, it had been made for his son, Micah.
He glowered at the thug he’d pressed into
service as his translator back in Petropavl, who was
currently asking questions on Tegan’s behalf.
“What’s the old man telling you? You said you
bought that blade off him three days ago. Where
the fuck did he get it?”
Both humans flinched at his biting tone. No
doubt, the glint of his elongating fangs in the dim
light of the round, tent-like yurt didn’t give either
man much comfort.
Good. His patience had been threadbare even
before he arrived in this desolate patch of flat
grasslands in Kazakhstan’s north country. Each
second that kept him away from the truth about
Micah’s blade only made his fury simmer closer to
a boil.
The gray-haired man seated on the rug in the
center of the candlelit tent was the patriarch of the
clan of nomad herders temporarily camped on the
steppe. They had set up there to let their sheep and
cattle graze on the yellowed grasses before autumn
turned to brutal winter.
The makeshift village was comprised of fewer
than a dozen similar yurts. Outside the one where
Tegan braced for bad news, nervous livestock
bayed and snuffled, instinctively aware of the
presence of the apex predator in their midst. A
predator who was growing increasingly dangerous
by the second.
The pair of humans staring at Tegan showed
similar anxiety as the animals.
“The dagger,” he growled. “Where did the old
man get it?”
The translator swallowed. “He says it came
from a wanderer who showed up here in the camp
last week. He was gravely wounded, traveling alone
on foot. The old man says the wanderer was a . . .
one of your kind.”
Tegan let a curse slip through his clenched
teeth. He didn’t want to think the injured Breed
male could have been his son, but the alternative
was a cold comfort too. What might have happened
to Micah to separate him from his teammates? He
was their captain, a devoted soldier who would
never abandon his comrades under any
circumstances.
Just as Tegan was certain his son would never
surrender his blade unless he was too weak to hold
it. Or worse.
Those were thoughts he refused to consider.
“Tell the old man I need more information. Did
the wanderer say anything—anything at all? What
kind of injuries did he have? Where had he come
from? How long was he here at the camp?”
The young Kazakh’s dark eyes were grim as he
slowly shook his head. “He’s said all he knows
about the stranger. His path ended here the same
night he arrived. Not long afterward, he closed his
eyes and never opened them again. I am . . . sorry.”
A sudden anguish seeped into Tegan’s veins,
into his heart. He’d set out on this search
determined to find his missing son and the Order
team Micah had been leading. He’d told himself he
would not rest until he had succeeded.
Worse than that, he had promised Elise nothing
bad would happen to their son. He’d sworn it as an
oath, not only to her but to himself as he’d stared
into her beautiful, fear-stricken lavender eyes and
made that vow.
Now, those words settled on his tongue like
ashes.
He wasn’t ready to acknowledge what he was
hearing. Christ, he’d never be ready for that.
“What did the old man do afterward . . . What
did they do with his body?” The question sounded
detached from him, wooden words that he could
barely choke out.
 The translator turned to the nomad elder to ask
in their language. The exchange took longer than it
should have, a rushed back-and-forth that seemed
to stir confusion in the younger man.
Tegan stared, irritated to be left out of the
conversation. “What’s wrong? What is he saying?”
Frowning, the Kazakh glanced back at Tegan.
“There is no body. The wanderer . . . he didn’t die.”
Tegan growled. “You just told me—”
“Yes, yes, I know what I said. But the dialect of
this region is tricky.” He shook his head. “The
stranger came here with grievous wounds. He was
very weak. He collapsed and has not regained
consciousness.”
“You mean, he’s alive?”
The translator nodded. “They are keeping him
in one of the yurts here at the camp. The old man
says they’ve tried to look after him as best they
can, but he grows weaker by the hour. His care
exceeds what they’re able to give him.”
A wild hope surged inside Tegan, but he bit it
back. Until he saw his son with his own eyes—until
he confirmed that the injured warrior truly was
Micah—there was no room to let down his guard.
“Take me to him. Now.”
The translator communicated the command to
the nomad elder. With a sober nod, the sheepherder
got up from his seat on the rug. Bent, slow-moving,
he motioned for them to follow him out of the yurt.
 Tegan’s heart drummed as he walked
impatiently behind the pair of humans along the
tread-worn path between the rest of the small
camp. A few curious heads peeked out of the tents
to watch them pass, whispers and murmurs buzzing
in Tegan’s wake.
The Breed had been known to their human
cohabitants of this planet for more than twenty
years, though hardly welcomed by the masses. That
this remote clan had taken care of one of his kind at
a time of need was a miracle Tegan never would
have expected. It did more than surprise him. It
humbled him.
Yet none of that prepared him for what awaited
inside the dark yurt at the end of the encampment.
As they approached, the sickly stench of
looming death assaulted him like a hammer driven
into the center of his chest. Once inside, the reality
hit him even harder. The rasp of shallow, irregular
breathing made the air in his own lungs seize up.
The sight of the large, yet obviously diminished,
shape of the Breed male lying on the thin cot in the
center of the yurt sent cold dread leeching into his
veins.
The old man turned on a battery-powered
lantern that sat on a low table near the entrance.
The glow illuminated the tent, but Tegan’s Breed
vision didn’t need the light in order to recognize
that he was looking at his son.
 “Ah, fuck.” The words gusted out of him on a
choked breath.
He moved to the side of the meager bed and
stared down at Micah, fear and a father’s
indescribable pain filling the space behind his
sternum.
“Son.” The word was raw in his throat. “Micah,
can you hear me?”
No response, not even a flinch of the dark
lashes resting on his ashen cheeks. Tegan took hold
of Micah’s big hand, clasping the cool, heavy
fingers between his warmer ones, rubbing them to
create friction as he prayed for some kind of signal
that his son would be all right.
Beneath the sheet and animal pelt that covered
Micah’s body, the strong, formidable young warrior
slept without stirring.
“How many days has he been in this coma?”
Tegan asked the question without glancing away
from the only child he had. Now that he had his
eyes on him, he couldn’t bear to look away—no
matter how wrenching it was to see such a force of
nature laid low by what had clearly been
catastrophic injuries.
The old man and the younger one spoke briefly
behind him in their language. “This was the fourth
day,” the translator said. “The fifth night starts
tonight.”
Four full days. No wonder there was barely
anything left of him. It was likely only Micah’s
second-generation Breed genetics that had let him
survive the severity of his wounds at all. Those
same genetics would be the thing to finish him if he
was allowed to waste away any longer without
proper care.
Or without the blood his body needed in order
to heal.
Tegan unsheathed his son’s dagger, then
glanced over his shoulder at the younger of the two
humans. “Come here.”
“W-what do you mean to do with that?” Panic
edged the stammered question. “I did what you
asked. I brought you here. I got you the answers
you wanted. Please . . . please, don’t kill me.”
“I said step forward.”
The Kazakh shuffled closer, looking less of the
cocky thug from the city and more like the terrified
coward he truly was. As soon as he was within
reach, Tegan took him by the forearm and hauled
him next to Micah on the bed.
He gave him a flash of his fangs. “Relax. I’m
not going to kill you.”
He sliced the edge of the titanium blade across
the human’s wrist. Blood surged from the wound,
dark crimson and thick with life-giving red cells.
The young man howled, but Tegan knew it was
only out of fear. He held the open wound over
Micah’s slack mouth, willing his son to take some
of the nourishment that ran over his lips and down
his squared chin.
“Hold still,” he told the squirming human. He
would mind scrub him of their entire encounter
once Micah had taken what he needed.
If he would take it.
“Come on, son. Drink,” Tegan murmured.
Resheathing the dagger, he used his free hand to
open Micah’s mouth.
It wasn’t going to work.
The fresh blood pooled on his tongue, only a
few drops making it down his throat.
If he couldn’t swallow, he couldn’t drink.
And if he couldn’t drink, he was going to die.
Either way, Tegan had to get him out of there.
With a growl, he pulled the man’s wrist to his
mouth and sealed the wound with a swipe of his
tongue. The bleeding stopped at once, the skin
healing over almost instantly.
The young Kazakh scrambled away from him,
sputtering something in his native language as he
stared at his vanishing injury.
Tegan stood up and walked over to the old man
who had given Micah shelter and care these past
few crucial days and nights. There was a wariness
in the dark eyes that stared back at him, but there
seemed to be an understanding, even sympathy, in
the old patriarch’s lined face. Understanding that
needed no translation.
 Tegan extended his hand. “Thank you for
looking after my son.”
The aged human reached out, his grasp
surprisingly firm as he gave a nod of
acknowledgment.
While the younger Kazakh continued to inspect
his wrist and hyperventilate on the other side of the
tent, Tegan strode to Micah’s bedside and took out
the satellite phone he’d carried with him since
leaving the States. He would need to call Elise and
let her know he’d found their son.
But first, he needed to make arrangements to
get him home.
He punched in the code that connected him to a
secured line at the Order’s Washington, D.C.,
headquarters.
“I have him,” he told Lucan Thorne, the
founder of the Order and Tegan’s oldest friend.
“I’ve got Micah.”
The exhalation on the other end of the line was
filled with relief. “And the rest of his team?”
“Just Micah. He’s in bad shape. It doesn’t look
good for the others, Lucan.” He glanced down at
Micah on the cot, his slack lips stained with the
blood he desperately needed but had barely
absorbed. “Ah, fuck, Lucan. It doesn’t look good
for my son, either.”
“We’re on it,” Lucan replied, his low voice
grim but steady with resolve. “We’ve already got
your coordinates. Gideon’s making arrangements to
have a medevac team on the ground to pick you up
ASAP.”
“Thanks.”
“No thanks required. You ought to know that
by now, brother.”
Yeah, he did. Tegan fell silent, unable to express
how much he needed to hear his friend’s
reassurances. In the background, he heard the
traces of Gideon’s British accent as he spoke and
the clack of his fingers typing on a computer
keyboard.
“Gideon says Lazaro Archer’s already
responded to the call,” Lucan said. “He’s
dispatching one of his units from Rome as we
speak.”
“Okay.” Tegan stole another look at his son. He
couldn’t hold back the jagged sigh that tore out of
him. “And Lucan? Tell Lazaro to hurry.”
 CHAPTER 3

Ash clung to the back of his parched throat.

Micah tried to swallow, but his jaw felt rusted
tight. His tongue was thick, his mouth as dry as a
desert. He groaned, and was shocked to hear the
low sound vibrate deep in his chest.
He was alive?
Fuck.
Pain in his lungs as he choked in a gasping
breath wrenched his crusted eyelids open, but only
for a second. His retinas felt aflame, still seared
from the explosion of light that had come out of
nowhere and lit up the ghostly forest brighter than
the midday sun.
He could still see his fallen teammates after
he’d rushed back to find them. Or, rather, what
little had been left of them.
All five Breed warriors who had served with
him in their elite unit of the Order, gone.
 Nothing but cinders and melted weapons near
the epicenter of the unearthly blast.
As their captain, his men would have followed
him into any battle—and had—no matter the risk.
Instead, the impulse that had pushed Micah to
command the team deeper into the wastelands of
the Siberian interior had led them into a trap he
never saw coming.
He should have stayed on course.
They’d had their orders. They had carried out
their mission with flawless precision. When it was
done, he should have taken his team back to base.
Instead, he’d felt a prickling at the back of his
neck, as if the harsh forest terrain whispered to
him. Beckoned him deeper. Kept pulling him
forward until the taiga gave way to a woodland of
skeletal, lifeless trees that seemed to stretch on for
miles and miles.
He knew the place, even though he’d never
stepped foot there. It was crazy. Hell, maybe he
was fucking crazy.
That’s what he’d thought when he spotted the
white doe that had emerged out of the charred
trees. He’d seen it before, but this time it was real.
So was the woman accompanying the ethereal
animal. She, too, had materialized amid the barren
woods like a vision. Tall and slender, yet mouth-
wateringly feminine, she’d stopped him dead in his
tracks.
 He, the skilled warrior, the disciplined captain
who had earned his rank through punishing training
and unflinching focus on his orders and his duty,
had left his men to run after her, curiosity only part
of what drew him to her. Then, after he’d caught up
to her, like an idiot he’d stood frozen in confusion
—and in pure primal response—to the chestnut-
haired beauty who seemed to have dropped into the
center of his world like something out of a fantasy.
Right up until the moment when he saw her
glowing hands and realized what she was.
Atlantean.
The immortal race whose queen, Selene, had
declared them at war with all of the Breed and
mankind alike.
Micah and his team had gone willingly to the
front lines of that mounting war, but he never
expected the kind of ambush that had confronted
them in the middle of that Siberian wasteland.
He thought it had all been a dream.
He’d nearly had himself convinced it was all
just a terrible, unspeakable dream. A nightmare of
shock, agony . . . and guilt.
One that had been followed by a black,
bottomless oblivion that had taken hold of him and
seemed to last for an eternity.
Now, with his senses slowly coming back
online, he realized it was worse than a nightmare.
It had been real.
 His team was dead.
Their mission had ended in disaster.
And him? He’d rather be ashes on the ground
along with his Order comrades than live and have
to carry the weight of failing them so unforgivably.
Groaning again, he cracked open his lids and
breathed through the sensation of hot daggers
piercing his eyeballs.
Maybe this was hell. Maybe he’d finally
reached the floor of the pit that had been sucking
him down and this was where he’d spend the rest of
forever, reliving his shame and agony.
His vision was bleary at best, even in the cool
darkness of the room where he lay. Dim memories
of musty tent walls and the stench of livestock and
campfires seemed out of place as he tried to take
note of his current surroundings.
A soft pillow cushioned his head. Underneath
his battered, depleted body was a narrow bed with
a comfortable mattress and crisp white sheets.
Monitoring wires were taped to his chest, arms, and
hands. Next to the bed, medical equipment beeped
and hummed.
Not hell, then.
A hospital room.
But that didn’t seem right, either. No hospital
was of any use to one of the Breed. The only thing
that could heal his kind was blood. Fresh red cells,
taken from an open human vein.
 And Christ, he was starving.
Pushing himself up off the mattress felt like
trying to move through hardening concrete. His
limbs felt as though they hadn’t been used for a
year. Every muscle in his body screamed with
every inch of movement he managed.
How long had he been in this place?
How the hell did he get there?
In the back of his mind, he could almost hear
his father’s deep voice urging him to hang on,
reassuring him that he would be all right.
Impossible, considering Tegan was back in the
States with Micah’s mother, Elise, and the rest of
the Order. Micah hadn’t seen any of them for some
long weeks. Not since he and his unit had deployed
to Budapest. The way he felt right now, that black
ops assignment could have been years ago.
Micah slowly swung his legs over the edge of
the mattress and paused to catch his breath.
Someone had been taking care of him, as much as
they could, anyway. His combat gear and weapons
had been removed at some point. Barefoot and
bare-chested, he was dressed only in a pair of
loose-fitting gray sweats. His skin had been cleaned
of the blistering and the blood and the sweat that
clung to him as he’d dragged himself out of the
Siberian taiga.
Thanks to his Breed genetics, the worst of his
wounds were mending, but too slowly. If he didn’t
feed soon, the burns would be the least of his
concerns.
His vision still burned, even in the low light of
the room. Fever from his thirst painted everything
in shades of red. Glancing down at his hands where
they rested atop his thighs, he watched the colors of
his dermaglyphs churn and roil in all the shades of
hunger.
The deep purples and dark reds edged
dangerously close to black—the stage at which he
would have little to no control over the ferocity of
his need for blood.
By the look of his glyphs and the gnawing
hollowness of his body, he couldn’t be more than a
few hours away from that edge.
He had a choice to make.
Lie back down and wait to join his comrades in
death, or get up and fight to live.
Live to avenge them, by doing whatever it
would take to bring down Selene and all who serve
her.
That was enough to live for.
Hell, it was more than enough reason.
Reaching up, he tore the monitoring wires away
from his chest. The ones on his arms and hands
came off next. He tossed the leads in a tangle on
the narrow bed as he pushed himself up to his feet
and tested the shaky strength of his legs.
His head swam, his senses whirling as he
struggled to hold his balance.
Shit.
He hated feeling out of control. Despised the
unfamiliar weakness of his body. His father was a
Gen One Breed, which meant Micah’s blood was
among the purest of his kind. Yet he rocked on his
bare feet as if he were a human toddler just learning
to stand.
Fury alone kept him upright.
Fury would carry him out of wherever he was
now, and outside to hunt for a vein.
Once he’d fed, once his body had taken enough
fresh red cells to heal itself, fury would keep him
on the path toward justice for his fallen brethren.
He wasn’t going to rest until he had it.
And he would let no one stand in his way.
 CHAPTER 4

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea.” Dressed in a

casual, cotton summer dress and flats, Phaedra set
her small travel bag down in the grand foyer of the
Order’s Rome headquarters to greet her friend.
“I’ve never been away from the shelter for as much
as a day since I opened it.”
“That’s exactly the point.” Sia arched a
platinum brow before pulling Phaedra into a brief
embrace. “This little break is long overdue.”
Phaedra sighed, uncertain, as she met her
fellow Atlantean’s gaze. “Maybe I should rethink
the whole idea. After all, I haven’t been back to the
colony in ages.”
It was no exaggeration. The enclave of
immortals who had defected from the larger realm
of Atlantis millennia ago would always be her
people, but it had been nearly a century since
Phaedra had left their mist-shrouded island to make
a new life for herself among the mortals in Rome.
During those many decades away from her
Atlantean people, she had lived fully, loved deeply,
and had lost more profoundly than she believed
possible. Now, her life was devoted to helping
others. All that mattered to her was trying to bring a
bit of light to a fragile world that seemed eternally
cursed by violence and self-destruction.
For the scores of terrified and abused women
and children who’d sheltered in her home over the
years, the food and safe haven she provided had
often meant the difference between life and death.
Sometimes, Phaedra’s efforts weren’t enough to
save them. It was those rare few that haunted her
sleep. The failures. The circumstances she had been
powerless to change.
Her dreams were haunted with another face
now, too.
She didn’t even have to close her eyes to see
the harsh handsomeness of the Breed warrior with
the piercing lavender gaze.
He’d crowded her thoughts like a ghost for the
past week. Despite that he wasn’t real—that none
of her awful nightmare existed anywhere but in
those fitful, disturbing moments of her sleep—
Phaedra still recalled the cold accusation in his
deep voice when he realized she was Atlantean.
She still felt the stunning heat from the blast of
otherworldly light that had ignited without warning,
incinerating everything in its reach.
She could still hear the anguished screams that
ripped through the wasteland in the instant before
she woke up.
She shook her head, more in an effort to chase
away the terrible memories than anything else.
Not that it worked. So far, nothing had.
She didn’t think a week at the colony would be
much help, either. Idle days on a mystical
Mediterranean island would only give her more
time to think. More time to relax, and possibly fall
back into the dream she never wanted to visit
again. She didn’t need a vacation. What she really
needed was to keep busy, like always.
Hesitating, she caught her lip between her
teeth. “This is a mistake, Sia. I should go back to
the shelter—”
“The shelter will be just fine without you until
you return. Trygg and I will see to that personally.”
Looping her arm around Phaedra’s, Tamisia started
guiding her farther into the mansion. “Anyway, you
can’t back out now. Zael and Brynne are already
here, waiting to bring you to the colony with them.”
As she spoke, Sia walked Phaedra to one of the
large rooms off the foyer. The quiet rumble of
conversation faded to a pause as they reached the
entrance. Seated inside on sumptuous sofas and
chairs were several members of the Rome
command center she’d met through Sia and Trygg,
along with Ekizael and Brynne, the mated couple
who in recent months had taken on a diplomatic
role between the Breed warriors of the Order and
the Atlanteans of the colony.
Another Breed male sat with the group as well,
someone Phaedra had never seen before. Tawny-
haired and grim, he glanced at her in unreadable
silence from across the room, his broad shoulders
hunched forward as if he carried a heavy burden on
his back, his big hands clasped together between his
spread knees.
As she entered the room with Sia, all of the
males rose, including the stranger. Her fellow
Atlantean was the first to greet her. Zael’s golden
handsomeness and dazzling smile belied the fact
that he had once served in the highest ranks of their
queen’s legion of deadly guards.
“Phaedra. It’s been a long time. How good to
see you again.”
“You as well, Ekizael.”
He reached out to the stunning brunette beside
him and brought her closer. “This is my mate,
Brynne.”
“Hello, Phaedra.” The tall beauty spoke with a
refined British accent. “I’ve very much been
looking forward to meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Phaedra said, returning Brynne’s
warm smile and greeting. “The pleasure is mine,
Brynne.”
 Although this was their first face-to-face
introduction, Phaedra was well aware of the
daywalking Breed female who had captured Zael’s
seemingly untamable heart. That she was gorgeous
came as no surprise, but there was also a keen
intelligence and courage in Brynne’s eyes.
As for Zael, he gazed at his mate with
unmasked pride—and no wonder. Brynne had
recently won the trust and respect of the entire
colony when she helped defeat a traitor who had
not only slain one of their council elders, but had
also intended to steal an irreplaceable treasure—the
colony’s sacred, powerful crystal.
Without it, the hidden enclave would have no
protection from the outside world, including the
whims of their mercurial queen, Selene, whose
reign over the larger Atlantean realm appeared to
be growing increasingly desperate . . . and volatile.
“Tamisia told me about the trouble on the island
a few months ago. The colony was very fortunate
to have both of you on their side when Elyon’s
collusion with Selene was exposed.”
Zael gave a grim nod. “All credit goes to
Brynne, if you want to know the truth. Without her
at my side, I wouldn’t be standing here today and
Elyon would’ve escaped back to the realm to trade
the crystal for Selene’s favor.”
Lazaro Archer, the dark-haired commander of
the Order’s presence in Rome, gave a dry grunt.
“Trading it to the Atlantean queen might’ve been
the best-case scenario. Imagine if the traitor had
decided there might be more profit in taking the
crystal to Opus Nostrum.”
Phaedra’s skin prickled at the mention of the
secret cabal whose escalating acts of terror had
been making news around the world for months.
The idea of a violent group like that obtaining the
power of an Atlantean crystal made her blood run
cold in her veins.
There were only five of the egg-sized, unearthly
energy sources in existence, and no chance of there
ever being any more. Phaedra felt that reality more
personally than most. After all, her parents had
been the ones responsible for creating the crystals
long, long ago.
Brilliant scientists and alchemists, they had
literally given their lives in devotion to their work.
They’d been gone for many centuries, from the
time Phaedra was just an infant, but she still felt
their loss to this day.
“Who’s to say Selene and Opus aren’t working
together?” The low-growled comment from the
tawny-haired stranger drew everyone’s attention.
“Someone’s pulling Opus’s strings. We can’t be
sure it’s not the Atlantean queen.”
Lazaro let go of a quiet curse. “We’d better all
pray to hell they’re not. The Order’s got its hands
full enough lately putting out Opus’s fires. If they
were to join forces with a madwoman like Selene
—”
“It would be all-out war.” This time, it was
Trygg who chimed in with a grave prediction.
Phaedra swallowed. Before the warriors had
the chance to delve any deeper into Order business
or the tactics of their violent trade, Tamisia
pointedly cleared her throat.
“Please, forgive my manners. Phay, I don’t
think you’ve met Tegan.”
“No, I haven’t.” The rest of the males halted
their conversation, all of them staring at her now.
“Tegan, this is my dear friend, Phaedra.” She
offered a reassuring smile. “Tegan and his son will
be flying back to the States with Zael and Brynne
after they return from the colony.”
He acknowledged her with a vague incline of
his head and a perfunctory shake of her hand, as if
he wasn’t accustomed to social gatherings, or had
no patience for being friendly. Something weighed
heavily on him. Phaedra could see the burden of it
in the hard lines of Tegan’s beard-shadowed face.
It was hard to picture the hulking warrior as the
father of a child, and she couldn’t help but wonder
what kind of son a menacing-looking Breed male
like Tegan might produce.
Breaking away from his sharp gaze, she glanced
to Zael and his mate. “Thank you for offering to
escort me to the colony. I feel terrible for imposing
on you and Brynne.”
“I’m the one who should feel terrible,” Sia cut
in. “And I do. If I hadn’t lost Phay’s crystal amulet
at the bottom of the Mediterranean, she’d be able
to teleport to and from the colony—or anywhere
else—anytime she wanted.”
Phaedra shook her head. “Please, stop blaming
yourself. I gave it to you willingly. Besides, if you
hadn’t been wearing the crystal, you wouldn’t have
been able to reach Trygg in time to save him.
Seeing the two of you so happy together is well
worth the amulet’s loss.”
Tamisia’s gaze warmed as it lifted to meet
Trygg’s. The big warrior wrapped his muscled arm
around her slender waist, drawing her against his
side. If Tegan looked menacing, Trygg, with his
shaved skull, scarred face and dark eyes bordered
on monstrous. But there was a rugged
handsomeness in his expression, especially when he
was looking so smitten with Sia.
It had been a long time since a man had looked
at Phaedra with such tender affection. Not so long,
however, that she couldn’t recognize true love
when she witnessed it—between Trygg and Sia, as
well as Zael and Brynne.
“It’s an honor to escort you to the colony
today,” Zael said. “I’d be pleased to do so even you
didn’t need me just for my amulet. If you’re ready,
we can leave at any—”
 The jarring sound of a piercing alarm went off
somewhere inside the mansion.
Phaedra shot an anxious look at her friend.
“What’s happening?”
Lazaro Archer was the one who answered.
“Someone tripped the security system down in the
command center.”
“Micah.” The name was barely off Tegan’s
tongue before the temperature in the room went a
little colder and the air shifted as with the coming
of a storm.
The source of that disruption was making his
way toward the foyer. Uneven, heavy footsteps
slapped on the marble flooring. Labored breathing
huffed and hissed, punctuated with a low groan
unlike anything of this earth.
With Tegan rushing out of the room ahead of
everyone else, the others followed, Phaedra
included. She hung toward the back of the group as
they all poured out, gripped in a mixture of
apprehension and curiosity.
Between the bodies in front of her, she caught
fleeting, obstructed glimpses of the obviously
pained Breed male who had staggered up from the
warriors’ headquarters located below the mansion
at ground level.
Even with his head slumped forward over his
bare chest and broad shoulders hunched from
obvious pain and weakness, there was no mistaking
that he was easily as sizable as Tegan or Trygg. He
prowled into the foyer like a wounded animal—and
no less dangerous, Phaedra was certain. Menace
rolled off him, along with an iron-willed
determination that seemed to power him forward
despite that he looked only a few steps away from
death’s door.
Tegan rushed to his side, catching the equally
immense male under the arms and lending support
just as his bare feet faltered and his knees began to
buckle.
“It’s all right, son. I’ve got you.”
This was Tegan’s son?
All her imaginings of him with a child went up
in flames. His son was not a boy at all, but a full-
grown, formidable man. Thick, tawny-brown hair in
a soldier’s cut crowned his head, choppy and bed-
mussed. Smooth golden skin covered in Breed
dermaglyphs, which pulsed with mesmerizing, dark
colors. All he wore were loose gray sweatpants that
clung indecently to his thick-muscled thighs and the
unavoidably distracting area of his groin.
Phaedra was far from a blushing maiden, but
the sight of his raw masculinity flooded her senses
with an intense, uncomfortable awareness. Cheeks
overheating, she glanced down, embarrassed to be
ogling an injured man who was also clearly
suffering.
She heard Tegan curse low under his breath. It
sounded less angry than racked with concern. “You
shouldn’t be out of the infirmary, Micah. It’s too
soon. You need rest.”
“Fuck that,” came the deep, snarled reply.
Micah’s voice was all gravel, as if he hadn’t used it
for a year. “I need to . . . feed. Need to get out of
here.”
Phaedra glanced up again as Micah started to
push forward. Tegan moved in front of him,
blocking his path.
“Yes, you do need to feed. But you’re not going
anywhere. For one thing, it’s morning beyond that
door. For another, the only place you’re going is
back to D.C. with me.”
“My team—”
“We’ve got a search unit going in tonight to
find them. We’ll comb every godforsaken corner of
Siberia until we locate—”
“They’re dead,” Micah growled. “They’re all
fucking dead. I should be too.”
He lifted his head then, and from over Tegan’s
shoulder, his gaze pierced through everyone and
landed on Phaedra. He blinked once, dark lashes
falling over the stormy lavender eyes that had
haunted her for over a week.
Eyes she was certain would’ve haunted her
forever if she wasn’t staring into them right now.
She inhaled a stunned breath. “It’s him.”
At her almost soundless murmur, Tamisia
glanced over. “Him, who?”
“Him,” she whispered, backing away from the
group and tugging Sia with her. “The Breed warrior
in the forest wasteland.”
“You mean, the one you dreamt about?”
Phaedra nodded, swallowing in disbelief. “I
thought he was just part of the nightmare. I thought
he was killed with the others in the dream, but Sia,
it’s him. He’s real.”
Faith, how could it be possible that he was
standing in front of her now? How was any of this
possible?
“You.”
All the fine hairs at the back of Phaedra’s neck
rose at the guttural scrape of his voice. When she
looked his way, she drew in a sharp breath at the
fury she saw in his narrowed eyes. The lavender
burned away in an instant, changing to a fiery
amber that seared her from across the room.
All the hard angles and shadowed hollows of
his face sharpened as he glowered at her. Behind
the harsh line of his sneer, the points of his fangs
erupted to fill his mouth.
He let out a dark, animal roar and surged
forward, knocking Tegan out of the way as he
charged for Phaedra. As he lunged, she leaped
back, raising her hands in reflex. But she didn’t
need to summon her light to protect herself.
Snarling and gnashing his teeth, Micah was
stopped only inches from her, halted by no less than
three large Breed males and one former Atlantean
soldier.
Even in his weakened state, it took all four of
them to hold him back as he fumed and fought to
get at her, his molten eyes trained on Phaedra in
murderous rage.
“You,” he seethed. “You were there.”
Heart slamming against her rib cage, she shook
her head. “No. That’s impossible. It . . . you . . .
none of this can be real.”
“I saw you.” The accusation boiled through his
teeth and fangs as he bucked against the hands that
restrained him from killing her where she stood. “I
saw your glowing hands right before the explosion
lit up the sky.”
Tegan’s green gaze sliced her way. “What’s he
talking about?”
“It . . . it was a dream.” Phaedra shook her
head again, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes
locked on her now. “About a week ago, I had an
awful nightmare—”
“She was there,” Micah snarled, fire filling his
irises. “The night my team was incinerated. I saw
her. I spoke to her. Fucking Atlanteans. I should’ve
taken you out when I had the chance.”
He made another grab for her, practically
dragging the other males with him. The burst of
energy cost him, though.
 His breath rolled heavily through his parted lips,
sweat beading on his face and powerful chest. His
chin sagged, all of his powerful muscles trembling
with strain. One of his knees started to give out, but
several pairs of arms kept him upright.
When Micah’s body slumped into
semiconsciousness, Tegan cursed. “Let’s get him
back down to the infirmary and get him fed while
he can still drink on his own.”
Lazaro Archer nodded. “I’ll have a blood Host
brought in at once.”
“As for you,” Tegan said, swiveling at hard look
at Phaedra, “it sounds like you have some
explaining to do.”
“It was only a dream.” She inclined her head.
“I promise you, I have nothing to hide.”
“You’d better hope not.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Sia said, stepping
forward with all the authority of her former status
as an Atlantean council elder. “I was with Phaedra
when she woke from her dream. I’ve never seen
my friend so upset or distressed. In fact, she still
hasn’t fully recovered. That’s why she’s going
away to the colony to rest for a little while.”
“Not anymore, she’s not.” Tegan’s clipped
reply was an unmistakable command. With his arms
under Micah to help keep the big warrior on his
feet, he sent a glower at Phaedra. “You don’t leave
this property unless and until I say so.”
 CHAPTER 5

Micah took one last, long pull from the blood

Host’s wrist before sweeping his tongue over the
punctures to close and heal the human’s skin.
Shuddering as the thin red cells coursed down
his throat, he sagged back onto his infirmary bed
and waited for the blood to start doing its work on
his depleted body. His father and Lazaro Archer
had caught him up to speed on how Tegan had
found him in a nomad’s tent on the Kazakhstan
wilderness after nights of searching, and the coma
that had slowed his metabolism just enough for him
to cling to life until Lazaro had arranged for his
medevac to Rome.
His outburst in the mansion’s foyer a short
while ago had cost him precious strength, but
already the blood he’d taken from his Host was
knitting him back together.
He could have drunk more. Christ, he needed
the nourishment and then some. But if he’d been
allowed to take his fill right now, he might’ve
drained the pleasant, yet forgettable, woman
Lazaro had brought in from the city to feed him.
Eyes closed, he listened over the drum of his
strengthening heart and bloodstream as the human
accepted her payment, then slipped back into her
coat and was escorted out of the room. Her
footsteps faded up the corridor outside,
accompanied by the heavier tread of the warrior
who’d been tasked with returning her to the city.
“You scared the poor female half to death.”
Micah lifted his eyelids and slid his gaze toward
his father, who stood frowning at him beside the
narrow cot. Groaning, he let out a slow breath, still
waiting for his body to fully recalibrate. “I was as
gentle with her wrist as I could manage.”
Tegan shook his head. “Not the blood Host.
Phaedra.”
“The Atlantean?” Micah scoffed, recalling her
startlement in the foyer. Unfortunately, he also
recalled how soft and feminine she looked in her
simple summer dress and delicate flats. “She ought
to be scared. She’s got to answer for the blood of
five good men on her hands.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Like hell we don’t. She was there that night.
It’s not like I’d forget that face.” Fuck, not even if
he wanted to. Even before he saw her today, those
wide, long-lashed golden eyes had been branded
into his memory for good.
Not even the coma that had claimed him for the
past week had been dark enough or deep enough to
erase the vision of her delicate oval face, thick
waves of glorious chestnut-brown hair, and
ethereal, almost regal, beauty.
Sure, she was pretty, but that only made her
more dangerous.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position,
letting out a low curse as every cell and fiber in his
body complained in protest. “I’m telling you, I saw
her. I was close enough to touch her.”
“I know what you said, son. And she says she
wasn’t there.”
“Not physically, anyway,” added Lazaro
Archer.
The leader of the Rome command center and
Tegan had waited alone with Micah as he fed. The
pair of Order elders were still grim-faced and sober,
but neither one seemed to share his mistrust of the
female. Were the two seasoned warriors actually
going to give the immortal’s denial the benefit of
the doubt?
Micah scowled. “I don’t care if she was there in
the flesh or projecting herself into those woods
using some kind of Atlantean magic. She was the
only one there besides me and my team in the
instant before the whole damn sky lit up. That
demands an explanation. Hell, it demands a full
interrogation.”
“Agreed,” his father acknowledged gravely.
“Now that you’re back among the living, there are
a lot of questions that need to be answered. Maybe
we should start with the reason you and your team
went AWOL after the mission in Budapest?”
Micah felt his jaw tense, a tendon jerking in his
cheek. He glanced away from the shrewd, gem-
green hold of his father’s stare.
“That’s what it was, am I right? Not missing in
action, as we’d all been left to assume. You were
absent without leave.” When Micah glanced up,
Tegan blew out a harsh breath. “Christ. It’s true.
Where did you go? What happened out there that
night?”
“I fucked up.”
As far as explanations went, it wasn’t much,
but it summed up the situation succinctly enough.
Still, he knew he owed his father—and the Order—
more than that.
Exhaling, he recounted his team’s last
movements. “We were on a covert assignment. For
several weeks, we’d been surveilling the head of an
emerging terror group that was stirring up trouble in
the region. Real asshole. Seemed to get off on
spilling as much innocent blood as he could.”
“Igor Nagy.” His father made the name sound
like a curse. With good reason. It was rare that
members of the Breed bothered with mass violence
on their human neighbors, but every once in a while
a sadistic piece of shit like Nagy decided to throw a
grenade into the tentative, all too fragile, peace
between man and Breed.
Under normal circumstances, it would be up to
the Joint Urban Security Taskforce Initiative Squads
to round up Nagy and his followers, but the wheels
of JUSTIS moved too slowly for the Order’s liking,
and Nagy was proving to be more than a nuisance.
Elusive, surprisingly well-funded, and apparently
insatiable in his need for violence, the bastard had
to go.
“He’d been next to impossible to track down,
but our intel placed his hideout somewhere in the
Siberian interior. We got the bastard, along with
about a dozen of his soldiers.”
“We’re aware of the black ops mission to
eliminate Nagy, and your team’s success,” Tegan
said. “That’s why you were chosen to lead the
operation.”
The flat statement of fact might have passed as
praise from anyone else. Maybe it was. Either way,
it should have felt welcome, coming from a warrior
of his father’s renown. Instead, it only made
Micah’s guilt weigh even heavier on his conscience.
The men he’d served with, fought beside as
brothers, deserved all the praise. Not him.
Not after he’d led some of the Order’s finest
warriors straight to their deaths in the middle of a
godforsaken stretch of wasteland.
And for what?
A sense of déjà vu. A curious and compelling
vision he’d been unable to shake or explain. Not to
his team, and sure as hell not to his scowling father
or the equally disapproving chief of the Rome
command center.
“What I want to know is what happened after
you and your men cleared that bunker,” his father
pressed. “Why didn’t your unit report back to base
per your orders from Commander Reichen?”
Micah cleared his throat. “Because I issued
different orders to my men . . . sir.”
The admission of insubordination was met with
silence from the Order elders. They exchanged a
grave look before Tegan’s eyes cut back to him. “I
hope you’ve got a damn good reason. Especially
when you’re the only one left standing. Barely, at
that.”
He had never lied to his parents, not once.
He’d never lied to the Order’s leadership,
either. As much as he might want to deny the stupid
mistake that cost so heavily, he wasn’t about to
offer anything other than the truth now. If it meant
the end of his time as a warrior, so be it. God knew,
he deserved that and more.
“I don’t have a good reason for taking my team
deeper into the interior that night. All I had was . . .
a sense that I had to go in. I felt as if . . . as if
something was pulling me forward, deeper into the
taiga. The farther we went, the more barren the
terrain became. The foliage disappeared. The trees
were black, the ground like loose rubble under our
boots.”
“The Deadlands,” his father confirmed, his
voice low. “That might explain why your
communication links abruptly went silent. About
ten years ago, some kind of incident decimated a
large swath of land in that region.”
“Hundreds of thousands of acres,” Lazaro
interjected. “As I recall, there was a lot of finger-
pointing, but no one has ever accepted
responsibility or offered a full explanation for what
happened. All we know for certain is that someone
either fumbled or deliberately deployed a massive
chemical weapon in the region.”
“Possibly,” Tegan said, his expression skeptical.
He swung that dubious look back to his son. “What
happened when you reached the Deadlands?”
“I led the team deeper into the black trees. I
didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I was looking
for, but I knew something waited for me. Then, I
saw the white doe.”
He stopped there, trying to decide how best to
explain the most insane part of the story. Not that
he should worry about that. The two commanders
were already looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.
 Tegan shook his head. “What white doe?”
“The one I’d been dreaming about for more
than a week. Every time I slept, the same thing
happened. The doe appeared and led me into a
barren stretch of woods. It always ran ahead, just
long enough for me to reach it, as if it wanted me to
follow.”
A dark look stormed in his father’s eyes. “Are
you telling me this dream is the reason you ignored
mission procedure and a direct order from your
commander to go trekking off on your own?”
Fuck. Although he spoke evenly, the incredulity
and anger in that restrained tone were obvious.
Micah understood it, but he was also fully
cognizant of the fact that the two of them were cut
from the same cloth. If the situation had been
reversed and Tegan had felt the same inexplicable
impulse to see what lurked in that forest wasteland,
he wouldn’t have waited around for anyone’s
blessing or permission, either.
Not that it excused Micah’s actions. Especially
when those actions had come at such a steep cost
to his friends and comrades.
“This time, the doe wasn’t a dream. It was real.
And it wasn’t alone. That Atlantean female upstairs
in the mansion was in the charred forest along with
it. She ran as soon as she saw me. At first, I was
concerned about her being in that place alone. But
once I caught up to her and saw her palms glowing
with Atlantean fire . . . by then, it was too late. The
forest erupted. The light was searing. I heard my
teammates scream in agony in the distance behind
me as the sky lit up with the heat of a hundred suns.
Then everything went black.”
His father said nothing, staring at him in a
silence that seemed to roil with unspoken reactions.
Shock. Confusion. Perhaps even a small measure of
relief that his only son had been spared.
Disappointment in him as a fellow warrior, no
doubt.
Micah had made a point all his life to excel in
whatever he undertook. He didn’t make mistakes.
He was never ruled by impulse or emotion, even to
the point of machine-like coldness, according to the
reputation he’d deservedly earned.
His instincts as a warrior had been flawless—
until now.
“My God,” Lazaro murmured in the quiet that
hung in the room now. “What you’re describing is
nothing short of hell.”
Micah couldn’t deny that. Yet what he’d
endured paled next to the fate of his team.
“I came to sometime later. My skin was
blistered, peeling away in sheets with every
movement. My throat felt scorched with fire. I
could barely see through my burned eyes. All I
knew was I needed to find my men,” he said,
pushing on with the rest of his report. “I dragged
myself back to where they’d been before the blast,
but I didn’t see them anywhere. There was only ash
and debris under me. It took a minute for the truth
to settle in. My unit was gone. Somehow, I’d
survived the worst of it, but what was left of my
five teammates was scattered over the forest floor
beneath me.”
His father’s measured silence didn’t break as he
listened. His stern face remained unreadable,
utterly still except for the tendon that had begun to
pulse along his jaw. When he finally spoke, his
voice sounded wooden. “Do you have any idea
how lucky you were?”
That toneless question held more emotion than
the formidable warrior would ever express in
words. Micah knew that. His father was Gen One,
among the first generation of the Breed. Hardly the
touchy-feely type, even if he wasn’t centuries old
and a full half blood-drinking, savage otherworlder.
Micah’s mother was the only one Tegan
permitted past his walls. There had been a time
when Micah was a boy that he’d known some of
that unguarded caring, too, but those years were
long gone. The door seemed closed to him
completely the day he’d announced his intention to
follow in his father’s footsteps and become a
warrior.
“I don’t know why I didn’t die along with my
team,” he replied, shaking his head at the idea.
 Why he’d been spared made no sense to him.
Not only because he hadn’t deserved to live when
he’d been the one who led his men into that hellish
attack, but because the intensity of the blast had
been strong enough to incinerate five strong Breed
males standing only a few hundred yards away
from him.
Yet he’d survived.
He needed to know why.
And now that he was feeling his body coming
back online thanks to the blood he’d consumed, he
wasn’t about to lie around in an infirmary for
another minute. He needed to use every ounce of
life in him to avenge his team and destroy whatever
—or whoever—was responsible for the attack.
Pivoting on the mattress, he swung his bare feet
to the cold tile floor. He stood up, prepared to take
the first step toward the open door of the room.
“Where do you think you’re going, son?”
“Back upstairs to get some answers out of the
Atlantean woman.”
His father gave a tight shake of his head. “I’ll
handle that. We’re not finished here yet.”
“As for Phaedra,” Lazaro interjected, “I can
personally vouch for her character. She’s been a
member of this community for decades and she’s a
close friend of Tamisia’s.”
Micah grunted. “There’s another Atlantean
female with blood on her hands.”
 “Sia’s paid for her mistakes,” Tegan said.
“Since her exile from the colony several months
ago, she’s proven herself an ally of the Order time
and again.”
“Phaedra’s never given any reason to doubt
her,” Lazaro added. “For her to have anything to
do with the destruction you witnessed with your
team, she’d have to be some kind of monster. For
crissake, she runs a women’s shelter out of her
home in the city. Phaedra’s a good, kind-hearted
woman.”
Tegan seemed to agree. “I sensed no enmity
from her at all when we were introduced. If she
were hiding something, she damn well wouldn’t
have been able to conceal it from me.”
For what wasn’t the first time, Micah wished
he’d inherited his father’s psychic ability to read
another person’s emotional state with a touch. An
ESP talent like that would make his work for the
Order a hell of a lot more efficient. To say nothing
of how it would benefit him when it came to
dealing with beautiful, possibly homicidal,
Atlanteans.
Instead, like most Breed offspring, he’d been
born with his Breedmate mother’s unique
extrasensory gift. If Phaedra had been human,
Micah would have been able to telepathically hear
all her sins and negative impulses.
Since he was denied that advantage, he’d have
to settle for more primitive methods. Starting with
an hour or ten of thorough interrogation.
He turned around to face his father. “Enemy or
innocent, she was there with me in the Deadlands. I
won’t be satisfied until she gives me a damn good
reason why.”
From the infirmary room doorway behind him,
he heard a quiet clearing of a female throat. Then
Phaedra’s soft, yet direct, voice answered.
“Actually, I believe I may have been there to
find you.”
 CHAPTER 6

He rounded on her from where he stood with his

back to the open doorway.
“So, now you do admit you were there.”
The low, gravel-rough voice that had accused
her of murder and worse upstairs in the foyer
sounded less rusty now, but the deep growl had lost
none of its menace.
Or its sharp bite of accusation.
He took a step toward her, his movement alone
seeming to take some of the oxygen out of the
room. Even half-dressed and without any weapons
in his hands, this Breed male was formidable.
Judging by the amber sparks glittering in his
lavender eyes, his animosity for her hadn’t cooled
at all.
Phaedra felt Zael tense where he stood at her
side. She’d persuaded him to bring her to the
warriors’ infirmary in spite of his advice against it.
While the former Atlantean guard had been allied
with the Order for some time, his readiness to
protect one of his own practically radiated off him
as Micah advanced.
“What do you mean you were there to find me?
Who sent you?”
She shook her head. “No one.”
Until she saw him in the foyer, alive and
undeniably real, she had assumed her dream was
merely a product of stress and long hours at the
shelter, as Sia had suggested. But now she had to
wonder. Atlanteans were a race full of empaths,
telepaths, and other illuminators. Tapping into
unseen energies and forces of light came as
naturally as breathing to most of their kind.
Phaedra’s parents, Maenos and Sindarah, were
among the most powerfully gifted psychics the
realm had ever known. With their passing, all those
incredible talents were lost for good. She had
inherited none of their gifts, nor her parents’ shared
obsession with science and alchemy.
Still, she wasn’t without some Atlantean
strengths. And she hadn’t been living among
humankind for so long that she didn’t recognize the
prickling of her immortal instincts.
“I believe I was meant to be in those woods
with you that night,” she said. “Whether to witness
what occurred or to try to save you from it, I don’t
know.”
 A brittle scoff hissed through his full, sculpted
lips. “Convenient.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I have no reason to
lie.” Although his muscled body all but blocked her
path into the room like a solid wall, she stepped
forward anyway, refusing to let him think she could
be intimidated. Even if she was, just a little. “As for
whether I was there as we stand here now, flesh
and bone, or on some other plane, I can’t be sure.
All I can tell you is it felt like a dream. Right before
it turned into the worst kind of nightmare.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
Zael cleared his throat. “Phaedra asked me to
bring her down here out of concern for you, Micah.
She wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Or maybe she wanted another chance to try to
finish me off.” Skeptical, those fire-tinged, pale
purple eyes hadn’t left her gaze for a second.
“Keep your concern. As you can see, I’m alive.
Unfortunately, that’s more than I can say for my
teammates. They’re nothing but piles of fucking
ashes now.”
Phaedra had stood up to her fair share of rage-
blinded men in her work at the shelter, but Micah’s
fury was something different. Not explosive and
swift to burn out, but controlled and dark. His anger
was pain-fueled and lethal, and it put a tremble
deep in her marrow.
“I’m sorry about what happened to them,
Micah. I truly am.”
His face hardened at her sympathy. If he could
have pushed her away from him physically, it
wouldn’t have been any more effective than the
forbidding coldness of his expression.
“I’ll ask you again, Atlantean. What did you
mean you were in those woods to find me? How did
you know my team and I would be there?”
“I didn’t know. I was led there in my dream. A
recurring dream I’d been having for about a week
before that night.” Phaedra paused, feeling the
weight of Micah’s scrutiny along with that of the
other warriors in the room. “The dream never
changed: I’m lost in a barren forest, alone. Just
when I think I’ll never find my way out of it, an
animal appears on the path ahead of me as if it
wants me to follow.”
“What kind of animal?” The question rumbled
out of Micah. The look on his face was challenging,
but now edged with more curiosity than suspicion.
“A deer. It was a gentle white doe, the most
beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
Micah’s clenched jaw tightened as she spoke.
Although he remained unmoving, staring at her in
unnerving silence, she didn’t miss the subtle glance
that passed between Tegan and Lazaro on the other
side of the room.
Zael spoke up as he moved farther inside the
room. “None of you seem surprised to hear this.
What’s going on?”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Tegan
said. He looked at Phaedra. “This white doe you
saw in your dream—it led you to Micah and his
unit?”
She shook her head, then shrugged faintly. “I
didn’t know she was bringing me to them, but now
I think maybe she was. When I realized the doe and
I weren’t alone in the woods this time, that there
were men there too, she vanished. That’s when
Micah spotted me. He had weapons on him, and he
was dressed for war. He started chasing after me,
driving me deeper into the trees.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt you, Atlantean,” he
muttered.
Phaedra met his glower. “Nor I you, warrior. Or
your men. You can believe me or not, it’s your
choice.”
“And you say you’d also been having this
dream repeatedly?” Lazaro interjected.
She nodded, then felt some of the blood drain
from her cheeks. “Also?”
Her attention had never fully left Micah, but
now she felt the tug of something deeper than just
an unwilling attraction when her eyes clashed with
his again. “You’ve been dreaming about the white
doe in the woods too?”
He inclined his head in grudging
acknowledgment. “For a full week, every time I
slept. It was the same dream over and over. I
encountered the white doe in the Deadlands forest
and it led me farther and farther into the labyrinth
of skeletal trees. The sequence never altered. Not
until you appeared.”
“No. That can’t be right.” She drew in a breath,
her pulse taking on a wilder tempo. “It’s
impossible.”
It was one thing to suspect her dream had been
some kind of premonition or a signal she was meant
to follow. But this was something different.
That she and Micah might have shared the
same recurring dream in identical detail went
beyond coincidence. It was a sign of something
much more than that. Something she refused to
consider, let alone accept as truth.
Zael’s quirked brows only made her discomfort
double. “I’ve never heard of an Atlantean and one
of the Breed sharing the Dreamscape before.”
“That’s because it doesn’t happen. It can’t.”
She turned her frown toward Micah. “You must be
mistaken.”
He seemed to take her denial as a personal
affront. Arching a brow, he crossed his muscled
arms over the bared, glyph-covered skin of his
chest. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Just what? Now, what are you trying to hide?”
While she grappled with the very idea that she
and this Breed male, this warring man, might share
any kind of connection—psychic or otherwise—
Zael stepped in to fill in the blanks for the rest of
the room.
“The Dreamscape is sacred territory. To share it
with someone else requires a rare bond, the rarest,
in fact. A bond of the soul.”
“Please,” Micah scoffed. “It’s not unusual for
people to have similar dreams. Just last month, two
of my teammates both had dreams they were rock
stars with their own harems full of groupies. Their
souls had nothing to do with that.”
“Yes, people do have similar dreams from time
to time,” Zael said, sober where Micah had been
dismissive. “But I’m not talking about people in
general. I’m not even talking about the Breed. I’m
talking about my people. Phaedra’s and mine. And
what you and she described was something more
than just a similar dream. You didn’t have the same
dream about the white doe on separate occasions. It
was identical, and you shared it at the same time.
Not just once, either. The dream became reality. It
brought you to the same place and the same
moment in time through your connection in the
Dreamscape.”
Tegan’s mouth had flattened into a troubled line
while he absorbed what Zael was saying. “Are you
talking about dreamwalking?”
“That’s what it sounds like to me,” Lazaro
agreed. “Andreas Reichen’s Breedmate has that
ability. Claire can enter someone’s dreams with
them and walk around inside their unconscious
mind. Is that what we’re talking about here?”
Zael slanted Phaedra a meaningful look before
he replied. “Not quite the same as that, no.”
And wasn’t that an understatement?
She couldn’t keep her gaze from sliding back to
Micah. He was a magnetic force, even when his
mistrust and animosity pulsed off him in waves. He
didn’t appear enthused to be the subject of this
discussion any more than she was.
He’d be even less enthused if he understood
what their shared dream seemed to indicate.
“We saw the dream through one pair of eyes,”
she said, astonished to so much as think it, let alone
put it into spoken words. “We experienced the
dream together, Micah. As if we were one entity,
the same being.”
“The same soul,” Zael helpfully added. “That
kind of soul bond only exists between the most
destined pairs of immortals. It’s formed before
birth, a destined connection. Fated mates.”
“Bonded souls? Fated mates?” Micah let out a
chuckle. “No offense, Zael, but save the Atlantean
love-and-light bullshit for someone else.”
Zael merely shrugged off the remark with his
typical laid-back calm. Phaedra, however, rankled.
The former legion guard didn’t need her to defend
him, but she couldn’t stand by and listen as Micah
denigrated one of the most sacrosanct bonds of an
Atlantean’s life as if it was some kind of crude joke.
Even if she herself suddenly wished she didn’t
believe it could be true.
“Our culture is not, as you call it, bullshit.” Her
sharp tone drew his attention her way. She couldn’t
read the look on his handsome face, but some of his
bluster seemed to fade under her glare.
He cocked his head, studying her. “You don’t
actually buy into this, do you?”
“It’s not a question of whether I do or not. The
dream we shared was real. It led us to each other in
those woods. It happened. Even you can’t argue
that. It can’t be wished away, no matter how much
both of us might like to.”
“I’d like to wish away everything that
happened over this past week,” he said. “But I
can’t do that, either. I’m a soldier. I deal in facts.
Hard truths. I deal in reality, even when it’s ugly.
What I don’t deal in is mystical, metaphysical
nonsense.”
“Soul bonds are not nonsense,” she shot back.
“My own parents shared that kind of bond. It was
nothing short of destiny and fate that brought them
together.”
He grunted, a harsh smile on his lips.
“Fortunately for both of us, those are two more
things I don’t believe in.”
 Phaedra wanted to laugh at his naivety, but
there was nothing humorous about any of this to
her. It was bad enough that she had to defend
herself against his accusations that she somehow
had a hand in whatever killed his men and nearly
took his life too. Now, she felt compelled to
convince this man—this overbearing, arrogant
Breed male—that the dream they shared meant
they were destined by some higher purpose to find
each other.
She nearly groaned at the weight of that
thought.
All her life, she’d assumed the soul bond would
elude her the same way her parents’ extraordinary
gifts had passed her by. She had never been more
desperate to hold on to that belief.
Why now? Why him?
It didn’t make sense. And if it was fate
controlling their paths, she couldn’t think of
anything worse than being linked to a warrior.
She’d built her life outside Atlantis on caring
for people, on keeping the peace no matter what it
cost her.
Now this?
Closing her eyes for a moment, she brought her
fingers to her temples where the sudden throbbing
of her pulse was beginning to grow into a headache.
Maybe if she went home and threw herself into her
work at the shelter, she could forget about the
dream, this man, and all the questions swirling in
her mind.
“If there’s nothing else you need from me, I’d
like to go back to my house now.”
The grave look on Tegan’s face didn’t give her
much hope of that. “Actually, we’re only getting
started.”
“What more can I tell you?”
“We still don’t know enough about the attack
on Micah and his men.”
“I already told you, I had nothing to do with it.”
Tegan gave her a nod. “I believe you, Phaedra.
But you’re the only witness to what happened.
Anything you can tell us would be a help to the
Order.”
“Because we’re going to find out the truth one
way or another,” Micah added in a low growl.
“Whoever’s responsible is going to pay for what
they did. I mean to see to that personally.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. Micah may
have been near death’s door only hours ago, but he
was healing now. The dangerous soldier she met in
the scorched woods was a lethal force of nature
now—much of it focused on her.
“I told you everything I know. If I could help
you, I would.”
As she held Micah’s penetrating stare, she
couldn’t stop the horrific incident from replaying in
her mind. The sudden blast of light. The visceral
pulse of the energy that exploded all around them.
She didn’t know where the attack had come from
or who had ignited it . . . but she recognized the
unmistakable force of it.
She knew that power all the way into her
marrow.
“What is it?” Tegan frowned, suspicion glinting
in his eyes. He slowly shook his head. “You haven’t
told us everything, Phaedra.”
He said it with such certainty it felt as if he
could read her troubled thoughts. She didn’t want
to hide anything, especially when lives had been
spent. Yet to voice what she was thinking might
ultimately cost lives too. Innocent Atlantean lives.
She sent a nervous glance at Zael.
His brow creased with concern. “If you have
information, you need to tell them. Tell all of us
now, Phaedra.”
She knew he was right. She looked at Micah,
her chest tightening at the thought of the agony he
must have endured. Astonished that he’d survived.
Despite their clash, she couldn’t deny her relief that
he wasn’t killed along with the others.
“The light didn’t come from Atlantean hands.
Not mine or anyone else’s. It was too strong for
that, too pure.”
“Ultraviolet?” Lazaro asked, dread edging his
deep voice.
She shook her head. As deadly as sunlight was
to members of the Breed, what she felt in that
barren forest was something beyond even that.
“There’s only one source that can emit that
kind of light and power.” She looked at Zael again,
seeing the grim understanding wash over his face.
“It came from a crystal.”
Tegan raked a hand over his head. “Holy hell.
How can you be certain?”
“She is,” Zael said. “Phaedra’s probably the
one person in all of the Atlantean realm who could
tell you that without a shred of doubt.”
“How so?”
“Because all five of the Atlantean crystals were
created by her parents.”
Everyone stared at her now, a mix of reactions
playing across the three Breed males’ faces.
Surprise, curiosity, intrigue. All of those emotions
churned like a storm in Micah’s piercing gaze.
“Your parents created them?” he asked.
“How?”
“They were alchemists and mystics. They were
also soul bonded, which made their gifts doubly
powerful. Using those combined gifts, they created
an enormous energy source that provided
nourishing light and impenetrable protection for our
people.”
Zael nodded in sober acknowledgment.
“Without their work, Atlantis would’ve been
vulnerable to every enemy. Even now, both the
realm and the colony are shielded by their crystals.
Our people owe Maenos and Sindarah a debt that
can never be repaid. Peace be upon their souls.”
Phaedra smiled sadly at his praise for them.
Micah frowned. “Your parents are dead?”
“For a very long time,” she replied, still feeling
their loss. “They gave their lives for their work with
the crystals. The realm had five, but after losing the
first two, Selene wanted more. Eventually, she
pressed them to make a sixth. My parents didn’t tell
anyone that creating each crystal demanded some
of their own inner light. The last one they
attempted to create proved too much. There was an
accident in their laboratory and they . . .” Phaedra
glanced down for a moment. “They sacrificed
everything for their work.”
Tegan and Lazaro offered murmured
condolences, but it was Micah’s silent, lingering
gaze that reached inside her and made the ache of
loneliness feel even sharper.
When she didn’t think she could bear the
sensation any longer, he cleared his throat. “So, are
you saying there could be a crystal out there in the
Deadlands?”
“There has to be. That kind of blast couldn’t
have come from anything else.”
He nodded tightly, and she could practically
hear the wheels of his mind turning. He glanced at
his father and Lazaro Archer. “We need that
crystal. As soon as night falls, I’ll head back out to
the taiga to find it.”
Tegan scowled. “Like hell you will.”
“I’m healed. I know the way back to the area
of the blast. I don’t need a team behind me; I can
run the recon on my own.”
“And risk taking a second hit?” Tegan firmly
shook his head. “You got lucky once. Don’t think
it’ll happen again. Your ass is staying put until I
decide you’re ready to be back in the field, end of
discussion. I’m not saying that as your father. I’m
saying it as an Order commander.”
Both males squared off against each other,
evenly sized and obviously equally stubborn. “If
there’s another crystal out there somewhere, the
Order needs to have it. You know it.”
“Another crystal?” Phaedra couldn’t keep from
interrupting. Nor could she hide her confusion.
“The crystals belong to Atlantis, to our people.
What does the Order want with them?”
The warriors all exchanged a cryptic look, one
that also included Zael.
She stared at the former Atlantean royal guard.
“What is this really about?”
“It’s a bit of a long story,” Zael said, clearly
hedging.
Tegan slanted her a contemplative look as well.
“We’ll tell you more on the way.”
She frowned, not sure she liked the sound of
that. “On the way to where?”
“Order headquarters in D.C. Based on
everything I’ve just heard, Lucan Thorne is going
to want to meet with you personally and ask a few
questions.” He stated it as if there was no room for
further discussion or argument. “As you’re already
packed for a few days away from Rome, we can
depart as soon as Lazaro arranges our flight back to
the States.”
 CHAPTER 7

By the time the Order’s private jet touched down in

Washington, D.C., several hours later, Phaedra’s
head reeled with all of the astonishing things she’d
been told during the flight. She couldn’t decide
which one shocked her the most.
To begin with, not only was one of Atlantis’s
original five crystals in the possession of Lucan
Thorne and his Breed warriors, but it had come to
them through the one-time captain of Selene’s royal
legion, a guard named Cassianus. This same guard
who had fathered a child twenty-five years ago
with Selene’s daughter, Soraya.
The lovers had been doomed from the start, for
everyone in Atlantis knew the queen’s sole heir was
demanded to remain pure. Cass and Soraya tried to
defy that law, but their union ultimately ended in
tragedy. After Soraya took her own immortal life,
Cass fled Atlantis along with his infant child—and
one of the realm’s remaining crystals. Knowing
Selene and her legion would hunt endlessly for him
and the two treasures he stole from her, Cass
assumed a new life as a supposed mortal in Boston
while carrying out a clever plan to conceal the
crystal, and his full-blooded Atlantean child,
virtually in plain sight.
Cass eventually paid with his life for crossing
Selene. His daughter, Jordana, hadn’t known
anything of her father or her Atlantean origins until
very recently. She had since taken one of the Order
warriors as her mate, and while Phaedra hadn’t
heard the details of Jordana and Nathan’s story, she
didn’t imagine it was an easy one.
As for Selene, her temper had long been legend.
Betrayal was the worst offense, and she was not a
woman to forgive easily. Or ever. The fury that had
been poisoning her for most of her long life only
seemed to have grown more bitter with these recent
blows.
According to Tegan, Selene had all but declared
herself at war with the Order and the entirety of the
Breed.
Between the Atlantean queen’s simmering ire
and the frequent, escalating problems with a
secretive international terror organization calling
itself Opus Nostrum, it was clear the Order more
than had its hands full in trying to maintain any
kind of peace and stability in the world.
 “You’ve been very quiet since we touched
down,” Brynne remarked. She sat beside Phaedra
in the back of a large black SUV that had met their
plane on the tarmac of a private runway at the
airport.
Outside the dark-tinted windows, D.C.’s iconic
buildings and monuments gleamed under the
starlight as the vehicle sped into the heart of the
city. Phaedra shivered under the wrap she’d pulled
from her bag when they’d landed. She had been
dressed and packed for a week in the sunny
Mediterranean of the colony, not the bracing
autumn chill of Washington.
“I had no idea of all the threats the Order was
facing from all sides. You certainly have some
powerful and dangerous adversaries.”
“Now you understand why we need to hold
every advantage possible,” Tegan replied, seated
beside Zael on the facing second-row bench.
Although there was plenty of room for
everyone in the cabin of the spacious SUV, Micah
opted to take the passenger seat next to the
vehicle’s dark-haired driver, a strikingly good-
looking Breed male who’d introduced himself as
Lucan Thorne’s son, Darion. After doing his best to
ignore her for the duration of the flight, Micah
seemed equally determined to put as much space as
possible between them now as well.
Not that Phaedra should notice, let alone care.
 The less she had to cope with his simmering
mistrust and prickly disposition, the better. To say
nothing of the disturbing reminders of their shared
dream and all the impossible implications that came
with it.
“Having one of the Atlantean crystals certainly
gives the Order an edge,” she said, glancing at Zael
in unspoken understanding.
He gave her a grim nod. “It’s also one less
crystal for Selene to wield against us, should she
decide to escalate her contempt into an official
war.”
A low scoff sounded from the front seat of the
vehicle. “I’d like to see her try.”
Phaedra would have expected the comment to
come from Micah, but instead it was Darion’s deep
voice that issued the challenge. In the rearview
mirror, his dark brown eyes remained fixed on the
highway ahead, but the glow from the dashboard
lights illuminated the hard, determined set of his
square jaw and firm, sculpted lips.
“Trust me, you would not want to see Selene’s
wrath up close,” Zael replied gravely. “No one
would want that. The only thing keeping her in
check is the fact that she’s got just one remaining
crystal. She can’t use it as a weapon without
weakening its protective powers and leaving both
herself and the realm vulnerable to any incoming
threat.”
 “She would’ve had two, if the colony had lost
theirs,” Phaedra pointed out.
Zael nodded, but it was Brynne who answered.
“That’s why it’s so crucial for us to continue
fortifying our diplomatic strides with the council at
the colony. They have to understand that while the
Order will never take their crystal by force, there
may come a time when we’ll need the combined
power of theirs and ours in order to hold off
Selene.”
“Or take her down,” Micah growled from the
passenger seat up front.
He and Darion exchanged a dangerous look,
and for the first time in her life, Phaedra worried
for her formidable, immortal queen.
Micah’s grim statement hung over the silence in
the vehicle as they navigated the city, heading onto
a residential street lined with opulent embassy
mansions flying a range of flags from various
countries all around the world.
The SUV slowed in front of one of the largest
estates on the row, a sprawling eighteenth-century
compound set back several hundred yards from the
soaring security gate at the street. No flags or
signage declared the property to the public, but it
was obvious the impressive mansion and grounds
could be nothing less than the Order’s global
headquarters.
“Be it ever so humble,” Darion quipped,
pausing the vehicle for a retina scan at the entrance
before continuing through the parting black iron
gates and up the long drive toward the house.
They parked in an underground fleet garage the
size of an airport hangar and lined with easily a
dozen dark-windowed vehicles of varying makes
and purposes. More than a few appeared to be
outfitted for urban warfare, with chunky tires and
sturdy chassis that looked as unstoppable as tanks.
Phaedra followed her escorts to an elevator,
uncertain what to expect as the car rose through the
building to the main level. If she’d envisioned the
Order’s headquarters to be a cold military bunker
or a Gothic nightmare of black walls and lightless
rooms, or furnishings crafted from the bones of
Lucan Thorne’s enemies, she couldn’t have been
more wrong.
Even more elegant and refined than the Rome
command center’s residence, the D.C. mansion was
a feast for the eyes. Beautiful millwork, wood,
marble and tile gleamed from every corner of the
spacious living quarters. Stunning antique French
and English furniture was complemented by lovely
sculptures, paintings and tapestries. All of it was
bathed in soft golden light from cut-crystal
chandeliers and table lamps that glowed invitingly
in nearly every room Phaedra could see. She hadn’t
been near such jaw-dropping luxury since she left
Selene’s court more than a century ago.
 As dazzled as she was by the surroundings, it
was nothing compared to her first glimpse of the
people gathered to greet her as she stepped off the
elevator with her companions. Three men and three
women stood in the spacious marbled foyer, and
there could be no mistaking the dark, commanding
presence of the Order’s founder and leader, Lucan
Thorne.
Black-haired with stormy gray eyes, he stood at
least a head taller than the other two Breed
warriors accompanying him. One of them sported
spiky, almost disheveled-looking blond hair and
translucent silver-lensed sunglasses even though he
was indoors. The other enormous male was dark-
skinned and stoic, a wall of muscles and menacing
presence that seemed at odds with the warmth in
his brown eyes.
As for the women, Phaedra could hardly keep
from staring. Each was a remarkable beauty, from
the serene African American whose hand was
linked with the blond warrior’s, to the regal auburn-
haired woman standing at Lucan’s side. But it was
the third female who captivated Phaedra the most.
Tall and athletic, with short brown hair and
penetrating hazel eyes, it was her skin that held
Phaedra entranced. It was covered in unusual
markings—dermaglyphs. Phaedra didn’t sense that
she was Breed, but something about the woman put
a strange prickle of “otherness” in her senses.
 The female standing beside Lucan offered a
polite smile. “You must be Phaedra. I’m Gabrielle
Thorne.”
“Hello.” Phaedra didn’t know if she’d be
welcomed or treated with the same animosity and
mistrust she’d received from Micah, but Gabrielle’s
kindness instantly set her at ease. So did the other
two women who approached her with warm smiles.
“I’m Savannah,” said the beauty with the
mocha-rich skin tone and velvety voice. “The hot
geek in the shades over there is Gideon, my mate.”
“And I’m Jenna.” Grinning at her friend’s
humor, the glyph-covered brunette strode forward.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever
since Brock told me you were coming.”
Phaedra sent an acknowledging glance at the
black warrior who beamed at Jenna as she spoke.
“It’s nice to meet all of you.”
Lucan, who had been observing Phaedra with
inscrutable silence, now gave her a slight nod. “I
trust the flight was uneventful.”
“Uneventful?” She let out a small laugh. “The
trip was fine, but it’s going to take me a while to
process everything I learned on the way.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,
in spite of the gravity in his stare. “Zael personally
assured me that you could be trusted with the
information. He’s never let the Order down yet. I
expect he won’t where you’re concerned.”
 She heard Micah’s low scoff from somewhere
beside her. Lucan heard it too, of course. His gaze
traveled the group, those thundercloud eyes
managing to look both relieved and censuring at the
same time when they landed on Micah. “Glad to
see you on your feet again.”
“Commander Thorne.” His stance rigid with
attention, he gave the Order’s leader a deferential
nod. “I wish the rest of my team could be standing
here with me too.”
Lucan grunted soberly. “We all do, son.”
With a quiet exhalation, Gabrielle moved from
her place at Lucan’s side and drew Micah into a
brief embrace. “We were all so worried about you.”
The big warrior stood unmoving until she released
him, about as accepting of the affection as a giant
oak tree. “Your poor mother has been beside
herself ever since you left for Budapest a few
months ago. All the waiting for word about you
these past several days has been torture, especially
for her.”
Micah actually looked contrite at the mention
of his mother’s worry. His tawny brows knit. “Is
she here?”
“She’s on the way,” Tegan answered. “Chase
and his team in Boston will be picking Elise up in
New York and bringing her with them.”
“They should be arriving within the hour,”
Gideon added. His smooth voice contained the
traces of an English accent. “Nathan and Jordana
will also be making the trip.”
Micah frowned at the news, raking a hand over
his head. “I didn’t expect to come back to a full-
blown family reunion.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, brother.” Darion
chuckled as he gave Micah’s shoulder a light
punch. “They’re all curious to meet Phaedra as
much as they’re coming out of concern for your
sorry ass.”
Phaedra’s cheeks burned with the heat of the
glower Micah sent in her direction. As friendly and
inviting as everyone else was to her, his disapproval
lingered. It burned. And although she might never
succeed in convincing him she wasn’t his enemy—
that it was fate that dropped her into the barren
forest with him and the white doe—there was a
part of her that hoped she could persuade him to
believe her.
After spending most of her life taking care of
people, to earn Micah’s unwarranted contempt for
something as heinous as the attack that killed his
comrades cut her deeply. It wounded her down to
her soul.
She could probably blame that feeling on fate
too.
As for the other persistent feeling that had put
her senses on alert since her arrival moments ago, it
hadn’t let up for a second. Her instincts continued
to buzz with the suspicion that Jenna wasn’t quite
human, but not Breed either, despite her visible
dermaglyphs.
She had countless questions crowding her
thoughts, but she couldn’t bite back the one that
rose to the tip of her tongue.
“I’m sorry, Jenna, I don’t mean to stare. But I
have to ask—what are you?”
“She’s my amazing mate,” Brock interjected, as
he moved in close and wrapped his arm lovingly
around his female. “That’s the only definition I’ll
ever need.”
Phaedra wished she could crawl into the floor.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Jenna smiled and shook her head. “You’re not
rude at all. I was born your basic garden-variety
human, but some things . . . changed a while back.”
She paused, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Now, I’m
sort of what you’d call a work-in-progress.”
Micah smirked, gesturing toward her with a
chin bob. “Seems like you’ve got a few more
glyphs than you had when I left for Budapest
earlier this year.”
“Oh, yeah, a lot more.” She glanced at Brock,
her expression cryptic. “The dermaglyphs have
been coming in fast and furious for about the past
week now.”
“So have the dreams,” Brock said, a sober edge
to his voice. “At the rate they’ve been coming,
we’ll need to expand the archive room to a full
wing of the compound just to make space for all the
new journals of notes you’ve been taking.”
“Dreams?” Phaedra had swallowed at the
mention, her curiosity piqued. “What kind of
dreams are you having, Jenna?”
She could feel the weight of Micah’s gaze on
her even though she wasn’t looking at him. His
attention sizzled through her veins like an electrical
charge. Was this strange sensation part of whatever
bond their time in the Dreamscape had awakened
in them?
Or was it simply her intense awareness of him
as a man, that unwanted attraction she felt every
time she looked at him or heard the low growl of
his voice?
Either way, she was sure she didn’t want to
know.
“They feel like dreams when I’m seeing them,”
Jenna explained. “To be more accurate, though,
they’re memories. Very old ones. And they’re not
mine—at least, they shouldn’t belong to me, yet
they’ve become mine. The same way all these
glyphs shouldn’t belong to me, yet they do.”
The explanation only raised more questions, but
Phaedra figured she’d already pried more than she
had a right to. Although Jenna seemed to be a frank
and open type of person, she was obviously dealing
with something serious if it was not only changing
her physical appearance but also invading her mind.
“If you start seeing a white deer in those
visions, Jenna, do yourself a favor and kill the
fucking thing,” Micah drawled. “If you don’t,
you’ll wish you had. Trust me on that.”
Outraged, Phaedra swung an offended look at
him. “Is everything a source of mockery for you?”
“No. In fact, I’m deadly serious about most
things.” His lavender eyes pierced her, just as they
had back in the barren woodland of her dream that
wasn’t a dream. Phaedra wanted to look away, but
his gaze held her in an unyielding grasp, as if they
were the only two people in the room. “If I had
known what would happen if I followed that animal
into the Deadlands, I would have strangled it with
my bare hands. I damn well should have. Maybe
then my team would still be alive.”
Phaedra slowly shook her head, horrified at the
violence in him. To say nothing of his disregard for
destiny or things that were far bigger and beyond
the grasp of anyone or anything that existed on the
temporal plane.
“How do you know your men weren’t going to
die that night regardless of whether you followed
the doe into those woods that night?”
“How do I know?” A bitter smile curved his
lips. “Because I’m still here, and that’s not how it’s
supposed to be. I was their captain, their leader. I
was their friend.” His deep voice lowered to nearly
a whisper. “I belong with them.”
There was a rawness to the words, punctuated
by the flash of amber sparking in his irises.
Phaedra knew the Breed wore their deepest
emotions in their changeable eyes, and in their
dermaglyphs. Micah’s skin markings were covered
by the all-black patrol gear he’d worn when he
emerged from the Order’s infirmary in Rome. Still,
she could see them in her mind’s eye as if they had
been seared there from the first moment she
glimpsed him in person, half-dressed and wild with
blood hunger, pain, and rage.
Only the slightest hint of a glyph peeked out
above the neckline of his shirt. The arcing tendril
snaked up the side of his strong throat, pulsing from
bronze to indigo to black as he stared at her in
silent accusation.
Jenna’s voice broke the heavy quiet. “When
Tegan called in from Rome, he said the two of you
had been having the same recurring dream every
night for a week before the incident in the
Deadlands. I’d like to hear more about that.”
“So would I,” Lucan said. “Micah, I’ll start
with you. Darion will get you settled, then both of
you report to the war room in ten minutes.”
Micah gave a curt nod of compliance, then
Lucan turned to Phaedra. “Gabrielle prepared a
guest room for you. I’ll send someone for you when
I’m ready to hear your side of the situation.”
 Without waiting for her agreement, the Order’s
leader turned to Tegan. “We need to bring you up
to date on some recent Rogue activity since you
left to find Micah.”
“Rogues? Just what we don’t fucking need.”
On a low growl, he fell in beside the Order’s
leader, who gestured for Gideon, Brock, and Zael
to join them.
Micah’s gaze lingered on Phaedra for a moment
before he, too, stalked off in the other direction,
with Darion at his side.
“Phaedra, this way,” Gabrielle said, her voice a
bright contrast to her intimidating mate’s
commands. “I’m sure you’d like to relax for a
while. Let’s take your bag to your room and then
we can all have something to eat.”
“Thank you,” she replied, although comfort and
her empty stomach were of little concern to her.
As she watched Micah disappear down a long
corridor, she couldn’t help thinking fate had made a
colossal mistake dropping her into the Dreamscape
with him. She might not be able to deny the dream
that brought them together, but she refused to
imagine that destiny could have inextricably tied
any part of her to a snarling, violent-minded Breed
warrior like him.
Forcing a smile she didn’t truly feel, she
followed the trio of women to the opposite end of
the mansion.
 CHAPTER 8

When Lucan said he’d send someone for Phaedra

once he was ready for her in the war room, Micah
hadn’t anticipated that he would be the gopher
dispatched to retrieve her.
After rehashing the details of his leadership
fuck-up and reliving the loss of his entire team, all
he wanted was to hit the headquarters’ weapons
room and work off some of his self-directed
aggression for an hour or ten. Instead, he found
himself cutting an irritated path through the white-
marble corridors of the mansion toward the guest
room where he’d been informed Phaedra was
resting.
The door to the large suite was open. At some
point since he last saw her, she had changed out of
the lightweight summer dress she wore on the flight
from Rome. Now, she sat on the edge of the king-
size bed with her back to the room’s entrance,
wearing a wine-colored tunic and dark jeans. Her
rich, long hair fell in a loose twist down the center
of her spine, the curling ends brushing the top of
the dove-gray duvet beneath her.
Her soothing voice was soft with affection as
she spoke into the phone she held to her ear.
“Please, don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll be
fine. Yes, all right. I will. I can’t thank you enough
for all you’re doing—”
Sensing him, no doubt, she swiveled her head
and her gaze collided with his over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured hastily into the device.
“I’ll have to call you back.”
Micah said nothing, merely stood at the
threshold of the room, leaning casually against the
jamb as she severed the connection and placed the
phone on the bed.
Her golden eyes narrowed, she stood up to face
him. “Do you always intrude on other people’s
private conversations?”
“If you meant it to be private, you should’ve
shut the door.”
Her pretty mouth twisted with obvious doubt.
“Somehow, I don’t think that would’ve mattered.
Besides, I have nothing to hide from you or anyone
else.”
“So you’ve insisted.”
“It’s the truth.”
He grunted, not yet ready to admit he was
starting to believe her. “Who were you talking to?”
She folded her arms over her breasts, which
only drew his attention even more to the perfect
swells hidden beneath the soft fabric of her tunic.
“If you must know, I was talking to Tamisia. She
and Trygg are looking after things at my house
while I’m away.”
“You mean the shelter you run from there.” At
her suspicious reaction, he shrugged, stepping into
the room. “Zael mentioned your work with women
and children in need. How long have you been
doing it?”
“For a while.”
Something cryptic flickered in her eyes. There
was sorrow there as well. Micah wasn’t
accustomed to looking for tender emotions in
others. God knew he did his damnedest to deny any
softness inside himself too.
It was how he excelled as a warrior in the
handful of years he’d been a full member of the
Order. Ruthless training. Zero mercy. No
exceptions.
If he was curious about Phaedra’s past, he told
himself it was for the benefit of his vow to avenge
his fallen comrades. She was still a question to be
answered, nothing more.
“How long have you been away from Atlantis,
Phaedra?”
She tilted her head. “I stopped counting a long
time ago.”
“Years, then.” He stepped closer. “More than a
decade?”
She exhaled a humorless laugh. “Many of them.
Close to a hundred decades by now, I imagine.”
Holy shit. The answer took him aback. Despite
the knowledge that Atlanteans outwardly aged as
slowly as the Breed, it still shocked him to think she
could be any older than the twenty-odd years that
showed in her luminous, unlined face.
Somehow, she seemed more than youthful as
she studied his reaction. Standing in the middle of
the big suite, thousands of miles away from her
home and everyone she cared for, she seemed
vulnerable and alone. The realization sparked a
protectiveness in him toward her that he didn’t
want to acknowledge.
He couldn’t acknowledge it.
Every survival instinct in him warned to hold
the wall, to not allow himself to see Phaedra as
anything more than a potential crack in the Order’s
security. Equally troubling, she was a distraction he
sure as hell didn’t need.
Not now. He wouldn’t let her be, no matter
what she or Zael believed about the dream he
shared with her and the ludicrous idea that it might
signify some kind of cosmic bond they were meant
to feel toward each other.
Where the Dreamscape and Atlantean soul
bonds were concerned, Micah felt nothing but
doubt and disbelief.
As for what he felt for Phaedra, he’d only be
lying to himself if he didn’t own up to the fact that
she was the most breathtakingly beautiful female
he’d ever seen. Desire licked through his veins as
he watched her move to where her open travel bag
sat. She picked up the light shawl she’d been
wearing earlier, her hands graceful as she idly
folded it and placed it on top of the rest of her
clothing.
“I lived at the colony for most of that time,”
she said after a moment, her voice quiet and
contemplative. “Eventually, though, I made the
decision to leave and start a new life in Rome. Time
passed. Things . . . happened. One night I found a
bruised, starving young mother and her small child
huddled at my doorstep to wait out a heavy
rainstorm. I invited them in, fed them, and offered
them one of the rooms to sleep until morning. Not
long afterward, I opened my house as a shelter for
any woman or child who needed a safe place to lay
their head.”
He listened, struck by her courage, and her
selflessness. Few would be so generous, not only
with their home, but with their heart. “It’s an
admirable cause, Phaedra.”
Although he had meant the comment sincerely,
she didn’t seem to take it that way.
 She slanted a frown at him. “I didn’t do it for
admiration, or as some noble cause. It’s a necessity.
With so much ugliness and violence in this mortal
world, the protection my home provides is often the
only thing standing between these women and
children and death—whether that’s from neglect, or
at the hands of someone they believed they could
trust.”
The emotion in her voice was palpable. As was
the ferocity of her commitment to the people she
was helping. It stoked a conflict inside him, both as
a warrior and a man.
He approached her, watching her expression go
from defensive to cautious to confused.
“I’m well aware of the rot in this world too,
Phaedra.”
“You mean because of your work with the
Order?”
He lifted his shoulder, a vague confirmation.
“Yes, because of that. But also because I have my
mother’s extrasensory ability for reading human
sin. When I’m out among mankind, in close contact
with humans, I hear it all. All their negative
thoughts and darkest secrets. All their vices. Every
twisted, sadistic pleasure they’ve either taken or
craved.”
She stared at him in a strange silence, studying
him. An unbearable tenderness moved into her
expression. “No wonder your eyes look so bleak
sometimes. You’ve known enough hideousness and
violence for a thousand lifetimes of your own.”
Without warning, she reached up to his face.
Her fingertips lit softly on the edge of his clenched
jaw. Her touch seared him, even that fleeting,
infinitely gentle caress.
His fangs punched out of his gums, blood
hunger still a beast on a threadbare tether inside
him since his recent recovery. But it was the other
hunger that gnashed to be let loose.
Need, raw and dangerous.
It coursed through him like fuel racing to meet
with flame. A low, possessive throb pounded in his
pulse points as he stared at Phaedra, unable to hide
the embers sparking in his eyes.
As much as he wanted to cling to his mistrust of
who she was—of what she was—what he wanted
even more was simply . . . her.
Fuck.
Not going to happen.
Mentally, he squeezed his fist around the desire
that ignited inside him. With countless women in
this city and all the others he’d stormed through
during his missions with the Order, this was one he
refused to crave.
Fate be damned.
Hell, maybe he was too.
He drew back, pushing out a rough scoff.
“Violence is what I do, Phaedra. I’m good at it—
some have said I’m the best.”
Her smile was sad with understanding. “I don’t
doubt that for a moment.”
“Good,” he growled. “So don’t make the
mistake of thinking I need anyone’s pity. And don’t
look for me to make apologies for what I am.”
“No, of course I won’t do that. I don’t suppose
there’s much you’d apologize for. Perhaps nothing
at all.”
He ground his molars together, telling himself
her anger was better than the gentleness that might
undo him if he wasn’t careful. He had an unfinished
mission to complete. A promise he’d made over the
ashes of his brothers-in-arms.
That commitment began and ended with the
bolt of unearthly fire unleashed on him and his
comrades that awful night in the Deadlands.
“Lucan’s ready for you in the war room,” he
said, delivering the statement as crisply as a
command. “And Phaedra, be warned. The deaths
of my teammates will not go unmet. Not by the
Order. Not by me. I will do whatever it takes, cut
down any obstacle that stands in the way of my
vengeance.”
She swallowed, but instead of being cowed by
his threat, her proud chin lifted. “If you’re
expecting me to condone war on my people, there’s
nothing more for us to say here.”
Micah leaned in close, fewer than a handful of
inches between their faces. “Any obstacle,
Phaedra.”
She stared into his eyes for a breathless
moment, then stepped past him to walk out of the
room with her head and shoulders held as regally as
a queen’s.
 CHAPTER 9

Phaedra wasn’t sure how she managed to sit across

from Micah at the long conference table in the
Order’s war room for more than an hour without
letting her gaze stray to him even once.
During the length of her interrogation by Lucan
Thorne, Tegan, Zael, and the other Order warriors
assembled in the room, she recounted every detail
of her recurring dream and the one that had
ultimately landed her in the Deadlands with Micah.
She answered the many questions that followed,
not only from the Breed males scrutinizing her
every word and expression, but also the inquiries
from Jenna, Gabrielle, and Savannah.
Through it all, she held her head high and kept
her eyes averted from the heat of Micah’s
unflinching stare.
Call it sheer determination to ignore him. Her
stubborn streak had been honed over literally
centuries of living. Call it outrage. Certainly, she
was full enough of that after the bold threat he’d
issued in her guest room—a warning she had no
reason to doubt whatsoever.
She was willing to call it anything, except the
awkward feeling that had clung to her from the
moment she’d given in to the embarrassing impulse
to touch his cheek and speak her thoughts aloud.
She couldn’t take back that idiotic, clearly
unwanted, compassion, no matter how much she
wanted to. Nor could she pretend she didn’t still
feel sympathy for the awful gift he described.
Phaedra had seen the inhumanity of man up
close more times than she cared to recall. But to
walk through life as an open receiver of every sick
and depraved thought that poisoned the air around
him? She couldn’t imagine how he didn’t go mad
with the burden of all that ugliness.
Evidently, her concerns for him were
misplaced.
Not to mention unwelcome.
A lull fell over the room as the Order elders and
their mates quietly considered everything she’d just
told them. Phaedra folded her hands in her lap,
eager to be dismissed and away from the scrutiny—
particularly that of Micah.
More than anything, she just wanted to be free
to go home where she belonged.
“I hope I’ve been of some help,” she said,
addressing the group as a whole. She glanced at
Lucan. “Now that you’ve asked your questions,
how soon might I be able to return to Rome?”
She felt, rather than saw, Micah’s muscled
frame tense in the chair across from her. “There’s
still one question you haven’t answered. The most
important one. Are you still loyal to your Atlantean
queen?”
Given no other choice, she finally met his
unsettling stare. “As I’ve already told you, I left the
realm ages ago.”
“That’s not what I asked. Your parents served
Selene as loyal subjects. So loyal, they were willing
to die trying to carry out her wishes. What about
you?”
His challenge drew the attention of everyone
else now. Phaedra had willingly told them
everything they wanted to know and then some.
None of them had questioned her integrity or
demanded she repudiate Selene in order to prove
her good faith tonight.
“I don’t serve Selene any more than I do you,
or the Order. Everything that does matter to me is
in Rome. So, unless the Order is prepared to call me
their prisoner, I’d like to get back there.”
At the head of the long table, Lucan exhaled a
slow breath. “You’re no one’s prisoner, Phaedra.
And this compound is no place for a civilian—
Atlantean or otherwise. Zael and Brynne will
accompany you back to Rome tomorrow. From
there, they’ll be continuing on to the colony for a
diplomatic meeting with the council. If what
happened in the Deadlands is a harbinger of
troubles to come, it seems prudent that we
reconfirm the colony’s agreement to ally with us if
and when we call on them.”
The couple nodded in agreement. “We can still
escort you to the colony if you like, Phaedra,” Zael
offered.
She shook her head. “I just want to go home.”
Relief settled over her to think she’d be on her
way tomorrow. The sooner she could put some
distance between herself and her unwanted
attraction to Micah, the better.
At the far end of the table, Jenna idly tapped
her pen against a notebook laid open in front of her.
She seemed distracted, her forehead pinched as the
rapid tap-tap-tap-tap continued from the pen held
between her glyph-covered fingers.
“I know that look,” Brock said. “What is it,
babe?”
“Maybe nothing. Except—”
“Except what?” Lucan asked, his own brows
furrowing.
“This is the first in-person account we’ve ever
gotten of the Deadlands.” She shrugged, but
something about it didn’t seem as casual as she
might have intended. “I’d love to take some
detailed notes from Micah and Phaedra about the
area, so I can add them to our archives.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lucan agreed. “You three
can get started on that as soon as we finish here.
Chase should be arriving with the group from
Boston any minute now, so unless anyone has
something else to discuss, we can wrap things up.”
The warriors and the trio of women seated
around the table shook their heads. All except
Brock, who had swiveled his chair toward his mate
now, his dark gaze serious.
“Is everything all right, Jen?”
“Yes.” She smiled, reaching for his big hand.
“I’d tell you if it wasn’t. Besides, you’d feel it in
your blood. Everything’s fine.”
With his expression relaxing, if only by a
degree, Jenna glanced at Phaedra. “My mate
worries too much.”
He grunted, turning his hand over so he could
clasp her smaller one in an affectionate hold. “My
mate thinks she’s invincible.”
Jenna smirked. “Well, if the biotech implant fits
. . .”
Phaedra couldn’t contain her curiosity. “I don’t
understand.”
It was Lucan who answered. “Around twenty
years ago, Jenna was taken captive by one of the
Order’s most dangerous enemies. Before we caught
up to him, he’d brutalized her and left a piece of
himself behind.”
As if to demonstrate, Jenna pointed to the back
of her neck. “State-of-the-art, alien technology.
Enhanced strength. Adaptive cellular regeneration.
Memories that play like a horror movie.” She
grinned at Brock. “But hey, look at the bright side,
right? I’ll never get a gray hair and I suppose the
full-body glyphs are kind of badass.”
“I’m glad you can joke about it,” he growled. “I
only wish I’d been the one to kill the Ancient son
of a bitch.”
Ancient. The term he used was an old one,
though not unfamiliar, especially not to Phaedra or
any of her kind. Ancients were the fathers of the
Breed. Savage otherworlders. Blood-thirsty,
ruthless conquerors. A raiding party of eight such
predators had come to Earth millennia ago and
spent centuries hunting down and slaughtering both
humans and Atlanteans wherever they could.
Ultimately, they had delivered a catastrophic
blow to Phaedra’s people. After managing to get
their hands on a pair of Atlantis’s crystals, they
used the combined power of both to destroy the
realm’s original island home, decimating the
population and forcing Selene and the scant
hundreds of survivors to flee to a new location
where they remained to this day.
The terror of those dark days and nights
happened so long ago, it had nearly faded into
myth.
Much like the Ancients themselves.
But one thing didn’t make sense. Phaedra tilted
her head, confused by the recent timing of Jenna’s
ordeal. “According to everything I’ve heard, the
Order killed all of their Ancient fathers back in
mankind’s Middle Ages.”
Tegan slowly shook his head. “All but one.”
“Not counting the two who reportedly died of
UV exposure soon after their ship crashed on
Earth,” Lucan added.
“How did the one survive?” Phaedra asked,
horrified to consider one of those monsters had
been loose in the world until just two decades ago.
“Someone hid him away until he was ready to
make use of him,” Gideon answered grimly.
Brynne scoffed. “Someone every bit as
dangerous and savage as any of the Ancients. I
ought to know. I’m a product of both of them.”
Lucan grunted. “You’re one of the few good
things to come out of Dragos’s twisted laboratory
experiments, Brynne. You and your sister, Tavia,
both. Strange as it is, we also have him to thank for
some of the Hunters who’ve either joined our ranks
or proven themselves to be trustworthy allies.”
Phaedra sat back in her chair, overwhelmed
with all of this new information—not to mention
dozens of new questions she was dying to ask.
Before she had the chance to sort her thoughts,
the sound of voices carried from the corridor
outside the open war room. Everyone at the table
rose as a big blond Breed male led a group of three
warriors and three women inside.
A dozen conversations bubbled at the same
time as the new arrivals were welcomed. It seemed
like a happy reunion, even though an undercurrent
of seriousness seemed to run through the
handshakes and brotherly embraces of the men.
Phaedra hung back, feeling like the awkward
outsider as smiles and friendly greetings were
exchanged and the din of conversation filled the
room.
Micah stood at the periphery of the crowd, too,
though not for long.
A petite blonde who’d been caught in Tegan’s
strong arms from the instant she arrived now broke
away and burst through the crowd to race toward
Micah. “Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed, her voice
choked with emotion as she captured him in a tight
hold.
“Mom,” he said quietly, encircling her tiny
frame in his muscled embrace. “It’s okay,” he
reassured her as she wept against his broad chest.
“Everything’s okay. Ah, Christ. Please, don’t cry.”
“I was so afraid I lost you.” She drew back,
eyes the same lavender color as his welled with
tears. She held them back, tipping her head up to
look at her son’s stern face. “I don’t want you
leaving ever again, Micah. Promise me.”
“I wish I could.” His deep voice was as gentle
as Phaedra had ever heard it. “You know I can’t
make you that promise, Mom.”
“She knows,” Tegan said, joining them now.
“Don’t you, Elise?”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and
drew her close. She leaned into him, nodding
shakily. “You two are everything to me. I can’t bear
the thought of ever losing either of you.”
“You won’t,” father and son said at the same
time.
There was so much similarity between them.
But some of Tegan’s hard exterior smoothed away
now that he was close to his pretty mate. Seeing the
love between them made a tightness bloom in
Phaedra’s breast.
The sense of loneliness took her by surprise. So
did the sudden awareness that Micah was staring at
her, his piercing gaze unblinking. Far too knowing.
Why must she always feel such a jolt whenever
this male looked at her? If it was a mistake of fate
that put them into the Dreamscape together, she
only hoped she’d be able to purge him from her
thoughts once she returned home to Rome.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Eager for a distraction from their unsettling eye
contact and the tender family reunion she had no
business eavesdropping on, she turned her head. At
the same time, one of the Breed warriors strode
toward her with an ethereal platinum-blonde female
at his side.
Phaedra knew instantly that she was looking at
a fellow Atlantean. The woman understood the
same thing, her smile beamed as she approached.
“Hello,” she said, her warm gaze sparkling like
the sea. “You must be Phaedra.”
“Yes. And you, of course, are Jordana.”
Phaedra barely resisted the impulse to sink into a
bow before Selene’s granddaughter, the only living
heir to the Atlantean throne. Mesmerized, she
couldn’t keep herself from staring. “You look so
much like both your parents. You have Cassianus’s
fair hair, but your beauty is all your mother,
Soraya’s.”
Jordana inhaled a shallow breath. “You knew
them?”
“Yes, I did. A long time ago.”
“Oh.” The young woman linked hands with the
ebony-haired male at her side, as if she needed the
grounding. When she spoke, there was a quiet
wonderment in her voice. “I would love to hear
about them, Phaedra. If it would be all right with
you, that is.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’ll tell you whatever
you’d like to know.”
“Thank you,” Jordana whispered, pressing her
lips together. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced my
mate. This is Nathan.”
“Nice to meet you,” Phaedra said.
“Likewise.” He was strikingly handsome, a
study in black from his leather combat gear and
boots, to his glossy, short hair. No doubt he was
deadly, but there was no denying the tender feeling
in his gaze when he looked at Jordana.
“Hey, is this a private party over here, or can
anyone crash?” The whiskey-smooth drawl came
from another of the warriors who’d just arrived. He
walked with an easy swagger, and grinned with all
the charm of a good-looking man accustomed to
getting whatever he wanted. “I’m Eli.”
“Phaedra,” she replied, finding it impossible not
to return the warrior’s megawatt smile.
He gestured to the last of the Breed males
who’d come in with the group and was now
heading over with Darion Thorne. “That’s Jax. He’s
far less interesting than me.”
Athletically built and almost too beautiful for a
man with his almond-shaped eyes and a curtain of
sleek black hair falling around his shoulders and
down his back, Jax prowled toward their little
group with the grace of a cat. He wore the same
black combat gear and weapons as his comrades,
but slung across his muscular body was a leather
strap bristling with razor-sharp throwing stars.
“Don’t judge the rest of us based on this
asshole,” Jax said, winking at Phaedra as he jabbed
an elbow into Eli’s side. “We just keep him around
for laughs.”
Phaedra smiled. “Hi, Jax.”
“Pleasure,” he replied, with a small bow of his
head.
They all talked for a few minutes, then
Gabrielle came over and offered to introduce
Phaedra to the people she had yet to meet. First
was Sterling Chase, the leader of the Order’s
Boston command center, and his mate, Tavia, who
was also the half-sister to Brynne. Then came
Micah’s mother and Tegan’s mate, Elise.
“It’s very nice to meet you all,” Phaedra said,
finding the group of them to be unexpectedly
hospitable to the stranger in their midst.
All except Micah, that was.
He hung back while his mother clasped
Phaedra’s hand in greeting. “Tegan’s told me what
happened with you and Micah. The dream, the
Deadlands . . . all of it.” She glanced behind her to
Micah for a moment, then brought her soft lavender
eyes back to Phaedra again. “I don’t know how it
was that you ended up in those woods with my son.
All I do know is, he’s alive. If your being there that
night has anything to do with bringing him home,
then you will always have my gratitude, Phaedra.”
The low rumble of Micah’s voice dropped like a
hammer on the tender exchange. “If we still have
to meet with Jenna tonight, we should get to it.”
 The gruff comment turned Jenna’s head away
from the conversation she was having with
Savannah and Brock. “I’m ready whenever the two
of you want to get started. We can meet up in the
archive room.”
Micah gave her a curt nod. “All right. Let’s get
this over with.”
He pivoted away and stalked out the door. His
exit prompted the rest of the gathering to start
breaking up too.
As the warriors and their mates began filing out
of the war room, Jordana came up behind Phaedra.
“I’d love to talk with you some more. I have so
many things I’d like to ask you.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Jenna suggested. “I
was just about to take Phaedra for a visit to Cyborg
Central.”
Jordana smiled. “You haven’t seen Jenna’s
archives yet?”
“Uh, no I haven’t.”
“Then prepare to be amazed.”
 CHAPTER 10

As a boy, Micah had known only a passing interest

in the headquarters’ chamber reserved for Jenna’s
work. When he visited the Order’s D.C. compound
with his parents, he’d always been far more
intrigued with the weapons room than the floor-to-
ceiling bookcases housing the journals Jenna had
begun using to record the history and culture of the
Ancients, as shown to her by the alien DNA-
infused implant embedded inside her body.
Firearms, throwing stars, explosives.
A gleaming blade crafted of Rogue-killing
titanium.
Those were his passions.
Leave it to others, like Darion, to straddle the
line between scholar and soldier with equal skill.
Micah’s expertise had led him down a single path,
and he was damn good at what he did. He didn’t
need anything but the feel of a weapon in his hand
and the knowledge that his dark work made the
world a better place for everyone else.
Still, as he stepped inside the large room that
had been Jenna’s personal workspace for the past
two decades, he couldn’t help but be impressed.
She’d been busy since he’d last seen the place.
Leather-bound journals lined nearly every inch
of shelf space now. Meticulous hand-drawn
sketches, complicated diagrams, and indecipherable
technical schematics had been affixed to the walls
as if they were works of art. Hell, they practically
were art, judging from the incredible level of detail
she’d captured on them.
He strode over to one of the odd diagrams and
was studying the tangle of linked formulas and
sprawling flowcharts when several pairs of
footsteps approached from the corridor.
Jenna entered first, her brows furrowing over
her hazel eyes when she spied him looking at the
sketch. “That one’s unfinished. I’ve only recently
started seeing visions of the design, but it feels . . .
incomplete.”
Micah gave a vague nod, curiosity making him
peer a bit closer at the diagram. “It looks like some
kind of operational sequence. A code of some sort.”
“Think so?”
He shrugged, moving away from the sketch as
Phaedra stepped into the room with Jordana.
“You didn’t even say hello to me yet,” Jordana
lightly scolded him, walking over to give him a
warm hug. Her expression softened as she pulled
back and looked at him. “It’s really good to see
you, Micah. I’m so sorry about what happened to
your team.”
His face hardened at the reminder. Guilt and
grief still clawed at him, but he clamped the lid
down on all of it. “Still working at the art
museum?”
“I am. Carys too, from time to time.”
Micah had been introduced to Jordana by Carys
Chase a few years ago in Boston, before Jordana
had hooked up with Nathan and before anyone had
reason to suspect that Carys’s best friend had not
been born a Breedmate, but a full-blooded
Atlantean. A fucking Atlantean princess, no less.
Now, it seemed she’d found a fast friend in
Phaedra.
Not that Jordana was alone in that. Everyone at
the compound seemed willing to accept Phaedra
into their confidence, even his own mother and
father.
So, why was he finding it so damn hard to trust
her?
Part of the reason was the five ash piles he’d
been forced to leave behind in the Deadlands. But
he was starting to wonder if the bigger reason he
didn’t want to let his guard down had everything to
do with him. With the way she made his blood race
with hunger unlike any he’d known before.
He wanted her, more than he was willing to
admit. And that was a distraction he didn’t need
and sure as hell couldn’t afford.
Not when he was fully prepared to go to war
with her people if the attack on him and his unit
traced back to Selene.
Would Phaedra stand in the way of that? He’d
already vowed to run through her if she tried. He’d
meant it. He only hoped she wouldn’t put him to
the test.
While he listened to Jordana talk animatedly
about her newest acquisition at the museum,
Micah’s attention was rooted on Phaedra. She
drifted farther into the archive room, her face lit up
with astonishment as she stared at the hundreds and
hundreds of volumes in Jenna’s collection.
“These are all your writings?”
Jenna nodded. “I started with one journal,
thinking I might be able to make sense of the
visions I was having if I wrote them down. I never
expected there’d be enough to fill one book, let
alone all of these. And the visions are still coming.
Lately, I’ve been filling about a journal a day.”
“What kind of visions are they?” Phaedra
asked.
“Sometimes I see vicious battles the Ancients
waged throughout the centuries. Other times, I see
wholesale slaughters of entire populations. Those
are the worst things I’ve seen.” Jenna let out a slow
breath. “Now and then, I also see glimpses of life
on the dark planet they came from, or strange
things like those diagrams and memory snapshots of
alien technology and equipment.”
A small frown creased Phaedra’s brow as Jenna
spoke. Although she listened with obvious interest,
Micah detected a subtle change in her. She seemed
on edge somehow, anxious, the longer she remained
in the room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice drawing
her attention.
“I feel—” She hesitated, giving a faint shake of
her head. Her gaze flicked away from him, back to
Jenna. “There’s a crystal here. It’s close. I can feel
it.”
Although the Order had been in possession of
one of the Atlantean crystals for some time, Micah
had been away training and on missions with his
team the whole time. He had never personally seen
the crystal Jordana’s father had taken from the
realm, or been anywhere near it.
He didn’t have to ask Jenna to confirm
Phaedra’s suspicion. Her reaction was convincing
enough. She glanced at him, her pale gold eyes
wide, a full-body shiver making her tremble.
A storm of emotions played over her beautiful
face, but underneath them all was an unmistakable
look of heartache.
 God help him, there was a part of him that
wanted to close the distance between them and
draw her into his arms. He’d barely stamped down
the impulse before Jordana’s alarmed voice brought
him back to his senses.
“Um, Jenna?” She pointed past Micah’s
shoulder, to the far end of the long chamber where
a hulking, large black floor safe stood. “You need
to see this.”
Jenna hurried over to look and drew in a breath.
“Holy shit.”
Phaedra let out a soft gasp when she saw it, too,
her hand coming up to her parted lips.
Even Micah could only stare in astonishment.
A silvery glow surrounded the huge safe. The
light pulsed with intensity, growing brighter with
each passing second.
Jenna faced them, astonishment in her voice.
“This has never happened before. Jordana’s been in
this room before. Zael too. I’ve never seen anything
like this.”
Jordana nodded in agreement. “I don’t
understand. Inside that safe, the crystal is housed
within a titanium box. It’s supposed to keep the
energy muted. That’s how my father was able to
conceal the crystal from any of our people. How is
this possible?”
“My parents,” Phaedra whispered. “They’re
part of all five crystals. It’s their life force I’m
feeling. It’s been so long since I’ve been in such
close proximity to one of the crystals, I didn’t
remember how strongly I feel their presence.”
Micah recalled her certainty about the presence
of a crystal in the Deadlands. “Is this the same
thing you felt the night my team was killed?”
“No.” A strange, sad smile spread over her
lovely face. “This is different. It’s an overwhelming
feeling of love, of light. That’s what the crystals
were meant to be. What I felt in the woods with
you was something dark, a detonation meant to
inflict mass harm.”
“It sure as hell did that.”
Phaedra swallowed, nodding soberly. “Each of
the five crystals holds immense light and strength.
They were created to protect, to provide power as a
shield. The Ancients twisted that power when they
annihilated Atlantis’s original settlement. They
manipulated the crystals, found a way to turn all
that light and strength into a dark weapon. All it
takes is the combined force of two crystals and the
will to destroy.”
The idea put a coldness in his blood—and iron
in his resolve. Just another reason to make sure
Selene never got her hands on more than the one
crystal she had left.
And God forbid Opus Nostrum ever ended up
with that kind of power.
While Micah’s thoughts churned with all the
disturbing scenarios that were possible, the locked
door on the safe opened on its own, as if in
invitation. Phaedra began to walk toward it.
A jolt of dread shot through him, images of the
scorched carnage left behind in the Deadlands
flashing in his head. He reached out, halting her, his
hand clasped around her wrist. “Stop, Phaedra.
You’re not going anywhere near that thing.”
She arched a brow. “If you’re still concerned
I’m secretly in league with Selene and that I might
try to steal the crystal from right under your nose,
you needn’t worry. If that’s what I wanted to do,
I’d already be gone with it.”
He growled under his breath. That wasn’t the
source of his concern at all, even if it should be. To
his shock, the only concern he had right now was
her.
Even though she wasn’t a fragile human by any
means, he didn’t want to imagine what might
happen if she was wrong. For all his mistrust and
suspicion in the beginning, he had to admit some of
those walls were coming down the more time he
spent with her.
Pulling out of his loosened hold, she continued
to approach the glowing safe. She paused in front
of the opened door and looked back at Jenna. “Do
you mind if I take it out?”
Jenna shook her head. “It belongs to you as
much as it does anyone else.”
 As Phaedra reached inside to retrieve the small
metal box, the glow surrounding the safe spread to
her. Soft silver light skated over her limbs and into
her hair, infusing her chestnut waves with unearthly
luminescence.
She was stunning anytime, but bathed in the
glow from the crystal, she was nothing less than a
goddess kissed by heavenly fire. Micah stared.
Christ, he could hardly do anything else as he
watched her walk back to the group.
She set the small box down on the worktable in
the center of the room as he, Jordana, and Jenna
gathered around.
Jenna slid a hesitant look at him. “Since we
haven’t seen this kind of reaction from the crystal
before, I’m not sure you should be here when we
open the box.”
“It’s all right,” Phaedra said. “This light will
bring no harm to him.”
Micah smirked. “You sure about that? You’ve
probably got more than a few reasons to want to
scorch my ass.”
“Now that you mention it.” She gave him a wry
smile. “If you think you can trust me, stay.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a
nod to continue.
She lifted the lid on the titanium box, then
gingerly reached inside. The crystal was smaller
than he’d expected—roughly the size of a hen’s
egg. But the power that emanated from it was
indescribably intense.
The hairs on his arms prickled as Phaedra lifted
the crystal out of the box and held it in her palms.
His veins thrummed, his cells vibrating as he stared
at the silvery, translucent orb that looked similar to
mercury glass. The soft glow that clung to both the
crystal and Phaedra warmed the entire room, not
with cosmic fire as he’d experienced in the
Deadlands, but with a peaceable, soothing calm.
“You can feel it, too,” Phaedra said, less a
question than a certainty.
He nodded. So did Jenna and Jordana.
“You feel them,” she said. “That warmth you
feel is my parents. This is the only way for me to be
near them now, to touch them.”
Phaedra’s eyes closed and she held the crystal
in silence for a short while, cradling it like a
precious treasure. Her expression softened as if she
could feel things beyond the others in the room. As
if she were communicating in a wordless language
with the small orb that glowed in her palms.
When she opened her eyes again, they glistened
with emotion. The illumination that had surrounded
her slowly faded, all of the light seeming to pour
back into the crystal, where it swirled and sparked.
Gently, she placed it back inside the box and
closed the lid.
“Thank you, Jenna,” she said, her voice quiet.
 As Jenna returned the box to the safe, Phaedra
walked slowly out of the room. Micah followed,
catching up to her in the corridor. Although her skin
and hair were no longer infused with light, the
calmness lingered. But so did a tender sadness.
“Are you okay?”
She met his gaze and gave him a small nod. “I
miss them, that’s all.”
She lowered her head, and a tendril of her rich
brown hair fell into her face. Before he could stop
himself, Micah reached out and smoothed the lock
behind her ear. Her silken hair glided through his
fingers. This close to her, the scent of lemons and
roses and something far sweeter than either one hit
his nose like a drug, sending his pulse racing.
The heat of her skin radiated toward him,
making him hot with the need to feel her curves
crushed against his body. Against his will, he
recalled her tender touch on his face earlier tonight.
The memory made him burn all over again, made
him want to feel her caress on more than just his
cheek.
She looked up at him again, her lips parted as if
she was about to say something. If there had been
any hint of permission in her voice, he wouldn’t be
fool enough to reject her again. If she gave him
even the slightest indication that she didn’t think he
was a complete bastard, he’d claim her mouth in a
blazing kiss right where they stood.
 Christ, he wasn’t sure it would take even that
much for him to act on his desire for her.
“Hey, Micah.” Darion hailed him from the
other end of the corridor. He was walking alongside
Nathan, with Jax and Eli trailing behind.
Micah groaned at the interruption, but in his gut
he knew he should be relieved. Phaedra took a step
away from him as the four males strode up to them.
“We’re all heading out to the city to catch up,”
Darion said. “We’re going to hang out at Slake for a
while. You want to join us?”
Micah was more than passingly familiar with
the Georgetown blood Host parlor, and the fact that
Darion kept a luxury VIP suite there. Over the
years, Micah had partaken of the establishment’s
services more than a few times.
It had been several long hours since he fed back
in Rome. His healing body sure as fuck could do
with more sustenance, to say nothing of the other
options available for purchase at the exclusive club
that catered to the Breed.
Putting some distance between him and
Phaedra wasn’t a bad idea either.
At that moment, Jordana stepped out of the
archive room. She sent a smoldering look at her
mate, Nathan. “Did I hear someone mention
Slake?”
Nathan’s stern face broke into a rare smile.
“This is becoming a habit every time we come to
D.C., love.”
“Are you complaining?” Jordana laughed as she
walked into Nathan’s embrace. “You’re the one
who’s corrupted me.”
Nathan stroked her cheek. “Baby, I’ll never
complain about making you happy.”
“Good.” She glanced at Phaedra. “You should
come with all of us.”
“What’s Slake?”
“It’s a feeding parlor,” Micah growled, appalled
at the idea of gentle, lovely Phaedra getting a
firsthand glimpse of the baser natures of his kind.
He turned his scowl in her direction. “You wouldn’t
like it.”
“You don’t know that,” Eli interjected, a grin
accompanying his whiskey-smooth drawl. “It’s one
of the swankiest clubs in Georgetown, Breed or
otherwise.”
Jax nodded. “It also has two dance floors and
sim-lounge. You should come.”
Micah felt his frown furrow deeper. “It’s not
Phaedra’s kind of place. Trust me.”
“Nathan didn’t think it was my kind of place
either,” Jordana argued. “Besides, Phaedra and I
haven’t had a chance to talk yet, and she’s going
back to Rome tomorrow.”
Why the reminder of her departure should put a
twinge of regret in him, Micah didn’t care to know.
Her gaze met his and an unspoken acknowledgment
of the desire still crackling between them made her
golden eyes dusky with awareness.
“I should probably stay here,” she said. “I’d
love to spend some more time with you, Jordana,
but Jenna wanted me to tell her more about the
incident in the Deadlands before I have to leave
with Zael and Brynne.”
“I can wait,” Jenna said, stepping out to join the
small group in the corridor. “I’m actually feeling a
little tired right now, anyway. If you don’t mind, we
can meet again tomorrow before you have to go.”
Micah might have suspected it was only an
excuse, but Jenna did look a bit piqued. “Is
anything wrong?”
“No. Just par for the course lately. I’m just
going to close my eyes for a while. You all have
fun.”
As Jenna headed for the elevator up to the
mansion’s residence, Jordana smiled. “I guess it’s
settled. Shall we go?”
“Tell you what,” Eli added, turning all of his
easy charm on Phaedra. “If you decide you don’t
like the place at any time after we get there, I’ll
personally see you back here to the command
center.”
“Like hell you will,” Micah muttered.
Phaedra sent him an uncertain, questioning
glance.
With Jordana and his comrades staring at him
now, too, he scowled and exhaled a low curse. “If
we’re going, let’s get on with it.”
He strode past the group, hearing them all fall
in behind him, Phaedra included.
Although he didn’t like the idea, he had no right
to dictate what she did or didn’t do. And while it
put a boil in his blood, if she decided to take Elijah
up on his offer—or any other one the handsome
Breed male might have in mind—there was nothing
Micah could say about it.
He had no claim on Phaedra at all, even if the
persistent thrumming in his veins wanted to balk at
that fact.
 CHAPTER 11

Slake was packed and pulsing with activity. No

surprise, given that the elite club was the pinnacle
of Breed gathering places in the city.
Expensive, exclusive, and exceedingly luxe.
Stepping off the elevator from the underground
VIP parking garage, Micah and his companions
turned a lot of heads despite the crowds already
filling the main floor. Being a member of the Order,
and dressed in black patrol gear like the other
warriors accompanying him, Micah was used to
drawing attention. Inside the elegant club, human
blood Hosts—male and female alike—and civilian
Breed males from area Darkhavens paused in mid-
conversation to watch the group of five warriors
and the pair of stunning women in their company
cleave a path through the crowd on their way up to
the second-floor suite that belonged to Darion.
Micah hardly noticed the stares, except for the
ones that followed Phaedra. She was damn hard to
miss. As beautiful as Jordana was, with her graceful
bearing and long hair the color of moonglow, it was
Phaedra’s sultry, understated beauty that attracted
even more attention. Far more than Micah liked.
He told himself it was only the protector in him
—not the stab of sharp possessiveness he felt—that
made him place his hand at the small of her back
while they ascended the black marble stairs leading
up to the higher level of the club. Although she was
a powerful, immortal being as well as a gorgeous
woman, that didn’t mean he wasn’t honor-bound to
keep her safe. Especially when he was walking her
through a pack of vampires who’d all come to
Slake in search of a juicy carotid to tap, along with
whatever other cravings they wanted to fill.
No one would dare make a move on her or
Jordana, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t
broadcast the warning anyway.
Yeah, he had a dozen rationalizations for letting
his touch linger on her now, but the truth was his
blood hadn’t stopped burning for her since their
interrupted moment outside the archive room.
It was all he could do to keep the embers in his
irises from sparking into fire when she looked at
him as they reached the second floor of the club.
His fangs throbbed in his gums, the sharp points
grazing his tongue as he fought to keep all of his
unwelcome impulses in check.
 Darion entered the unlock code for the suite
and invited them all inside. Although neither Micah
nor any of his Breed brethren needed artificial light
to see, lamps and chandeliers flicked on as the
group entered, illuminating the private four-
thousand square-foot suite. Open-concept except
for the four big bedrooms at the far end, the place
had two separate lounge areas with cushioned
sectionals and roomy club chairs, a fireplace,
billiard table, theater room, and more.
Jordana led Phaedra farther inside. “What do
you think?”
“It’s bigger than my entire house back home.”
The two women walked over to one of the
living areas, already chatting like the best of friends
as they settled onto the sofa together.
“Who’s up to get their ass kicked at the pool
table?” Eli asked with a grin.
Micah smirked at his cocky friend. “Sounds like
you are.”
Jax arched a dark brow. “Teams?”
Eli nodded. “You and me against the three of
them seems fair.”
Darion chuckled. “Bring it, if you think you
can.”
“You four go ahead,” Nathan said, a glimmer of
amusement in the former assassin’s eyes. “I’ll take
on the winning team.”
They walked over and set up the first game. As
the balls cracked and a familiar banter filled the
room, Micah felt himself relaxing for the first time
in what felt like forever. He’d trained hard from the
minute he was old enough to join the Order. Longer
than that, in fact. For nearly as long as he could
remember, he’d had a weapon in his hand and a
mind set with determination to be the best damned
warrior his father had ever seen.
For a while, he thought he’d actually gotten
close to achieving that.
Then it all blew up in the Deadlands, along with
the men who’d put their trust in him.
His self-directed anger still boiled inside him.
When it was his turn at the table again, he sank the
striped ball into the pocket with nearly enough
force to crack it into pieces.
“Take it easy, brother,” Eli chuckled from his
post on the receiving end of the table. “This is
supposed to be a friendly game, not a death
match.”
Jax smiled from his place at Eli’s side.
“Friendly’s not exactly his strong suit.”
Micah slanted his comrades a wry look, then
drove another stripe home. “You ladies gonna
yammer the whole time we play? If you’re trying to
distract me, it won’t work.”
“Nah,” Jax said. “There’s only one person here
who seems able to distract you, and it’s not either
of us.”
 Micah sank a third ball and lifted his narrowed
gaze. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Eli nodded in Phaedra’s direction on the other
side of the large suite. “You two looked pretty cozy
back at headquarters tonight. Something we ought
to know?”
“No.” Micah scowled, then went back to
running the table. Except the next shot he took
banked too hard and the ball missed the pocket.
Eli chuckled. “Nope. Clearly, she’s not a
distraction at all.”
Jax moved in to take his turn, grinning along
with his teammate. Even Darion looked amused
when Micah backed away from the table to join
him and Nathan while Jax quickly sank a pair of
solid balls in one shot.
“Something funny?”
“No,” he said, a smile still tugging at his mouth.
“I’ve just never seen anyone rattle you before, least
of all a female.”
“I’m not fucking rattled,” he snarled under his
breath, swiveling his annoyed glower from Darion
and Nathan’s smug faces to Elijah and Jax.
“There’s nothing going on between Phaedra and
me.”
Nor would he allow there to be anything going
on, and not only because she would be gone from
his life tomorrow.
Eli nodded, looking anything but convinced.
“All right, man, whatever you say. I guess you
won’t mind if Jax or I step in, then.”
“Like hell you will.” The idea alone made
Micah’s eyes blaze with amber fire. As much as he
liked and respected all of his fellow warriors and
friends, none of them were going near Phaedra if he
had anything to say about it. “She’s way out of
your league. She’s out of all our leagues.”
As he muttered the words, he couldn’t help
thinking about how incredible it was to see her with
the crystal, limned in a silver glow, a look of
longing, comfort, and profound love on her
beautiful face.
Phaedra was unique from anyone he’d ever
known. She was something extraordinary,
evidenced not only earlier tonight in the archive
room, but also in the kind, selfless work she had
devoted herself to back in Rome.
“Micah makes a good point,” Darion said,
humor gleaming in his eyes. “That on its own
should be plenty of reason for you knuckleheads to
stand down when it comes to Phaedra, but if it’s
not, you’ll also have destiny to answer to.”
“What are you talking about?” Eli asked.
Micah’s low growl of warning didn’t deter his
friend from explaining the highlights from the
debriefing they’d sat through together with the
Order elders and Zael earlier tonight. Darion
summarized the whole thing, from the recurring
dream of the white doe to the fact that Micah and
Phaedra were apparently cosmically, inextricably
connected.
“Soul bonded,” Jax said, staring at him as if he
just grew a pair of horns.
“It’s ridiculous,” Micah muttered, glancing
toward Phaedra and finding her engrossed in
conversation with Jordana.
Eli folded his arms over his chest. “So, you
don’t believe it’s true?”
Fuck, did he? A preordained bond might be the
only thing that could help explain the intense,
almost magnetic pull Phaedra had on him. How else
could he reconcile his visceral attraction to her,
even when he’d been convinced she was the
enemy?
Deep down, he had to admit the feelings that
were taking root in him, while uninvited, were
getting stronger, harder to resist, the longer he was
near Phaedra.
If their connection was real—if it was some
kind of bond destined to bring them together—what
would it mean when she returned home tomorrow?
It would mean he’d dodged one hell of a bullet.
Phaedra leaving for Rome was the best thing that
could happen to him. Soul bond or not, he needed
to put a lot of distance between her and all of the
troubling cravings he had where she was
concerned.
 The desire that had almost won out over his
discipline in the corridor with her tonight only
drove home that point with razor-sharp clarity.
The sooner she could be gone, the better.
He shook his head and bit off a curse. “Are we
going to finish this game or what?”
Wisely, his friends gave up busting his balls and
took their banter back to the billiard table. Once
Micah had control of the shots again, the game was
over in a couple of minutes.
Eli came over and clapped Micah on the
shoulder. “You know I’d never go after a woman
you cared about, right?”
Yeah, he knew that. None of these males would
ever cross the line on their brethren.
And while the denial that he cared about
Phaedra stayed glued to the roof of Micah’s mouth,
he gave his fellow warrior a friendly flash of his
fangs. “Keep on dreaming that I’d even give you a
second’s chance to try.”
Eli laughed. “Arrogant prick.”
“Asshole,” Micah said, chuckling along with
him.
Jax walked over to them. “I’m heading
downstairs to look for a bite. You guys coming?”
Eli nodded. “Hell yes, I’m in.”
“Me too,” Darion said, then looked at Micah
for a response.
Hunger gnawed at him. He’d come to Slake
hoping to take the edge off his body’s need for
more healing red cells, but the thought of going
downstairs to select a blood Host from the club’s
roster of willing and multi-skilled service workers
had grown less appealing since they’d arrived in the
suite.
He didn’t have to wonder if his change of heart
—or change of appetite, as it were—had something
to do with the temptation of the gorgeous brunette
Atlantean who’d been doing her damnedest to
ignore him for the past hour.
“I’m good,” he murmured. “Maybe I’ll catch
up with you later.”
As the three unmated males left the suite, he
felt Nathan’s cool stare on him.
“You gonna get on my dick about Phaedra now,
too?”
“Not at all.” The former Hunter practically
vibrated with seriousness. He looked across the
long suite to the living area where the two women
had been talking nonstop, the bonds of a deep
friendship already formed between them. “She’s
exquisite, isn’t she?”
Micah could hardly deny it. “She’s beyond that.
I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.
But Phaedra’s not just gorgeous. She’s good,
Nathan. She’s just so gentle, so kind. I didn’t want
to believe it after what happened in the Deadlands,
but it seems like I’m the only one trying to prove
otherwise. Anyway, fuck me. It doesn’t matter.
She’s going back to Rome tomorrow with Zael and
Brynne. That’s for the best.”
He waited for the cool warrior to agree or to
offer some other sage advice, but Nathan stayed
silent, unreadable. Then the ghost of a smile edged
his mouth.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No, you didn’t.” Nathan slowly shook his
head, his smile growing broader now. “But I was
actually talking about Jordana.”
“Shit.” Micah raked a hand over his head. “You
bastard.”
Nathan’s answering chortle abruptly cut off
when the comm unit clipped to his black vest
buzzed with an incoming message.
Micah’s went off at the same time.
Not even two seconds later, Darion, Eli, and
Jax burst back into the suite, their expressions grim
with alarm.
“Holy hell,” Micah said when his gaze fell to
the notification on his device from Gideon at
headquarters. “Five Darkhavens in the city are
under attack by Rogues.”
“It’s already chaos downstairs,” Eli said, his
words punctuated by the sounds of panic and
screaming from Slake’s other patrons and
employees at street level. “Everyone’s rushing for
the doors.”
 Nathan read out the Darkhaven addresses
Gideon provided in his alert.
“They’re all close,” Darion said. “Just a few
blocks from here.”
“I’ll get the Rover,” Jax said, already starting to
pivot away.
“No time,” Nathan said.
Micah nodded in agreement. “We’ll get there
faster on foot.”
Jordana and Phaedra both rushed over, less
frightened than grave with understanding. Attacks
on civilian Breed residences was uncommon, but it
happened from time to time. Particularly in recent
months, now that the terror group Opus Nostrum
had begun weaponizing a narcotic called Red
Dragon. The drug accelerated a Breed vampire’s
blood hunger, sending the Bloodlust-affected victim
into a fevered, murderous rage. Too often, the only
cure was a brain full of bullets or the business end
of a Rogue-killing titanium blade.
“What can we do?” Jordana asked.
“Stay put,” Nathan ordered. “You’ll be safest
up here until we come back, especially with the
stampede taking place downstairs.”
“Lock the door behind us,” Micah added, his
gaze locked with Phaedra’s. “There’s a panic room
in the library. If you need it, use it.”
Neither Atlantean female looked like they were
ready to run and cower, not in the suite and
certainly not in a concrete-and-steel-reinforced
chamber in a tucked-away corner. If anything, both
Phaedra and Jordana looked ready to fight.
“Nathan,” Jordana said, but he cut her off with
a quick, silencing kiss.
He pressed his comm unit into her hand. “I’ll be
back for you.”
Micah could hardly tear his gaze away from
Phaedra’s in the moment before he and his brethren
took off from the suite, the door banging closed and
locked in their wake. Her wide-eyed golden stare
was burned into his mind as he, Nathan, Darion,
Elijah, and Jax flashed down the stairs then tried to
slice through the logjam of a hundred or more
Breed civilians and human blood Hosts trying to
push their way out the main doors.
The crowd was going nowhere fast, too many
bodies attempting to shove through at the same
time.
“Side alley,” Eli shouted, already racing for the
delivery entrance that dumped out to the service
street.
“We’ll split up once we’re outside,” Nathan
said. “One man to each location.”
Micah nodded, mentally triangulating the
addresses they’d been given. The Order would no
doubt be en route to the attack sites at the same
time, but the sooner they had a warrior at each
Darkhaven to deal with the Rogues, the fewer
civilian casualties they’d be risking.
As they headed for the exit, he tasked everyone
with a location. “Eli, you’ve got Book Hill. Jax,
Wisconsin Avenue. Darion, M Street. Nathan, you
take Thirtieth. I’ve got O Street.”
The team burst through the service door into
the access alley—and immediately found
themselves on the end of incoming gunfire.
Snipers on the rooftops.
What the fuck? Based on the hail of bullets
flying at them, there had to be close to ten or more
assailants. All of them firing down on the warriors
like shooting fish in a barrel.
But it was damn hard to hit one of the Breed
when they could flash from one spot to another
faster than almost any eyes could track. And these
idiots had piss-poor aim on top of that.
Micah and the rest of his comrades returned
fire as they dodged the bullets raining down on
them. He took out a gunman on the building
opposite Slake, hitting the son of a bitch in the
head. The body tumbled down to the alley in a
bloody, broken heap. The scent of Homo sapiens
red cells hit Micah’s nostrils and he snarled a curse.
“They’re humans,” he shouted to the others,
astonished by the boldness—to say nothing of their
apparent death wish. Because these bastards were
going down.
Nathan took out two more, one man slumping
over the edge of another building, the other body
falling to the street.
Evading still more unskilled shots, Micah
dropped another assailant while Jax threw a hira-
shuriken with one hand and opened fire on a
second man with the 9mm in his other. The razor-
sharp star sliced a wide gash in the human’s throat.
As the shooter reached up to stanch the blood flow,
he stumbled and plunged from his perch.
Eli shot two more assailants as he danced out of
the way of the bullets coming at him from multiple
directions.
At that same moment, the side door burst open
and some of the patrons from inside the club
poured out into the alley.
“Get back!” Micah shouted.
Too late. The group of Breed and human
civilians ran straight into the melee. Gunfire from
above kept ringing out. One of the fleeing Breed
males took a hit. It wasn’t severe, but he dropped
to the pavement, clutching his arm and howling in
agony.
All too soon, Micah realized why.
Light spidered under his skin, creeping up his
neck and into his face. The glow of it intensified in
mere seconds, spreading like a disease. The Breed
male convulsed, light pouring out of his eye sockets
as the infiltration rapidly overtook him.
Holy shit.
 “UV!” Micah called out. “They’ve got UV.”
Darion wheeled on the growing crowd still
flooding into the alley. “Get back inside!”
Chaos erupted as Breed civilians fled, some
scattering to the streets, others frantically pushing
their way back upstream of the crowd as they ran
for the shelter of the club interior. Terrified humans
were shoved along with them or trampled underfoot
in the sudden chaos.
Micah and his comrades continued unloading
on the attackers, one human sniper after another
careening lifelessly from their posts. Beside him, Eli
bellowed a war cry and let his bullets fly, a pistol in
each hand as he dropped two more shooters, then a
third.
They ducked behind a dumpster to reload,
while in his nearby position in the alley, Darion
provided cover. In his peripheral, Micah saw Eli
grab for another magazine on his weapon belt. His
fingers slowed, then paused. A strange look came
into his eyes. He swiveled his head toward Micah,
his irises lit with bright sparks from the combat.
Except it wasn’t amber light in them.
It was another kind of light.
Micah’s blood ran cold. “Ah, Christ. Eli . . .”
Elijah’s mouth twisted into an incredulous
smirk. “Fuck. I think I’m hit.”
The UV began to spread like gasoline through
his veins and arteries. He made a strangled noise in
the back of his throat, pain contorting his face. It
was too late to do anything for him. Too late to stop
what was coming as the light sped through his
system.
“No,” Micah growled. “Goddamn it. No!”
He turned his head away as the warrior’s skin
and hair ignited. He’d seen a lot of hellish things in
his line of work, but he couldn’t bear to watch the
moment the poisonous UV incinerated his friend.
Micah roared with fury.
Before he could say another word, he was
blinded by a sudden burst of shimmering silver light
that filled the entire alley.
 CHAPTER 12

Cold, bone-deep fear.

That’s what Phaedra felt as she and Jordana
burst out the side door of the club into the middle
of a vicious assault on Micah and the other
warriors. Neither she nor Jordana had been
comfortable with the order to simply wait behind in
a secured suite while the men went off to battle, but
then the panic downstairs erupted into full-scale
terror when a patron shrieked that the alley was
under attack by gunmen with UV rounds.
There hadn’t been any reason to doubt it.
Jordana’s blood bond to Nathan confirmed the
horror taking place outside.
Now, the two women stood side-by-side just
outside the door as the civilians scattered out of the
alley under a dome of silver Atlantean light that
Phaedra had cast over the area with a sweep of her
hand.
 She didn’t know how it happened, or how long
she could hold it. All she knew was the still-
thrumming presence of the crystal’s power—energy
that had enveloped her, infused her, from the
moment she’d drawn near the crystal earlier tonight
—and a desperation to shield Micah and the rest of
the Breed warriors and civilians from the incoming
barrage of bullets.
Bullets that were somehow enhanced by lethal
ultraviolet light.
They kept flying down from several snipers
stationed on the surrounding rooftops. But one by
one, the rounds hit the exterior of the shield she’d
created and disintegrated with harmless puffs of
blue smoke.
“Holy shit,” Micah said, throwing an astonished
glance at her. His eyes glowed hot amber, his Breed
pupils transformed to catlike slits and his fangs
enormous behind his parted lips.
He looked fierce and savage, menace rolling off
him. Yet the expression on his face when he saw
her—when he realized what she’d done for him and
his friends—was filled with a relief so profound it
nearly broke her heart on the spot.
She managed a faint nod, all her focus centered
on holding the shimmering light in place.
Jax threw one of his razor-sharp stars at the
corner of it, grinning when it ripped through the
shield without breaking the barrier. “We can shoot
through this. Let’s take the rest of these bastards
down.”
The team opened fire with a vengeance now,
safe inside the shelter of her light. Beside Phaedra,
Jordana smiled and gave her a grateful nod.
Her palms glowed with otherworldly fire. She
unleashed all of it on a gunman who had the poor
judgment to unload a volley of now-harmless UV
rounds on Nathan’s position. The pulse of
Atlantean power streaked through the darkness
with unfailing aim. The man flew backward off his
feet as if he’d been struck by a tsunami, his dying
screams echoing over the remaining shooters’
assaults.
A shot from Micah’s gun took down the last
sniper. The body slumped over the edge of the
building, his weapon clattering down to the street
below.
Silence fell over the alley. The stench of spent
rounds, spilled blood, and bitter smoke assaulted
Phaedra’s nostrils. The carnage had ended. It was
over. Thankfully, the awful ambush and the men
who’d perpetrated it were no more.
Jordana ran to Nathan, wrapping her arms
around him. He held her close, no one uttering a
single word.
Despite the quiet, Phaedra couldn’t seem to
release her hold on the shield of light that protected
her new friends . . . and Micah.
 He looked at her, his handsome face an
unreadable mask in the stillness of the battlefield
spread out in all directions on the other side of the
sheltering dome. Cast in the silver glow that
surrounded him, his gaze was as bleak as she had
ever seen it.
“Where’s Elijah?” Jordana asked softly, lifting
her head from Nathan’s chest.
Phaedra had wondered the same thing—until
she saw Micah take a step toward a scattered pile
of ashes that lay near an old dumpster not far from
where the rest of the warriors stood.
Jordana sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, no. No .
. . not Eli.”
She started to weep. Phaedra could hardly hold
back her emotion, either. Charming, larger-than-life
Eli. Gone.
Jax scrubbed a hand over his face, his dark eyes
glistening. Darion’s sober expression looked
controlled on the outside, but his gaze simmered
with embers, the tips of his fangs glinting as he bit
off a low curse. Even Nathan’s measured stare held
an edge of shock and grief.
Micah knelt beside the remains of his fallen
comrade and retrieved the thick leather belt that
bristled with sheathed weapons. Ashes carried on
the thin night breeze, skittering across the cracked
pavement.
Nathan broke the heavy silence. “I’ll call it in
to HQ.”
As the warrior’s deep voice rumbled into his
comm unit, Micah rose. Holding Eli’s weapon belt
in his hand, he walked over to one of the dead
gunmen. He kicked the body onto its back, then
crouched to remove the rifle and unused
ammunition from the dead man.
“UV rounds aren’t easy to come by,” he
commented, as tonelessly as if he were describing
the weather.
Nathan’s hissed curse drew everyone’s
attention. He’d ended his call, his normally cool
gaze lit with chilling fury. “The reports of the
Darkhaven attacks were a ruse. I just got word
from Gideon. Lucan, Tegan, Chase, and Brock . . .
they rolled out to all four locations and found
nothing.”
Jax’s fangs flashed. “This was a fucking trap.
Someone knew we were here and wanted to make
sure we had reason enough to come out for the
attack.”
Darion nodded. “The front exits were jammed
for a reason. We were supposed to leave out the
side alley, right into their crosshairs.”
Phaedra shuddered inside, horrified to imagine
the evil it took to concoct such a cruel plan. She
couldn’t keep her attention from straying to what
was left of Eli. In another few moments, the cold
breeze would erase him from existence completely.
 God, if it had been Micah who’d been taken by
one of those UV bullets too . . .
She looked to him, wishing she could run to him
the way Jordana had gone to Nathan. Not that
Micah needed comforting. She did. She wanted to
feel his strong arms around her and feel the
reassuring beat of his heart against her cheek.
None of those comforts were hers to want.
Wishing for them now was only selfish, no
matter how much she ached with sorrow over the
loss of Eli and the fear that it very easily could
have been Micah or any one of his brethren—if not
all of them.
Micah’s vacant gaze slid away from the dead
gunman. “This has Opus written all over it.”
Nathan gave a grim nod, holding Jordana close.
“We need to get back to base.”
“I’ll get the Rover,” Darion said.
Phaedra kept her hold on the light until Nathan
stepped over to her with Jordana and laid his hand
gently on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said
soberly. “It’s time to get you and Jordana out of
here now.”
She glanced past him to where Micah and Jax
were carefully collecting the fallen snipers’
weapons and ammunition. On Nathan’s nod, she
lowered her hand and the alley plunged into
darkness.
 CHAPTER 13

There was no talk of Eli’s death when they

returned. The anguishing news had already reached
the Order’s headquarters from Nathan’s call in the
alley. The women’s faces were drawn with shock
and grief, but Lucan and the rest of the warriors
greeted the returning team with a solemn, yet
determined, urgency.
“Let’s get to work,” he announced gravely.
“Daybreak will be here soon. We’ve got roughly
twelve hours to prepare for nightfall and the pain
we’re going to send back to Opus for what they did
tonight.”
Phaedra had never felt so helpless or bereft as
she did watching Micah and his comrades file
soberly into their war room together with the Order
elders and Zael, then quietly close the door behind
them.
Micah hadn’t uttered a word the entire drive
back to the mansion. Phaedra knew Eli’s death was
a void that couldn’t be filled, not with conversation
or sorrow. But the stoic response he’d shown in the
alley had hardened into a stony withdrawal by the
time they arrived at headquarters.
He’d retreated to a dark place, and the look in
his eyes chilled her to her marrow.
It was the same bleakness she’d seen in his gaze
when he spoke to her about his psychic ability to
hear the worst of mankind’s thoughts and sins. The
same bleakness that seemed to live somewhere
inside him, and made her worry that if he sank any
deeper into that abyss, eventually, he might not
come back.
Was the fear she felt for him just part of the
soul bond that neither of them wanted to
acknowledge? Did that explain how she could be
coming to care for him so deeply after only a
couple days’ time?
In truth, he’d been seared into her
consciousness—into her heart—from the moment
they came face-to-face in the Deadlands more than
a week ago. She had worried for him, mourned him
when she believed he’d been killed along with his
men.
She hadn’t wanted to feel anything for the
angry, violent man she’d encountered in the Rome
command center, but destiny, and her heart, had
given her little choice.
 Concern for Micah stayed with her for the next
couple of hours. Although Jordana, Jenna,
Gabrielle, and the rest of the women had tried to
make her feel welcome by inviting her to sit and
talk with them in the tranquil setting of the
residence’s library, she had been too restless to stay
for long.
Instead, she wandered the corridors of the
massive command center, torn between wishing she
had never left her quiet life in Rome and dreading
the dwindling hours before she would have to leave
to return.
One thing she knew for certain was she
couldn’t go without seeing Micah, whether he
wanted her company or not.
The warriors’ meeting had broken up several
minutes ago. She’d heard the rumble of deep voices
in one of the labyrinthine corridors as she paced an
aimless path up one hallway to the next. She didn’t
know where to look for Micah in the maze of the
compound, or even if she were permitted to be
there.
Rounding a corner, she nearly collided with the
big, muscled frame of Darion Thorne.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I was just—”
He frowned as she gaped up at him. His gaze
was too knowing, and filled with warning. “He’s
not in a good place right now. You probably don’t
want to be near him.”
 She let go of the breath she was holding. “No,
probably not. Do you know where he is?”
Darion’s mouth softened, though not by much.
He gestured to the empty corridor behind him. “I
saw him in the weapons room a few minutes ago.
Halfway down, can’t miss it. And Phaedra,” he
added, as she started to walk past him. “Thank you
for what you did tonight. If Micah won’t say the
words, just know that all of us—the entire Order—
is in your debt.”
She gave him a sad smile, wishing she’d been
able to help Eli too. “Thank you, Darion.”
He nodded, his innate honor and confident
bearing so much like his formidable father’s.
“Just be careful,” he said, then continued up
the corridor.
Phaedra headed in the direction he’d indicated,
her feet slowing as she reached an open doorway of
a room stocked with enough weapons and
ammunition to outfit the army of a small country.
Guns, blades, chains . . . even a wall lined with a
dozen swords of various lengths.
As she stepped inside, she saw there was an
adjacent room set up for target practice. Cold
fluorescent lights bathed the long, windowless
rectangular space in a harsh, clinical glow.
And there, standing opposite of the targets at
the back of the range, was Micah.
On one of the tables behind him were the large
pistols he’d used earlier tonight, now cleaned and
disassembled. On another table lay an array of
terrible-looking blades. He was still dressed in his
black combat gear, the scent of smoke and ash
hanging thinly in the air.
Without acknowledging she was there, he
picked up one of the daggers and threw it at the
target dummy at the far end of the range. It struck
dead-on in the center of the dummy’s chest, sinking
all the way to the hilt.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
Phaedra took a step past the threshold. “I
wanted to make sure you were all right.”
He still wouldn’t look at her, but she saw a
tendon jump in the side of his cheek in response to
her quiet expression of concern. “I’m just fucking
peachy. Another of my friends got ashed, Opus
Nostrum set us up, left us standing around with our
dicks in our hands, and there’s not a goddamned
thing I can do about it until the sun goes down
tomorrow.”
He picked up another blade and sent it flying.
The hard thump as it hit home between the
dummy’s eyes made Phaedra flinch. He retrieved a
third dagger and sent it after that one, then another,
and another. The target dummy exploded from the
rapid-fire impacts, chunks of flesh-like rubber
flying in all directions at the other end of the range.
Micah’s breath sawed out of him. His deep
voice took on a sharper, more dangerous edge. “I’ll
say it one more time. You should not be in here
with me.”
“I know that.” She walked forward, her steps
cautious but unyielding. “I know you prefer to be
alone, Micah. I know you think you don’t need
anyone, that you have to bear all of this pain alone.
But you don’t.”
He blew out a caustic laugh and turned to reach
for another weapon to launch but there were none
left. His back to her, he snarled, “If you’re
expecting me to swallow more of your Atlantean
soul bond fairy tales, save your breath. I live in the
real world.”
“So do I, Micah. I live in the same world you
do. The one where there’s pain and ugliness and
death. The same world, where there’s loss so sharp
and deep that when it comes, it hollows out a part
of you that you can never get back.”
He stilled as Phaedra stepped closer to him.
“Losing your parents to an accident centuries ago
isn’t the same as losing five of your closest friends
because of your own negligence. It’s not the same
as watching Eli fry right before my fucking eyes
tonight.”
“No, it isn’t,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t
talking about my parents. I was talking about my
husband.”
When he swung toward her, she realized why
he had avoided looking at her until now. His eyes
were lit with fiery sparks. His pupils had thinned to
the narrowest vertical slits in the middle of all that
amber fire.
“Your husband.” The growled words might
have been a question, but the sharpness in his
expression made it seem almost an accusation.
“What about fate and destiny?”
She shook her head. “Niccolo was mortal. We
met after I left the colony to live in Rome. My
husband was a kind, good man. Only a few years
after we fell in love, I learned he was killed in the
street after he tried to stop another man from
beating his wife. If I had been with Niccolo—if I
had been able to use my hands to stop his killing . .
.” She looked down at her palms, at the faint glow
that rose in them when she thought about Niccolo’s
murder. “But I wasn’t there. After I lost him, I felt
so powerless. I felt so terribly alone. Eventually, I
realized I could do something after all. There were
ways I could help other people, like the women and
children who have nowhere else to go. I could do
something to save them.”
Micah remained silent, his unblinking gaze
searing. Then he smiled, baring those deadly fangs
as if to remind her of the predator that lived inside
him. “Is that what this is about? Is that why you
came down here to find me? You think you can
rescue me, Phaedra?”
 She flinched at his cutting tone. The words
stung, but so did the way he seemed so intent on
pushing her away. He moved from where he stood
near the table, his big body vibrating with dark
challenge.
Prowling closer, he curled his lips back from his
fangs on a dangerous smile. “You think I need
saving?”
She knew he did. Deep down in the most tender
corner of her soul, she knew she might be all that
stood between Micah and the only thing powerful
enough to destroy him.
Himself.
She just wasn’t sure her heart was strong
enough to try.
“I don’t know why I told you any of this. It
doesn’t matter, not to you, anyway. No one matters
to you, not even yourself. You’d rather wallow in
your grief and anger alone.” She shook her head,
sad for him and furious at herself for being foolish
enough to care when he didn’t. “You’re right,
Micah. I shouldn’t be in here with you.”
When she turned to leave, his hand clamped
around her wrist. Her breath halted at the contact.
Her heart started to gallop, pounding so hard it was
practically all she could hear. Micah’s strong
fingers were like warm bands of iron that she
wouldn’t have been able to break out of if she tried.
But she didn’t try.
 No matter how furious the urge was to save
herself—and her heart—from breaking with this
dangerous male, she didn’t put up any fight when
he turned her around to face him.
In his eyes, an inferno raged.
His fangs were enormous, the razor tips
gleaming bright white as he pulled in a rasping
breath, then hissed it out on a curse.
“Is this your fate, Phaedra? Is this what your
precious destiny wants for you?”
Looking at him like this, with burning fury in
his eyes and dark, lethal power in both his grip on
her and in the dominating heat of his immense
body, she couldn’t think of any cosmic reason for
the two of them to have been thrust together.
And yet, he was the only man who had ever
stirred such a wild longing in her. The only man she
had felt was somehow a part of her from the
moment their eyes clashed for the first time in the
Dreamscape.
Fear and confusion made her palms warm with
the rising of her power. Not the shielding light she
had cast over the alley tonight, but the pulsing glow
that she and every other Atlantean could wield as a
weapon.
Micah must have felt the vibration through his
hold on her. He knew what she could do. He’d
watched Jordana throw her punishing light at the
snipers who’d been firing on them outside Slake.
 But Micah showed no fear with Phaedra. No,
he seemed to welcome her ire.
Drawing her closer with his grasp still locked on
her wrist, he brought her clenched, glowing fist up
near his face. “Do it, Phaedra. God knows, I’ve
given you enough reason.”
She made a small noise in her throat, one part
protest, one part foolish, desperate hope.
Hope that he would let her go.
Hope that he wouldn’t.
His gaze seared her. A low growl built in his
chest when she refused to give him what he
demanded. He ground out her name like a curse.
Then he hauled her against him and his mouth
closed over hers in a hot, unforgiving kiss.
The shock of his lips on hers sent liquid fire
rushing through her. The crush of his muscled body
against her curves ignited every nerve ending,
spreading like an electric current into her breasts,
her limbs, her core. He was hard against her, his
arousal an unmistakable ridge against her hip. She
moaned and it was a hungry, shameless sound, one
she couldn’t have held back if her life depended on
it.
Micah tore his mouth away from hers on a
snarl. “You shouldn’t have saved me, Phaedra. Not
in that alley tonight. Not back in those Deadlands.”
He scowled, his blazing eyes scorching her with
rage and desire. “You’re the reason I survived that
blast. I think I knew it then. After tonight, I’m
fucking certain of it.”
Had she saved him from the detonation that
killed his team?
Was that why fate had put her in the Deadlands
with him—because the power of the crystals would
never harm her, and his proximity to her had
somehow shielded him from the worst of the blast
as well?
He wanted to believe their destiny was a
mistake. She had struggled to accept it could be
true, too, but not anymore. Not when the thought of
him dying ripped open an ache inside her that she
felt all the way to her soul.
“I was so scared tonight, Micah.” The
whispered admission gusted out of her. “After it
was over, all I wanted to do was run to you and
never let go.”
She knew he had little use for tenderness or soft
emotions, but she couldn’t hold the words back. His
expression hardened as he studied her, but his hand
on her wrist and the one now cupping her nape
remained.
“And now?” he rasped. “What is it you want
now, Phaedra?”
“This. You.” She swallowed, already gone too
far and unwilling to retreat. “I want you.”
His wordless reply rumbled against her like
thunder. It was all the warning he gave her before
he lowered his head and took her mouth once more.
There was fire in this kiss too.
There was demand.
His tongue invaded her parted lips, the fevered
strokes stirring a wild need inside her. She knew
where this kiss was heading. It had been a lifetime
since she’d been with a man, but never had her
desire erupted so swiftly into raw, urgent need.
On a moan, she melted against him, pulling her
hand free of his loose hold so she could bring her
arms up around his broad shoulders and hold him
closer while he claimed her mouth in a blistering,
soul-shattering kiss.
The hand that released hers skimmed beneath
the hem of her shirt. The first brush of his fingertips
against the bare skin of her belly made her shudder
with desire. When he moved higher, palming the
sensitive mound of her breast, all of the heated
need coiling inside her spiraled into her core.
Micah broke their kiss, but only for a moment,
drawing back to look at her. The molten glow of his
transformed irises felt as hot as a caress on her
face.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have come in
here with me,” he murmured. “If you have second
thoughts, you’d better voice them now.”
Her breath was racing, shallow pants that
matched the speeding rate of her pulse. She
couldn’t find her voice, but she had no need for
words. Spearing her fingers into his short hair, she
pulled his head down to meet hers and let her
hungered kiss tell him everything he needed to
know.
“Ah, fuck,” he snarled into her mouth.
His hips bucked forward, driving the rigid
length of his erection against her. His free hand
went between her legs, caressing her sex over her
clothing. She wanted to feel his touch on her skin.
Faith, she wanted that and more.
As if he knew what she craved, Micah deftly
unbuttoned her dark jeans and tugged the zipper
down. His fingers dipped into her cleft, and he let
out a jagged breath when he found her wetness.
“Christ, you’re soft. So silky and hot.”
She whimpered a response, but it was lost as
soon as he began to stroke her tender flesh. When
he teased the tight bud of her clit, she cried out,
aching for the release his touch promised.
Micah kissed her deeper now, using those
skillful fingers to bring her to the brink of
shattering. Beside her, she heard the door of the
windowless target range close and lock on his
mental command. Then cool air hit her backside as
her jeans and panties fell to the floor beneath her. A
moment later, her feet lifted off the floor and all her
weight was held aloft on Micah’s powerful hands.
She didn’t know how he’d managed to free
himself from his own pants, but the thick shaft of
his cock now replaced his fingers as he stroked
against the slick folds of her sex. Pressing her back
to the wall, he rolled his pelvis into hers in a hard
grind, his eyes smoldering.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasped thickly, his
fangs filling his mouth.
Phaedra could only pant her reply. “Yes. Now.”
His jaw clenched in response. Shifting against
her, he angled himself into position. Then, with his
eyes locked on hers, he slowly filled her, inch by
heart-stopping inch.
She couldn’t help the carnal sound that
exploded from her lips.
He felt too big for her, too wild. And he showed
her no mercy at all.
Raw pleasure shot through her body at the
ferocity of him. Her head fell back as he moved
inside her, his hard, urgent thrusts breaking
something open inside her, flooding her senses with
an ecstasy she had never known. All of that
sensation swelled to overflowing, too intense to
contain.
Micah gave her no quarter. His tempo was
aggressive and unapologetic, driving her to the edge
of oblivion with every relentless stroke.
She welcomed every crushing pound of his
body into hers. She needed it every bit as much as
he seemed to. More.
Primal, unleashed power radiated from him, all
of that dangerous strength and fury as shocking as a
storm. It made her ache to be consumed. To be
obliterated by the savageness of his passion for her.
Her senses careened like a leaf caught in a
tempest, sensation like lightning in her veins and in
every fiber of her being. She had no choice but to
let the pleasure pour over her.
She cried out as the need inside her exploded
into a release that rocked her to her soul.
 CHAPTER 14

He knew it had been a mistake to let Phaedra

anywhere near him tonight, but damn if he could
conjure even a shred of remorse when he was
buried to the hilt in her soft body.
Her orgasm broke over her in violent waves.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful than
Phaedra’s face gripped in release. The fact that he
had been the one to give her that pleasure made
him feel like a god.
More than a god, for those prolonged moments
as she trembled against him, her tiny muscles
gripping his cock like a fist, he felt as if she actually
had been preordained to belong to him.
Soul bonded.
Fated mates.
All his dismissive comments and denials about
destiny having a hand in bringing them together
tasted as dry as ashes in the back of his throat when
Phaedra opened her dusky golden eyes and held his
stare as he thrust inside her.
“This feels so good,” she whispered, her lids
drifting closed again as an aftershock contracted
around his length in tiny ripples. “I wanted it to
last, but I’ve never . . . I didn’t know how good it
could be.”
He grunted, a smile tugging at the corner of his
mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m nowhere close to
finished with you.”
He wasn’t willing to pull out of her heat either.
With his unfastened patrol fatigues sagged around
his hips and his arms still holding her astride him,
he swung her away from the wall and carried her to
the edge of the empty weapons table.
Not the most romantic place he could think of,
but his need for her was too impatient to care. All
he knew was the pounding desire that flared even
brighter as Phaedra reached for his face and
brought him down for her kiss.
His chest pressed into her softness, their
clothing rasping between them with each hard
thrust of his body into hers. He wanted to be naked
with her. He wanted to take it slow and savor every
breathless moan that spilled off her lips, every
delicious tremor that shook her as she moved
beneath him.
That’s what he wanted, but his desire for her
refused its leash.
 He took her fast and hard and deep.
She fit him perfectly, and as the wet friction of
their joining ratcheted his need closer and closer to
the breaking point, his pulse hammered like a war
drum, blood surging through his veins. His heart
pounded with a rhythm that seemed to roar a single
word: Mine.
He’d felt that wild possessiveness even before
this moment.
God help her, she’d belonged to him from the
instant he spotted her in those scorched, barren
woods.
After tonight, a part of her would always belong
to him, although something reckless and untamed
inside him wanted nothing less than all of her. A
cowardly craving, and not only because she was
leaving tomorrow for the life she’d left behind in
Rome.
He wanted her in spite of the fact that she did
not—and could never—be his in any true sense of
the word. The Order was his calling. It was his life.
He had made his choice from the time he was old
enough to hold a weapon in his hand.
Fate and destiny be damned, but beautiful,
kind-hearted Phaedra had no place with him.
Except like this, right here and now.
Her pleasured cries as he brought her to another
explosive climax made his own release gather and
build. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get
deep enough into the yielding softness of her
body’s tight sheath. Lifting his head on a thick roar,
he watched her lovely face as she quivered and
sighed his name. His vision burned with the bright
amber that devoured his irises. His fangs filled his
mouth, the dagger-sharp points digging into his
tongue as he clenched his teeth and snarled with
the jolting rush of his hot seed as it exploded inside
her.
She arched off the table on a strangled scream,
her hands clutching the back of his head, her thighs
wrapped around his waist. Her body shook, soft
sounds of surrender in the shallow sighs that fanned
against his ear. Christ, he didn’t know how she
managed to feel both as fragile as a kitten and as
fierce as a goddess in his arms. It was an addicting
combination, one that could easily consume him.
That she was immortal, part of a race of beings
he’d long considered his enemy, was only a fraction
of what made his desire for Phaedra so dangerous
to him. It was her tender heart, her innate goodness,
that had awakened something disturbing inside him.
She had begun to make him long for something
more than the vengeance he’d vowed to have for
the deaths of his teammates in the Deadlands. And,
now, he had to add Eli’s slaying to that grim tally.
That vengeance should have been all that
mattered to him.
The grief and guilt he carried for all of those
lost lives would never go away, not even after he
had the retribution he was prepared to give his life
in order to have.
His dedication to that goal hadn’t faltered.
But if he wasn’t careful, his feelings for
Phaedra were going to keep staking more territory.
He only had room for duty. For cold, merciless
payback.
Or so he told himself, as his climax ebbed, only
to flare back to life with even greater ferocity.
It staggered him, how savagely he wanted her
all over again.
His need for her was animal, a feral hunger that
he’d never known before.
“Mine,” he uttered roughly against her mouth,
even though he knew it was no better than a lie.
She couldn’t be his. In a few hours she would
be leaving and he would resume the life he’d been
born and raised to lead.
Regardless of all those truths, he said the
reckless word again, unable to bite it back. “Mine,
Phaedra.”
She gasped his name on a broken sigh, and he
was lost to that wild, predatory need.
He wanted her. All the way to his marrow, he
wanted her.
God help him, now that he’d been inside her, he
was going to crave her every day of his eternal life.
As his arousal surged with renewed greed for
her, he didn’t know whether to curse the dawn that
would take her away from him in the morning, or
pray to hell it arrived soon.
 CHAPTER 15

When Phaedra woke up at daybreak alone in the

big bed of her guest room, she thought for a
moment that making love with Micah had only
been a dream. A fantastic dream, at that.
As soon as she moved on the soft mattress, all
the little aches and dull throbs between her legs and
elsewhere told her he’d been no dream. And she
couldn’t really call the raw passion they’d shared
making love, either. It had been something bigger.
Something explosive and uncontrolled.
A primal, undeniable connection that still
vibrated in her marrow.
In her very soul.
She had been so drunk on pleasure she hardly
remembered walking back to her room with him
after they’d rearranged their clothing and he’d
escorted her through the empty corridors of the
command center. The hard, still-hungered kiss he’d
given her at her door had left the ghost of a bruise
on her lips. She ran the tip of her tongue over the
tenderness that lingered there now, savoring the
reminder of Micah’s passion.
It was a bittersweet reminder, because although
he hadn’t said as much, incredible as their time
together was last night, it also felt like a goodbye.
Now that dawn had come, it might only be a
scant handful of hours before she would be
departing for Rome with Zael and Brynne. She
didn’t know if Micah would seek her out before
then. Her head said he wouldn’t, but her heart was
filled with a foolish sense of hope.
After telling herself nearly since she’d arrived
at the Order’s headquarters that she couldn’t wait
to return home, now she found herself merely going
through the motions of preparing to leave.
She took a long shower, then dressed for the
imminent trip. Her small bag didn’t require much
packing, so after arranging her long chestnut hair
into a loose ponytail, she left her room to look for
Zael and his mate.
She found them seated with Jordana in a cozy
garden courtyard just outside the mansion’s large
kitchen. As soon as Brynne saw Phaedra
approaching the French doors that opened onto the
sunlit stone patio, she motioned for Phaedra to join
them.
“There you are,” Zael’s daywalker mate said,
greeting her with a warm smile. “After the night
you had, we were reluctant to wake you too early
for breakfast.”
Faith, did they all know what she’d been doing
with Micah? Phaedra hadn’t blushed in nearly a
thousand years, but she couldn’t help the little jolt
of embarrassment that seeped into her face.
She sat down in the vacant chair Brynne had
indicated. The table had been set with a basket of
freshly baked croissants and pastries, as well as a
carafe of delicious-smelling coffee and a pot of
aromatic tea.
“Please, help yourself,” Brynne said, nudging
the basket of baked goods toward her.
Phaedra placed an apple-stuffed pastry on her
plate, then poured some tea into the delicate bone
china cup in front of her. As she took a sip, she felt
all three pairs of eyes studying her in curious
silence.
“How are you feeling?” Jordana asked, tilting
her head.
“I’m fine. Is anything wrong?”
Even Zael appeared concerned. His golden
brows furrowed over his tropical blue eyes. “I’ve
never known anyone who could cast light the way
Jordana says you did last night.”
“Oh.” So that’s what this was about. Phaedra
exhaled, her awkwardness instantly put aside. “I
didn’t realize I could do it, either.”
 Zael grunted. “It’s an extraordinary gift. Not
even your parents had that kind of power.”
“They didn’t?”
He slowly shook his head. “You had no idea
you had this ability?”
She set her teacup down. “I didn’t think I’d
been born with any particular gifts, other than the
one all Atlanteans possess, to wield the energy that
lives in our palms.”
“That’s gift enough for anyone, but this . . .” He
stared at her in quiet contemplation for a moment.
“Have you ever held one of the crystals in your
hands before?”
“Never. Selene had forbidden anyone to touch
the five that belonged to the realm, as I’m sure you
know. The one that was taken to the colony was
always kept under protection there, too. I never had
any reason to touch any of the crystals.”
He nodded. “But your connection to them is
unique among all of our people, Phaedra. Even
Selene. Your parents gave a piece of themselves to
create those power sources that have protected
Atlantis and given our people the enduring light we
require to survive. Maenos and Sindarah are a part
of the crystals. By extension, so are you.”
“Do you have any idea how remarkable you
are?” Brynne asked.
Jordana nodded, her expression a mix of
gratitude and awe. “If you hadn’t been there last
night, we would have lost everyone. If you hadn’t
done what you did, Phaedra, I would have lost
Nathan.”
Yet for all their astonishment and praise, the
three of them seemed too sober for her peace of
mind. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“The light,” Zael said. “That kind of power
cannot be wielded without consequences. Any time
one of us uses the power in our palms, it sends a
ripple of energy through the rest of our people. It
does not go unnoticed by any of our kind.”
Phaedra swallowed. She knew that, of course.
It was a common acceptance among all Atlanteans,
a truth she rarely considered because it was beyond
rare that she ever summoned the light that lived in
her hands.
Not because she had any reason to hide, but
because she had willingly given up her Atlantean
ways when she’d decided to make her life among
the mortals with Niccolo all those decades ago.
Over the centuries, she had heard tales about
Selene’s loyal soldiers using the energy trails of
errant Atlantean fugitives in order to track them
down and execute traitors to the realm. Phaedra
had never feared for her own life when it came to
the queen. Selene’s respect for Maenos and
Sindarah had given Phaedra limited leeway with
her, even after Phaedra had fled the realm for the
colony.
 But Zael and the members of the Order?
Selene would give no quarter to any of them.
“Oh, no. I’ve exposed you all to her wrath now.
She has to know where I am, that I’m here with you
and the Order.” She pushed her plate away, her
appetite suddenly dried up. Her stomach pitched
and rolled with the dread of what she’d done. “I
never should’ve come here. Zael, you need to get
me out of here right away. It won’t be safe for
anyone if I stay. Selene will trace me here and send
her legion straight to this compound to attack.”
He calmly placed his hand over hers. “If Selene
wants to instigate a war with the Order, she will
already be taking steps to make it happen. I can tell
you from experience that she’s had that opportunity
already, but stayed her hand.”
Brynne nodded in agreement, exchanging a
private look with Zael before glancing at Phaedra.
“What we can’t afford to risk now is that she might
come after you for information to help her plan
such an attack.”
“Or find a way to use your power against us,”
Zael added.
That thought, more than any concern for her
own safety, chilled her to her bones. “So, what does
this mean, then?”
“You can’t go back to Rome now, Phaedra. It
won’t be safe for you. It especially won’t be safe
for the Order. Lucan has already made the decision.
He feels, and I agree, the best place you can be is
here, under the Order’s protection. Under my
personal protection as well.”
She couldn’t argue with the logic, but she had
responsibilities waiting for her back home. She had
people in dangerous situations of their own who
relied on her to keep them safe from harm. “What
about the shelter? The women and children—”
Brynne nodded. “We’ve already informed
Lazaro of the change in plans. Sia and Trygg will be
relocating to your house to manage things until it’s
safe for you to return.”
“When might that be?”
The fact that neither Brynne nor Zael had that
answer for her only reinforced the seriousness of
what the Order was facing. And now she had added
to those troubles.
She could hardly stand the idea that by trying to
protect Micah and the other warriors, instead she
had potentially endangered them all.
“I don’t think I can eat right now,” she
murmured, rising from the table on shaky legs.
“Will you all excuse me, please?”
 CHAPTER 16

It had only been a few hours since he’d been inside

Phaedra and he already wanted her again.
Or, rather, still.
After seeing her to her guest room, he’d spent
the remainder of the time before dawn bagging the
remains of the target dummy in the weapons room,
then trying to drown his hunger for Phaedra under
an ice-cold shower for nearly an hour.
It hadn’t worked.
The only hope he had left was the four
thousand miles that would be placed between them
once she was delivered back to her home in Rome.
He had done his damnedest to steer clear of
her, keeping busy down in the command center
with Jax and Darion, and avoiding stepping foot in
the mansion’s residence. The pair of nines he wore
on his weapons belt had never been cleaner. The
handcrafted titanium blade he’d dropped in a
nomad’s village after dragging himself across miles
of Siberian wilderness—the blade his father had
returned to him—had been sharpened to the finest
edge it had ever seen.
He glanced up from polishing the blade for the
hundredth time and found Darion staring at him, a
look of wry amusement on his face.
“Why don’t you just go talk to her?”
Micah went back to cleaning a nonexistent
smudge from the blade. “Talk to who?”
“The female who’s got your dick in a knot.”
“She’ll be leaving soon for Rome with Zael and
Brynne.” He looked at his friend and shrugged.
“It’s for the best.”
Darion arched a dark brow. “The fact that
you’re not even trying to deny there’s something
going on between you and Phaedra says it all.”
He set the dagger down on the table harder than
intended. “You got a point to make here, Dare?”
“Holy hell. You care about her.”
“Of course, he does,” Jax said, pausing his hira-
shuriken target practice to weigh in. The fury that
had cloaked them all after Eli’s killing had
galvanized into a cold purpose for the slain
warrior’s patrol partner. Despite his grief, Jax slid a
smirk in Micah’s direction. “You can’t fight destiny,
brother.”
Was that all it was?
Could this magnetic pull he felt toward Phaedra
be explained away so easily?
Was his desire for her simply a product of the
Dreamscape and some predetermined assertion that
they were meant to be? Or did his feelings for her
run deeper than some illusionary edict neither of
them had any control over?
Nothing about last night felt that simple to
dismiss.
The way her presence called to him now felt
too real to be discounted as just some cosmic
matchmaking gone awry.
And that made it all the more critical for him to
keep his distance.
Four thousand miles would be a decent start.
It would have to be. And the sooner, the better.
“She’s probably packing up to go as we speak,”
he said, feeling like a first-class asshole for
purposely allowing her to leave without a word
from him after what they’d shared a few hours ago.
“Phaedra doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong
with me. As for destiny, it’s got no fucking place
here, either.”
His sharp statement was punctuated by the
vibrating buzz of his comm unit. He brought it to
his ear and listened as Lucan Thorne summoned
him for a one-on-one in the commander’s study
upstairs.
“Yes, sir.” He slipped the device back into his
pocket and shot a glance at his friends. “Duty
calls.”
Not a minute too soon, as far as he was
concerned. The last thing he wanted to do was
stand around talking about his feelings.
Eli’s slaying and the ambush Opus Nostrum had
executed demanded a swift and violent answer. If
Micah had anything to say about it, he wanted to be
on the front lines of the response.
Then he could get back to the business of
dealing with whatever had attacked him and his
team in the Deadlands a week ago.
With those thoughts putting a hard purpose in
his stride, he headed up the corridor.
As he rounded a corner, he spotted Jenna
coming out of the archive room. She held her
fingers to her temples, then she leaned into the
jamb of the open doorway.
Micah rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She frowned, slowly
regaining her balance. “I’m okay.”
“You were feeling off last night too,” he
reminded her.
“It’s nothing. Just a little woozy, like someone’s
scratching at the inside of my skull. It comes and
goes. I’ll feel better if I lie down for a few
minutes.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your quarters.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I think I do, Jenna.” He held out his arm, fully
expecting her to refuse. The fact that she didn’t
raised more than a little concern in him. He walked
her to the elevator, her arm still looped through his
as they rode up to the main level. “Does Brock
know you’ve been feeling like this?”
She gave a small laugh. “My overprotective
mate knows everything.”
As if on cue, Brock was waiting outside the
elevator doors as they opened. He reached in and
gathered Jenna close.
“Thanks, man,” he said, giving Micah a grateful
nod as the couple walked out together to make their
way to their quarters.
Micah watched them for a moment, trying to
ignore the pang of guilt he felt for dodging Phaedra.
He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but
damn if he wasn’t acting like one with her.
She had saved his life—twice, by his count.
Last night, she’d saved the lives of three of his
friends. And then she’d topped off that miracle by
giving him the incredible gift of her body. She had
given him the honor of her pleasure, uninhibited,
and so fucking honest, he would never be able to
lay with another woman without comparing
everything to Phaedra.
At the very least, he owed her a few words
before she was gone from his life forever.
Her guest room was just down the hallway from
Jenna and Brock’s quarters.
 The door was open, as it had been the last time
he’d stood there. At first, he didn’t see her. Then
she stepped out of the walk-in closet with an empty
hanger in her hand, about to make her way over to
her travel bag that sat open on the bed.
She froze when she saw him. “Micah.”
“Hello, Phaedra.” He forced himself to stay
outside the room, no matter how strong the urge
was to get close to her. He’d already done enough
of that, and seeing her soft expression as she stared
at him now was only inviting more trouble. He
cleared his throat. “I’m on my way to meet with
Lucan, so I’ve only got a minute.”
“Okay.” A hesitant smile played at the edge of
her lips. “Would you like to come in?”
“No.”
It was a lie and then some. He tried not to
notice the look of stung confusion that crept into
her eyes as he stood there, unmoving on the other
side of the threshold. It was the right thing to do.
Especially when everything male inside him craved
nothing more than a further taste of her.
He didn’t need any stronger reason to keep his
boots planted where they were than the flare of
arousal licking through him as he stared at Phaedra.
“I came by because I wanted to apologize for
last night.”
“Apologize?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I know you think
I’m incapable, but when I’m wrong, I do own up
for it. What I did last night with you was wrong. I
wanted you, Phaedra. Fuck, I’ve wanted you from
the moment I saw you in that Deadlands forest. But
it was wrong to give in to that desire. It was selfish,
and I truly am sorry for that.”
She set down the hanger she’d been holding
and slowly crossed the room to approach him. “I
don’t want an apology. I’m not sorry for last night.”
She stepped closer, until there was barely an
arm’s length between them. Her sweet fragrance
engulfed him, put his senses into a tailspin. Even
out of reach, he could feel the warmth of her skin.
He could smell sunshine in her upswept hair.
Another step brought her right in front of him,
and it was all he could do not to touch the satin
softness of her bared neck where her pulse
fluttered. His gums prickled with the stirring of his
fangs. He ground his molars together, fighting the
temptation to taste that ticking vein, along with all
of the other impossible urges he had where she was
concerned.
Her pretty mouth curved with a small smile.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Micah. I’ve never felt so
alive as I did last night with you.”
He groaned, low in his throat. He had been
hoping she’d make this easier on him—tell him
she’d made a terrible mistake letting him anywhere
near her, scream at him to stay the fuck away from
her, or maybe slam the door in his face as soon as
she saw him standing there.
He had been prepared for her outrage or
contempt. She’d be justified in either one. He’d
even been prepared for her tears and
recriminations.
But not this.
Steeling himself to her sweetness was more
difficult than facing off against an army of enemies.
She looked so beautiful as she waited for his reply,
so damn vulnerable. She was an ageless, powerful
being, yet she stood before him with an uncertainty
in her gentle eyes that said he could break her with
a careless word.
He blew out a curse, raking his hand over his
head. “Being with you was amazing. I’m not going
to say it wasn’t. But it shouldn’t have happened. It
was on me to keep my distance, and I fucked that
up.”
“Micah, that’s not what I wanted—”
“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he snapped,
needing to say the words quickly, before he caved
to the urge to draw her into his arms. “I can’t tell
you I regret a second of what we did, because I
don’t.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“Fuck. I don’t know.” His head jammed up with
all the things he couldn’t say to her. How
extraordinary he thought she was. What a jackass
he’d been with her from the start. How sadistic fate
must be to throw them together the way they had
been, with their lives on two opposite paths—hers,
waiting for her back in Rome, and his on a
battlefield that was only getting bloodier and
deadlier by the hour.
That’s why it could only end now, before he
waded any deeper into his caring for her. The best
thing that could happen to either one of them now
was for Phaedra to be as far away from him as
possible.
He gave a harsh shake of his head. “I guess I’m
just here to say goodbye.”
She tilted her head, her brow creasing with her
frown. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“I’m not leaving. Zael and Brynne just told me
a few minutes ago.”
“What do mean you’re not leaving? Why not?”
The confusion drained from her expression as
she stared at him, replaced by something else.
Something that looked a lot like pain. “I have to
stay here. When I shielded everyone in the alley, I
also exposed my location to Selene and all the rest
of my people. I’ll be a target now, and some might
try to use me as a weapon against the Order. Lucan
has decided, and Zael agrees, the safest thing for
everyone is for me to stay here, under the
protection of the Order.”
 “Holy shit.”
He gaped at her, alarm spiking through him as
he processed what he was hearing. She hadn’t been
packing to leave; she had been ordered to stay.
Because of him. Phaedra was in danger now
because she’d helped him and his friends. That
selfless act had put a bullseye on her back. Micah’s
blood ran cold at the thought of anyone going after
her.
Selene. Her legion of loyal guards. Opus.
The list was too long, and too lethal.
Now he understood Lucan’s summoning him to
his study. Micah wouldn’t be surprised if the
Order’s shrewd leader didn’t already have some
inkling of the attraction boiling out of control
between Phaedra and him. Hell, his father probably
had some choice words waiting for him too—not
only as a parent, but as one of the Order’s top
commanders.
“Fuck.” Micah let the curse explode out of him.
“I have to go.”
“You’re disappointed.” Phaedra took a step
back. “No, you’re more than disappointed.”
He scowled. “I’m pissed at myself. For last
night, for letting things get so out of control
between us. For the fact that you had to risk
yourself to help me and my friends. I’m pissed at
myself for the way you’re looking at me right now.
I never should’ve let any of it happen.”
 A quiet breath fell from her lips. “Oh. I see.
Now I’m beginning to understand. You only wanted
me because you thought I was leaving.”
He stood there mutely as she moved farther
away from him. He wouldn’t lie to her and say that
hadn’t been part of what allowed him to give in to
his need for her. But he would have wanted her
regardless of whether she left or stayed.
He wanted her even now.
To keep from reaching out to her, he fisted his
hands at his sides. He clamped his jaw tight in order
to keep from saying things to reassure her. Things
that would only make it harder for him to keep his
distance now that she would be living under the
same roof with him for God only knew how long.
His comm unit buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t
have to look to know it was Lucan.
Phaedra continued to stare at him, a firmness
settling into her proud chin. That’s how he knew
she was really hurt. The tender, open-hearted
kindness that was so much a part of her began to
shutter as the moments passed and the drone of his
incoming summons continued to pulse in the silence
between them.
She blinked, and he caught a glimpse of the
formidable immortal that was also part of the
special woman he’d just wounded.
“You’d better go now, Micah. You obviously
have more important things to do.”
 She reached for the door and slowly closed it
between them.
 CHAPTER 17

On a sigh, Jenna closed her eyes, sinking into the

tub of warm water and frothy suds Brock had
drawn for her in their quarters.
The worst of her lightheadedness had passed,
but she couldn’t seem to shake the strange buzzing
sensation that had taken up residence in her skull.
For the past week, it had been a nearly constant
companion, as if a hive of bees had gotten inside
her cranium and were checking out the place.
Considering all of the other “unadvertised
specials” that came with the tiny piece of alien
biotechnology the Ancient had embedded inside the
back of her neck, this latest development seemed
like more of an annoyance than cause for alarm.
Even still, it was beginning to drive her a little
batty.
Brock’s strong palm lighted gently against the
side of her face as he took a seat on the edge of the
tub while she soaked. “How’s the water?”
“Perfect.” She opened her eyes and found him
gazing down at her in concern.
“Do you want me to take the buzzing away?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m okay, I
promise.”
Her big, tough mate who was so skilled at
combat and lethal force was also gifted with the
ability to soothe human pain with his touch.
Although she was evolving into something very
different from basic Homo sapiens since the attack
she’d suffered a couple of decades ago, at her core
she was still human. And no less head-over-heels in
love with the handsome Breed male currently
stroking his thumb over her cheek.
Brock’s dark brown eyes held her with so much
tender affection it made her heart skip a beat. She
turned her face into his caress and pressed a kiss to
the center of his palm.
“Why don’t you join me in here?”
His gaze flared with amber sparks. “You know
I’ll never turn down an invitation to get naked with
you. But first you need to close those pretty
peepers and relax for a little while. You’ve been
putting in a lot of hours in the archive room. Maybe
it’s catching up with you.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s
probably it.”
He reached around her to pick up a fluffy
terrycloth towel, folding it into a pillow for her. He
placed it behind her head, then leaned down and
kissed her. “I’ll come back and check on you in
fifteen minutes. I’m right outside if you need
anything.”
She nodded, practically purring as he traced the
pattern of an alien dermaglyph that swirled and
looped around her breast.
Settling back against the large soaking tub, she
watched him get up and leave, his long-legged
stride carrying him back into the spacious living
area of their private residential quarters.
Brock was right, she probably was spending too
much time working on her journals and diagrams
lately. It was hard to explain to him or anyone else
the obsessive kind of determination she had to
record everything she saw in her visions. It was as
much an outlet for her to try to make sense of the
memories she saw through the Ancient’s eyes, as it
was a compulsion to give the Order and their future
generations an understanding of who their
otherworlder fathers had been—even if those truths
weren’t always easy for them to hear.
Life . . . or death?
The words came to her like a ghost from the
past, the voice deep and airless. Inhuman.
She hadn’t heard that airless growl in years, yet
it was one she would never forget. It filtered into
her head now as if the creature from her
nightmarish ordeal in Alaska were standing right
next to her now. She knew that was impossible. The
Ancient was dead. His words were only an echo
across time, like the memories he’d left planted
inside her.
Life . . . or death? How it shall end depends on
you.
She hadn’t understood what he was asking of
her in those terrifying moments before he removed
the alien bit of biotechnology from his arm, then
held it out to her with an impossible choice.
Life or death? You must decide right now.
Jenna closed her eyes and slid down into the
soapy water, submerging her head in the hopes it
might douse the Ancient’s voice and ease the odd
sensation still droning in her skull. She popped back
up a moment later, sluicing the suds off her face.
She’d left a washcloth on the edge of the tub
somewhere. Eyes shut, she reached out blindly with
her hand to search for it.
Instead, she felt the sudsy water and tub
disappear and her fingers closed around the cold
grip of a four-foot blade she now carried at her
side.
No, not her fingers.
Not her blade.
She opened her eyes and found herself alone in
the dark, moving through the middle of a dense
boreal forest. Frost-coated leaves crunched
underfoot, the ground hard with the coming of
winter. A frigid wind blew through the branches of
tall pines and spruces, making her breath steam as it
rolled through her parted lips.
Not her lips. His.
The Ancient who had altered her life
completely all those years ago.
Like a video reel of his memories playing in her
senses, she got a front row seat to random snippets
of his life and the things he did while he lived, from
the mundane to the sadistic and everything in
between.
This was a new one.
He trudged through the tight clusters of trees,
heading somewhere with purpose. Overhead, a thin
crescent moon hung in the cold, cloudless night sky
as the sound of his brisk footsteps stirred small
animals to bolt from their shelters and scatter into
the underbrush.
He moved deeper into the forest, his gaze
trained on a peculiar formation of dark boulders
several hundred yards ahead in the darkness. As he
neared it, his pace slowed to a stop. Blade in hand,
he pivoted to scan his surroundings, his
preternatural gaze piercing the taiga, searching for
signs of trouble or evidence that he was being
followed.
Nothing but silence answered.
Not the halfling sons they had sired, only to
have the bastards scorn them as monsters and begin
to turn on them as enemies.
There was nothing around him but endless dark,
and the bracing wind.
Sheathing his blade, he swung back around to
approach a large formation of giant rocks that
jutted out from the uneven ground. One of the
boulders, the bulkiest of the group, stood taller than
even his seven-foot height. It was that one he went
to, pausing in front of it. He pressed his large,
glyph-covered hand against the stone. A vibration
hummed beneath his palm and fingers, and Jenna
realized it was taking a reading of his DNA.
With only the subtlest shift in the air, the entire
rock formation vanished. In its place was an
enormous craft that was nothing of this Earth. One
end of the huge ship had suffered severe damage.
Irreparable, by the look of it.
The Ancient pressed his palm to another panel
on the exterior of the craft and waited for the lock
to release. A large hatch lifted. He ducked beneath
it to step inside.
The interior was sleek and bare and cool, with
corridors going in several directions. He followed
one that led deeper into the ship. He paid no
attention to the banks of lifeless controls and
nonfunctioning monitors.
There was no need, after all. The vehicle that
had carried him and seven other scouting
conquerors from the dark planet they called home
would never make another journey again. Those
who had survived the crash that dropped them on
this primitive rock centuries earlier were marooned
here forever now.
Forced to skulk in the shadows like vermin
while the sun baked the planet a full half of every
day.
They should have been kings here, as they were
back home.
Instead they were hostages of the light.
He moved farther inside, heading for the
section of the craft where a collection of eight long
containers were situated. Several of the pods were
empty, their clear lids left open. The two others
held the bodies of the crew mates they had lost to
the killing sun’s rays shortly after their arrival.
Long accustomed to their presence, he hardly
glanced in their direction. Instead, he moved to the
ship’s command center, where he tapped a
darkened dashboard panel. It was here that the
heart of the craft continued to beat. The technology
powering this last surviving system was robust
enough to outlast all life on Earth, but the primitive
life forms existing here could not be allowed to
have it.
Neither could the race of otherworlders who
had also claimed a corner of this planet as their
own. Atlanteans, they called themselves. Light-
worshipping immortals whom he and his comrades
intended to hunt into extinction.
They had already made significant strides in
that direction.
His people would not rest until they had
finished them all, including their queen.
And if it seemed he and his comrades might fail
in that mission, they had agreed on a final solution.
He tapped a panel on the wide dashboard and a
familiar diagram illuminated below the glass. His
fingers moved over the schematic in a specific
pattern, leaving a trail of light where his touch had
been. It was a code he was entering, some kind of
sequence.
A detonation sequence.
After he was finished, he glanced at his
forearm. Beneath his glyph-covered skin, a rice-
sized object lit up with a pulsing, bright glow that
echoed the one still beating like a living heart on
the dashboard.
The Ancient’s interest moved on to something
else now. The press of his palm unlocked a small
compartment of the console beside him. It opened
for him, exposing a container the size of a child’s
lunchbox.
Its sturdy, silver metal sides gleamed, and he
handled it as if it were made of fragile glass.
He lifted the lid, his low chuckle the only sound
in the silence of the ruined ship.
 Inside the box rested a pair of egg-shaped
crystals infused with unearthly, mercurial light.
Enough energy to destroy Atlantis. Enough to
wipe out all existence on Earth.
Life . . . or death?
How it shall end depends on you.
Shock jolted through Jenna. The vision
dissolved as she sat up and let out a scream.
“Jenna. I’m here.” Brock was at her side as
soon as her eyes flipped open. “What just
happened?”
“The Ancient.”
She pushed herself out of the water, practically
falling out of the tub before he caught her and held
her upright.
“The two Atlantean crystals the Ancients took
from Atlantis,” she gasped. “I saw them, Brock. I
know where they are.”
 CHAPTER 18

She had never been a bigger fool.

The worst of it was, she had no one to blame
but herself for the hurt she was feeling.
After all, she had been the one who sought out
Micah last night, not the other way around. She had
gone into the weapons room to find him with clear
eyes and the full understanding of what might
happen if she pushed a dangerous male like him.
She had presented herself—and her heart—on
a silver platter. She shouldn’t be surprised that he
would take both and never look back.
Mine.
That’s what he’d growled against her lips as she
had surrendered herself to him so completely. She
thought he’d meant it. She had stupidly, blindly,
believed that he was feeling something more for her
than just the physical need they had both been
unable to deny.
 After the passion they’d shared last night, the
way they fit so perfectly, the way Micah looked at
her with such intense possessiveness and desire, she
felt as though she belonged to him and only him.
She’d nearly convinced herself that in spite of the
terrible way they’d met in the Dreamscape, destiny
actually had played a hand in bringing them
together.
She didn’t realize the claim he’d been staking
came with an expiration date.
Humiliation still burned in the pit of her
stomach long after he’d left to meet with Lucan.
Phaedra stowed her unpacked travel bag inside the
walk-in closet of her guest room, trying to put the
whole confrontation out of her mind.
The look of shock on Micah’s face when she’d
informed him she would be staying in D.C. for an
undetermined time replayed mercilessly in her
head. He had been more than surprised or
disappointed. He’d stared at her as if the floor had
just opened up beneath him. As if he couldn’t have
gotten any worse news than the fact that she was
not going to be boarding a flight for Rome at any
moment.
If nothing else, it was better that she understood
how he truly felt, even at the cost of her pride.
She’d lived far too long and endured more than
enough loss than to waste another moment feeling
like a fool for allowing herself to get swept away on
thoughts of fate and destiny.
Maybe Micah had it right after all.
Maybe their shared dream of the white doe in
the Deadlands was just that. Nothing but a dream.
Maybe soul bonds and fated mates really were
just a lot of Atlantean love-and-light bullshit.
She scoffed under her breath, reaching for her
phone to call Sia. She needed to feel grounded in
something real again, and a chat with her friend
was a good place to start.
Before her fingers had closed around the
device, a knock sounded on the other side of her
closed door, followed by Zael’s voice.
“Phaedra, are you in there?”
She set down the phone and went to let him in.
“Is anything wrong?”
“It’s Jenna. She had a vision a few minutes
ago.” The former Atlantean royal guard was never
one to rattle, but there was no mistaking the gravity
in his voice. “Jenna saw the two missing crystals—
the ones that were used to destroy Atlantis. She
knows where they are.”
Phaedra couldn’t hide her shock. “You mean
she saw them in the Ancient’s memories?”
Zael gave a grim nod. “There’s more, Phaedra.
She’s in the war room downstairs. Lucan has called
everyone in the command center to come and hear
what she has to say.”
She nodded, hurrying after Zael. They were the
last to arrive in the war room. Gideon and
Savannah were gathered around the large
conference table with Gabrielle and Brynne, Tegan
and Elise, as well as Sterling Chase and his
daywalker mate, Tavia. Micah, Darion, and Jax
were on the other side of the table beside Nathan
and Jordana. Micah glanced Phaedra’s way as she
entered with Zael and they took their places near
everyone else. As for the rest of the room, all eyes
were trained on Jenna, who stood beside Brock at
the end opposite of Lucan.
“Go ahead,” the Order’s leader said, giving
Jenna a grim nod. “Tell them what you just told
me.”
Phaedra listened in astonishment as Jenna went
on to describe what she’d witnessed through her
strange connection to the Ancient who had left his
indelible mark upon her before his death.
No one said a word as she relayed detail upon
detail of the Ancient’s trek through a dense boreal
forest where the alien wreckage had lain
undisturbed for millennia, cloaked on the ground
where it had crashed.
She told them about the advanced circuitry and
systems the Ancient had tried unsuccessfully to
repair, about the life pods and the pair of bodies
stowed in the rear of the ship.
And then she told them about the two
Atlantean crystals the Ancient had stored there too.
How he had programmed a detonation trigger into
the ship, then synced the protocol with the
biotechnology chip he’d carried in his forearm.
The same chip that now resided in Jenna.
“Life or death,” she murmured. “He made me
choose one or the other that night in my cabin. He
wasn’t just talking about my life, though. With the
crystals on board that ship, then should it blow, he
was talking about eradicating every living thing on
this planet. That trigger was set to detonate if and
when his life ended. Now, I’m the one carrying that
burden.”
“Holy hell.” Lucan’s deep voice was airless, his
face stark with obvious dread.
It was a feeling clearly shared by everyone in
the room, Phaedra included. No one said anything
for a long moment, the entire gathering gone silent
under the weight of what Jenna had just revealed.
Brock gathered her against him, his arm around
her shoulders as tender as his gaze. “I’m never
going to let anything happen to you, Jenna. I made
you that promise a long time ago, before we
understood anything about that damn chip and
what it might do to you.”
“Yes, you did,” she whispered, leaning into his
embrace. “I’ve never been this scared of what he
did to me, though. The changes in my body, the
awful visions . . . I can handle all of that. Making
me live with this is the cruelest part of his assault
on me.”
Brock kissed the top of her head. “We’re in this
together, baby. If you’re scared, you just keep
holding on to me. I’ll always keep you safe.”
“It’s been more than two decades since the last
Ancient died,” Gabrielle interjected quietly from
her place next to Lucan.
“Yes, it’s been twenty years since he died,”
Savannah said. “But he was held captive in
Dragos’s lab for about twice that long, and before
then Dragos had kept him in another kind of prison
for centuries.”
Elise nodded. “Which means Jenna’s vision
must have taken place during the time before. All
the way back to the Middle Ages.”
Tegan bit off a low curse. “So, that fucking
ship’s just been sitting out there abandoned and
forgotten in the Deadlands somewhere all this
time.”
“That would be the best scenario,” Lucan
replied.
Gideon exchanged a grim look with him.
“Considering the way our luck’s running lately, I
don’t think we can count on best scenarios.”
Nathan’s cool gaze flicked to the Order’s
leader. “There’s no such thing as luck, only
opportunities to be won or lost.”
“Well, this is one we can’t afford to lose,”
Sterling Chase said, abruptly standing up and
starting to pace. “We need to know where that ship
is before anyone else gets to it.”
“Damn right we do,” Micah agreed. “Since I’m
the only one of us who’s been in that godforsaken
stretch of scorched taiga, I should be the one to
go.”
Phaedra didn’t want to acknowledge the way
her heart lurched to hear him volunteer to return to
the area that nearly killed him once already. She
had to remind herself that he wasn’t hers to worry
over. Besides, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop
him from taking on such a dangerous mission even
if she tried.
That didn’t mean her heart had to agree.
“There is another thing to consider,” Zael said
soberly. “We may not be the only ones searching
the Deadlands in pursuit of the crystals.”
Sterling Chase glanced his way. “You think
Opus might have intel on the crystals?”
“That’s one possibility,” Zael hedged.
“But you’re talking about a greater threat than
that.” Darion’s deep voice drew everyone’s
attention. “You’re talking about Selene.”
Zael nodded. “How long ago was it that the
swath of Siberian land was rendered
uninhabitable?”
“Ten years,” Lucan replied. “There was some
kind of disaster in the region—nuclear or chemical,
it was never fully determined. Whatever happened,
it scorched hundreds of thousands of acres into a
toxic wasteland. To this day, no one has taken
blame for the event.”
“You think it was Selene?” Tegan asked Zael.
He gave a mild shrug. “If she suspected the
crystals might be hidden in the area, what better
way to dissuade anyone else from getting curious
than to cast the entire region into forbidding
Deadlands?”
Jax arched a brow. “If she made the Deadlands
a decade ago, can we be sure she hasn’t already
retrieved the crystals from the ship?”
“She hasn’t,” Phaedra said. “The crystals are
still out there. Nothing else could have created the
blast of light that hit Micah and his team.”
“You’re certain of that?” Lucan asked.
She nodded, feeling Micah’s eyes trained on her
from across the room. “There is no doubt in my
mind. I would never mistake their power for
anything else.”
“That’s not all,” Jenna added. “The ship is
protected, not only by the cloaking field that masks
it to the outside world, but by a lock that can only
be opened with a DNA key. I saw the Ancient press
his hand to a digital panel as he arrived at the ship.
It read his DNA before the portal unlocked for
him.”
Gideon leaned forward as she talked, a smile
edging his mouth. “So, you’re saying even if Selene
knew where the ship might be, she wouldn’t be able
to get inside?”
“That’s right.”
“Then, unfortunately, neither will we,” Tavia
interjected from the other side of the table. “Of all
of us in this room, Brynne and I are the closest
genetic link to the Ancient’s DNA. Not even you
Gen Ones are purer than us,” she said, glancing at
Lucan, Tegan, and Nathan.
Jenna nodded at Tavia. “You’re right. There’s
no Breed male or female here, be it daywalker, Gen
One, or otherwise, who would be able to unlock the
Ancients’ ship. The fact that Micah and his team
triggered some kind of defensive reaction from the
crystals when they got too close makes me certain
they’ve been integrated with the ship’s perimeter
security. Our best—possibly only—way to get
inside is by faking out the system. There’s only one
of us here who can do that.”
Brock let out a low growl. “Jenna. I know what
you’re going to say, and it’s out of the question.”
She glanced at him. “I’m the only one who
might be able to do this.”
“And if you can’t?” Scowling, he ran his hand
over his head. “Come on, baby. There has to be
another way. You know what’s at stake now if
you’re wrong. You saw it for yourself—that thing is
rigged to self-destruct if anything happens to you. If
the crystals really are inside, then any detonation is
going take the whole fucking planet along with it.”
“That’s exactly why I have to try. I’m our best
shot at getting inside that ship.”
Low conversation rumbled among everyone
gathered. Even Phaedra had her doubts that Jenna
should risk any amount of harm. Still, her courage
was remarkable.
Lucan stared at Jenna. “You sure you want to
do this?”
“I have to do it.” Her hazel eyes were
determined. “If we’re going to send anyone into the
Deadlands to look for the crystals, you’re going to
need me to come along.”
“Then I’m going to be there too,” Brock said,
his voice flinty with resolve. “You go, I go.”
She reached up, cupping his jaw in her hand.
“Lucky you, right? This is what you get for falling
in love with a cyborg freak of nature.”
“You know I’ve been all in from day one,” he
said, smiling. “No regrets, sweetheart. Not for a
second.”
“I’m in too,” Micah said, the finality of his
statement leaving no room for argument. Not from
his parents or Lucan.
Most certainly not from Phaedra.
“Send me along with them,” she said, turning
her attention toward Lucan. “If the crystals are still
inside the ship, I may be the only one who can
extract them without being harmed. I can also
provide protection for the team, as I did last night.”
“And alert Selene and every other Atlantean to
our location while you’re at it?” It wasn’t Lucan
who objected, but Micah. She didn’t have to look at
him to feel his disapproval practically burning her
from the other side of the table. “We can’t risk
tipping our hand, no matter the cost.”
“We can bring in some daywalkers,” Jax
suggested. “Aric and his new team in Boston are
only a few hours away.”
“Atlantean light isn’t the same as ultraviolet,”
Zael pointed out. “Daywalkers will be just as
vulnerable as anyone else, Breed or human.”
“Or any other Atlantean,” Phaedra added,
feeling the need to caution him as well.
He nodded. “Phaedra’s right. Any team going
near those crystals is going to need the kind of
cover only she can provide. Without her, this
mission is over before it begins.”
Lucan listened in pensive silence, then he
exhaled a low sigh. “As if we don’t have enough
shit to deal with already. We still need to respond to
Opus for that fucked up UV ambush last night.
Gideon, how are we doing on that lead you’re
working on?”
“The software worm is ready to roll. All I need
is a backdoor into one of Opus’s encrypted
networks and it’s showtime. Once we infiltrate their
digital link, there’ll be nowhere left for them to
hide.”
“We need to make it happen,” Lucan said.
“Jenna’s just given us a new Priority One but I
don’t want us taking the heat off Opus for one
bloody minute. Every one of those bastards is going
down, and I mean hard.”
“For Eli,” Jax said, giving a solemn nod.
Every voice in the room echoed the vow. “For
Eli.”
Lucan dropped his hand on the table like a
gavel. “All right. I’ll make my decision on the
Deadlands team and we can start putting that plan
into motion.”
With nods and murmured agreements, everyone
got up and started filing out of the war room.
Phaedra waited until the rest of the group had
exited before she stepped out to the corridor.
Micah was waiting for her after everyone else
had gone, a look of barely couched fury in his eyes.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
She hiked up her chin. “I don’t know what you
mean.”
“Like hell you don’t.” Sparks flared in his
lavender irises. “You’re not going on this mission.”
“I believe that’ll be up to Lucan, not you.”
She started to walk away from him, but Micah
caught her by the wrist. The tips of his fangs glinted
with his sharp, indrawn breath. “Goddamn it,
Phaedra. I can’t have you out there with us.”
 “Why, because you still think I’m hiding an
allegiance to Selene? I suppose you still hold me
responsible for what happened to your team in the
Deadlands too?”
It hurt more than she expected to think he
might believe she was his enemy. Didn’t he know
she would never do anything that would put his life
—or anyone else’s—in peril?
“Let me go, Micah.” When he didn’t relax his
grasp, she pulled her arm free and started walking
away.
“Phaedra.” A curse exploded out of him. Next
thing she knew, he was standing right in front of
her. “You say you can’t be harmed by the crystals,
but what if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not wrong.”
“But what if you are? Have you ever tested
your theory? The Ancients decimated the Atlantean
population using those two crystals. Not even you
could have held back the tsunami that took Atlantis
down.” He stared at her, his gaze intense and
unwavering. “Now, according to Jenna, those same
crystals are somewhere on board a ship that’s
rigged to blow to kingdom come. If we get this
wrong and that fucking ship explodes, the crystals
won’t protect you.” His deep voice lowered to a
choked snarl. “I won’t be able to protect you,
either.”
She swallowed, unwilling to imagine the
potential annihilation, the total loss of life. The
destruction of the entire planet itself. None of that
changed the fact that she had to be part of the
mission to retrieve the crystals. If anything, what he
said only made her role that much more crucial.
“I don’t need anyone’s protection. And you
have nothing to say about what I do or what I
choose to risk.”
“I think I’ve got more to say about it than
anyone else.”
“Why? Because you fucked me?”
His head reared back, eyes blazing. “That’s one
reason, yes.”
“What other reason could you possibly have?
Don’t tell me it’s because we met in the
Dreamscape. I’m well aware of what you think
about that. In fact, I’m starting to agree with you,
Micah. It is bullshit. And I’m not your problem.”
He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’ve
been my problem from the instant I saw you,
Phaedra. Meeting you in the Dreamscape had
nothing to do with that.”
She steeled herself to the look of resignation in
his smoldering eyes. She had already let herself
believe she meant something to him. She wasn’t
going to play the fool for him again.
“I will be going back to the Deadlands to help
locate the crystals,” she stated evenly. “And then
I’ll be going back to Rome, whether the Order
agrees or not.”
 CHAPTER 19

Phaedra must have packed and repacked her

meager belongings half a dozen times in the several
hours that had passed since her heated exchange
with Micah.
She wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever.
Tomorrow, she would be departing with him and the
rest of Lucan’s hand-selected team for the
expedition to the Deadlands. She had been
informed they would be flying in the Order’s
private jet to an airport in Kazakhstan where a
smaller, specialized aircraft would then transfer
them to the Siberian interior under the cover of
night.
Phaedra glanced at the outfit of black fatigues
and combat boots Brynne had brought by for her a
short while ago. The warrior’s garb was a far cry
from Phaedra’s supply of simple dresses, jeans, and
light tunics originally intended for her short holiday
at the colony.
There was a part of her that couldn’t wait to try
it on.
But there was another part of her that didn’t
want to rush the dangerous mission into the
Deadlands. Not only because of what they might
encounter in their search for the pair of missing
crystals, but also because when they returned—
successful or not—she would be leaving the Order
behind and resuming the life that waited for her in
Rome.
When she’d called Tamisia to explain this
further delay in her return, she was surprised to
hear her friend’s enthusiasm for working at the
shelter. Not that it should have surprised her.
During the many weeks Sia had assisted at the
shelter after her fall from grace with the colony,
Phaedra had witnessed her kind heart and tireless
work ethic firsthand.
The shelter’s residents couldn’t be in better
hands while she was away . . . or, should the
Deadlands mission go horribly wrong and she was
unable to return at all.
Phaedra didn’t want to consider all the ways
they might fail, yet it didn’t keep the troubling
thoughts at bay. Her soul was heavy with dread, not
only for the task that lie ahead, but also the
inescapable truth that no matter what fate might
have intended for Micah and her, reality was
pulling them apart.
After pacing restlessly in the confines of her
room, she decided what she really needed was
some air. She needed a few minutes to cleanse her
spirit and her mind, and there was always one sure
way for an Atlantean to do that. With the sun
already on its descent toward nightfall, she had
only a few spare minutes to soak up what she
could.
Phaedra left her room and walked to the cozy
courtyard garden she’d found that morning.
It was empty now, and she stepped outside to
the inviting patch of solitude.
Golden afternoon sunlight bathed the stone
patio and the colorful flower beds beyond. She
walked out to the middle of it and tipped her head
back, her arms spread wide beneath the warming
rays. The light fed her cells as much as it nourished
her soul. She drank up all she could, breathing
slowly, letting the sun’s gifts wash over her.
She didn’t know how long she stood there. It
wasn’t until she heard the soft crunch of gravel
under a delicate foot that she opened her eyes and
looked around her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Phaedra.” Micah’s beautiful
mother halted on one of the meandering garden
paths. “I was just taking a little walk. I didn’t
realize anyone was out here. Please, continue. I
don’t want to disturb you.”
 “It’s okay.” Phaedra shook her head. “You’re
not disturbing me at all.”
“Isn’t it lovely out here?” Elise gestured to the
inviting grounds that surrounded them. “I often
steal a few minutes to myself to visit the gardens
whenever Tegan and I come here. Being around so
much glorious nature helps me think.” A small
smile curved her lips. “It also helps me stop
thinking, when I’m worrying over things I can’t
control.”
Phaedra exhaled a shallow sigh. “I understand.”
“I’m sure you do.” Elise approached her,
nodding toward a small bench situated near a tall,
fragrant rosebush. “It’s too nice to go inside so
soon. Would you like to join me for little while?”
“I’d love to.”
They sat together in comfortable silence for a
moment, both content to simply admire the golden
light as the sun began to sink below the tops of the
trees. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark and the
warriors inside the command center began suiting
up to start their patrols.
“It’s not easy loving a member of the Order,”
Elise remarked, her gaze still fixed on the setting
sun. “Knowing they’re always surrounded by
violence and death, realizing there is the very real
possibility of losing them every time they go out on
a new mission. It never gets any easier.”
“No,” Phaedra said. “I can’t imagine it does.”
 “But loving someone is always a risk. It’s the
most important one we can ever take.” Elise turned
her head, her expression soft. “Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose it is, yes.”
Elise stared at her for a long moment, then
slowly nodded her head. “I understand you’ll be
leaving tomorrow with the team heading back to
the Deadlands.”
“We leave in the morning.”
“Look after him for me.”
Phaedra held the entreating lavender gaze that
was so similar to Micah’s. “Of course, I will. I’ll do
whatever I can to shield everyone on the team.”
“Micah would hate that I’m afraid for him. I
know I shouldn’t be. He’s every bit as skilled and
fearless as his father. He always has been so much
like Tegan.” Elise’s smile faltered a little. “I
suppose that’s exactly why I worry.”
There was something reassuring and grounding
about the idea that a six-and-a-half-foot-tall,
intimidating wall of muscle, might, and lethal power
still had a mother who fretted over him.
Phaedra worried too.
She worried that Micah was so intent on
pushing people away, one day he was going to
wake up and realize he had no one left around him.
Or worse, his refusal to let anyone in might send
him down a dark path from which he might never
find his way back.
 Phaedra feared for him for many reasons, but
right now, it was her heart she needed to protect.
“I don’t plan to return with the Order after we
complete our search for the crystals, Elise. My
place is in Rome, not here. I’m not afraid of what
Selene might try to do to me, and I will never allow
myself to be used to harm the Order or any of its
members.”
Elise nodded, studying her in pensive silence.
“You care deeply for my son, don’t you?”
Phaedra glanced down at her hands. “Our lives
are too different.”
“Because you’re Atlantean and he’s Breed?”
“No. Because I don’t think I have the courage
to let myself fall in love with him.”
“Oh, I see.” Elise’s placid tone indicated she
understood far more about that than she was letting
on. Phaedra looked up and saw a quiet sympathy in
the other woman’s eyes. “I was adopted as a child
by a well-respected, affluent Breed family in
Boston. I had everything I could possibly want or
need. Eventually, I fell in love. I became the
Breedmate of a good man, and we had a son
together, Camden. I thought my life was perfect. It
was perfect . . . and then it all fell apart. Quentin
was killed in the line of duty. Several years later,
our teenage son fell victim to a destructive narcotic
that turned him into a blood addict. Before I knew
it, Camden was dead too.”
 “I’m so sorry,” Phaedra said, reaching out to
squeeze Elise’s hand.
She had the sense there was a lot more to both
the story and the pain Elise was sharing. The fact
that she felt comfortable sharing what she had
made Phaedra feel an instant friendship with her, a
kinship that touched her deeply. It was a feeling
Phaedra regretted because she knew this, too,
would be lost to her when she returned to Rome.
Elise placed her other hand over Phaedra’s.
“When I met Tegan, I couldn’t have been in a
worse place emotionally. Our lives couldn’t have
been more different. Was I terrified to let myself
fall in love with him? You have no idea. But I
would’ve been even more afraid to live my life
without having taken that chance.”
Phaedra nodded. “It’s been a long time since
I’ve risked opening my heart to love. I was married
many years ago, Elise. He was human. He was a
gentle man. A safe man.”
“There’s no shame in wanting those things in a
mate.”
“I know. But I didn’t really find my purpose
until he was gone. A violent man killed Niccolo
when he got between the man and the woman he
was beating. After that, I opened my house to
women and children in need of protection. I’ve
been doing it ever since.”
Elise smiled. “You’re a bit of a warrior yourself,
Phaedra. And I think your heart has more courage
than you know. I can see why fate would want to
put you and Micah together.”
Phaedra shook her head. “I’d always believed
in destiny because my parents had that rare bond.
But if it was fate that made Micah and I meet in the
Dreamscape, shouldn’t it be easier for us to be
together?”
“That’s not something I can tell you,” Elise
said, her voice gentle. “The only place you’ll find
that answer is in your own heart. You and Micah
both.”
She rose from the little bench, glancing over her
shoulder as the last of the warming rays dipped
below the tree line. “The sun will be gone soon.
Are you coming inside?”
“In a few minutes,” Phaedra said.
“All right.” Elise folded her arms against the
rising chill and quietly returned to the mansion.
Phaedra sat there, watching night begin to fall,
and wondering if maybe she was the one who was
going to wake up one day and realize she had
pushed everyone out of her life.
 CHAPTER 20

“Need any help with that?”

Micah briefly looked up at the sound of his
father’s voice. “Nah, I’m good.”
He had spent the past couple of hours in the
weapons room selecting the equipment he planned
to take with him tomorrow when he and the rest of
the Deadlands team would be leaving.
Mostly, he’d been doing his damnedest to avoid
running into Phaedra after their clash outside the
war room.
If he didn’t steer clear, he was only going to
make her despise him even more than she did
already. Or, worse than that, he might do something
stupid like get naked with her again or tell her he
didn’t want her returning to Rome. Not because the
Order had deemed it best strategically that she stay
under their watch, but because he wasn’t ready to
let her go.
 Neither option was any good for her.
And he couldn’t allow himself to get any
deeper when it came to his feelings for her, either.
He had set his course a long time ago. He
couldn’t step off it now, when the Order was taking
hits from all sides and his duty as a warrior had
never been more vital.
Opening a cabinet that held an array of blades,
he chose a pair of curved daggers and tested the
feel of them in his hand. He put one of them back,
and the other went into a sheath on his weapons
belt.
“Your mother is worried about you heading
back to the Deadlands,” Tegan said as he stepped
farther into the room. “She won’t say it to you, but
I think you should know.”
Micah grunted. “It’s only an expedition. Locate
the ship, search for the crystals, and, hopefully,
bring them back with us.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Tegan said, but the
skepticism in his voice wasn’t missed on his son.
“If we run into problems with Selene or anyone
else, I’ll be ready for them.”
“You’re still itching for that fight, aren’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question. His father knew him
too well to wonder if Micah still burned with the
need to avenge his fallen team. Hell, they were
more alike than either one of them probably cared
to admit.
 “The five lives ashed in those woods demand
justice. I’m not going to stop craving that payback
if I have to spend the rest of my days looking for
it.”
“You sure you’re not looking to punish
yourself?” Tegan stared at him. “You didn’t kill
your men, Micah.”
He scoffed. “Didn’t I? We went into the
Deadlands on my command. I’m just as responsible
as anyone else.”
“If you hadn’t gone in, we’d have no idea the
crystals might be in the Deadlands somewhere.
Jenna’s vision of the ship in a forest could have
placed them anywhere. It was you and Phaedra
who provided the connection we’d be missing
otherwise.”
Micah frowned. “We can’t be certain the
crystals are there.”
“Phaedra doesn’t seem to have any doubt.” His
father’s unblinking gaze was inscrutable. “She’s a
remarkable woman. It’s too bad she’s got a civilian
life waiting for her return. We could use someone
with her incredible power, not to mention her
courage.”
Christ, Micah couldn’t argue that. Phaedra
would be—and was, in fact—an invaluable ally to
the Order. But courageous and powerfully gifted or
not, seeing her on the front lines of their battles was
the very last place he wanted her to be.
 “She’s going back to Rome after we finish in
the Deadlands,” he stated as tonelessly as he might
give a count of the rounds on his weapons belt.
“I thought Lucan decided she should stay under
our protection.”
“He did. Phaedra doesn’t care what the Order
thinks is best. She’s leaving.”
“I see,” Tegan said.
Micah scowled. “I’m going to ask Lucan to talk
with Lazaro Archer, see if he can put one of his
men on her security, even if they’ve got to do it
covertly.”
Tegan grunted. “I thought you might be the one
to volunteer for that duty.”
“No.” The denial tasted sharp on his tongue.
“I’ve already got a job to do. I intend to return to
black ops as soon as possible, if Commander
Reichen will have me. Not as captain of another
unit, but on my own.”
Tegan stared at him. “That would be a mistake,
Micah. You’re a good leader. Better at it than I was
or ever could be.”
The praise was unexpected, but it was the
reflection in his father’s eyes that took him aback
even more. There was pride there. Even
admiration.
It took him a moment to find his voice. “I made
a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let my team’s
deaths be in vain. What other reason is there for the
fact that I survived and they didn’t?”
“Maybe the reason is upstairs preparing to walk
out of your life. If you let her, that is.”
Micah shook his head, surprised to hear that
advice coming from the formidable Gen One
warrior whose long shadow Micah had walked in
from the time he took his first steps.
“My life is this.” He motioned to the arsenal of
weaponry surrounding him. “This is what I’ve
trained to be. It’s what I know, what I’m best at.
My commitment to the Order has been my destiny
from the day I was born.”
“Yes, you are good at what you do,” Tegan
said. “I’ve seen a lot of warriors come through the
ranks over a lot of years, and you rose above them
all. But that doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice
everything else. It doesn’t mean you can’t be
destined for other things too. Better things, like
Phaedra.”
Micah let go of a low curse and ran his hand
over his tense jaw. “You really think fate has
something to do with the two of us?”
“I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”
Tegan chuckled, but there was a solemnity in his
eyes. “I can’t tell you anything about fate. I only
know what I see in you when you’re looking at her.
Trust me when I tell you, son, life is for the living. I
suggest you get on with it . . . before you let her
walk away.”
 Shit. The last thing he’d been expecting was a
father-and-son bonding session after a week filled
with deaths and disasters. Micah didn’t know what
to say. Not about his unsolicited advice, or about
the laser-sharp way he’d seemed to drill right into
the heart of what Micah feared even more than
failing at his promise to his team.
He feared the possibility that he might be falling
in love with Phaedra.
Fuck, it was more than a possibility.
The hollow ache in his chest when he saw the
hurt in her eyes today—hurt he had caused—had
not dissipated in the hours since. It had only carved
in deeper when he thought about her returning to
the life she’d left behind in Rome.
She wasn’t even gone yet and he missed her
already.
Tegan cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get back
to your work. Lucan wants everyone in the war
room in twenty minutes to review patrol missions
for tonight’s sweep of the city.”
Micah nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Tegan dipped his chin in response, then pivoted
to leave.
“Hey . . . Dad?” He paused as Micah called
after him, swiveling his head to look over his
shoulder. Micah swallowed, then gave his father a
smile. “Thanks.”
Some of the stone that seemed to enclose Tegan
cracked with the fond look he held on his only son.
“Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you. And
I’ll be proud of you. I always have been.”
Their gazes locked and held for a long moment,
then his father resumed his walk toward the
corridor. Before he reached the threshold, the
comm units both he and Micah wore on their patrol
fatigues began to buzz with an incoming
notification.
“That’s Lucan,” Tegan said, frowning as he
glanced down to read the display. “Holy shit.
Everyone’s needed in the war room on the double.”
Micah fell in beside him, their boots chewing up
the distance to the war room where the rest of the
Order’s on-site members were arriving at an urgent
clip too.
There was no need to ask why they had been
summoned.
Two large monitors on the wall were filled with
the same breaking news report from a swank
society gala taking place downtown. A stricken-
looking anchorman stared into the camera from his
studio as he described the situation inside.
“Again, this just in, we’re getting reports that a
private function being held at the city’s historic
opera house has been overtaken by a group of
heavily armed individuals. Our sources inside the
building tell us the men are holding close to fifty
hostages, among them visiting diplomats, business
leaders, and government officials.”
Lucan shot a look at Gideon. “We got any intel
on this gathering?”
“I’m checking now.” Data filled another
monitor in the room, halting on a page that
displayed a roster of Who’s Who in D.C. society.
“Ah, fuck me. You’re not gonna like it. The guest
list for this gala? It’s almost entirely Breed.”
“Jesus Christ,” someone hissed.
The news anchor kept talking, resting his finger
against the receiver in his ear. “What’s that? All
right, we’re getting new information. Apparently,
the armed men inside have a message they want to
deliver. Is someone getting me that video link?”
The anchor paused for a moment, then nodded at
the camera. “Okay, stand by and we’re going to
have that feed in just a moment—”
The broadcast abruptly cut away from the
studio. Filling the screen now was a live video feed
of a twitchy looking man with a pock-marked face
and a leering grin. He stood in a small office
somewhere inside the theater, holding an assault
rifle in his hands. He wasn’t alone. Half a dozen
more gunmen stood there too, clustered in a circle
around the perimeter of the room.
Kneeling in front of them in a bespoke suit
festooned with a colorful sash and a lapel full of
medals was a Breed male with his hands raised in
surrender.
 “Son of a bitch.” Gideon raked his hand over
his disheveled hair. “That’s the ambassador from
the Breed nation in Ireland.”
“Yes,” Lucan growled.
“What the fuck?” Darion paced closer to the
twin TV screens. “Those assholes holding him are
human.”
Micah realized it at the same time a cold knot
of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “And
those guns are the same kind that opened fire on us
outside Slake last night.”
“UV,” Jax confirmed grimly.
Scarface grinned into the camera someone was
holding in front of him. “Opus Nostrum has a
message they want to deliver personally to the
Order, specifically to Lucan Thorne.”
Silence fell over the war room at the thug’s
mention of the terror group. The Order’s wounds
from the ambush suffered last night were still fresh.
Now this.
“Opus demands Lucan Thorne’s immediate
surrender. If he does not comply, we have
instructions to start executing hostages. He has ten
minutes to get here. After that, every five minutes
we have to wait to take the Order’s leader into
custody, we’re gonna ash another one of these
fanged bastards.”
Micah glanced at Lucan, who stared at the
monitors with a look of cold menace in his eyes.
 “You can’t do it, Lucan.” Tegan’s voice broke
the awful quiet in the war room.
“He’s right,” Chase agreed. “There’s no
negotiating with Opus.”
Brock nodded. “Especially not when they’re
armed to the teeth with goddamn UV rounds.”
On screen, the gunman’s ugly face broke into a
manic grin. “One dead bloodsucker every five
minutes. And just so you know we’re serious,
here’s a little teaser.”
The handheld camera swung away from
Scarface and toward the pleading ambassador.
Then gunfire cracked from all of the Opus foot
soldiers, bullets ripping into their target. The liquid
UV went to work instantly. Mercilessly. The Breed
victim’s screams of agony filled the war room,
before falling into a hideous silence as his body was
consumed.
Then the screens went black.
 CHAPTER 21

Phaedra hardly recognized the woman staring back

at her in the full-length mirror of her guest room.
On a whim, she’d given in to the urge to try on
the outfit of black fatigues and combat boots,
expecting to feel awkward in the warriors’ attire.
Instead, she felt . . . empowered. She felt a little
badass.
More than a little.
She could hardly tamp down the amused smile
that quirked her lips as she smoothed her hands
over the form-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt. The
rugged black pants Brynne had given her were a
couple of inches too long, so she’d tucked them
into the tops of her lug-soled black leather boots.
She laughed when she imagined what Tamisia’s
reaction might be to seeing her normally reserved,
tea-loving friend dressed like a full-fledged member
of the Order. All that was missing was a weapons
belt bristling with daggers and firearms.
An urgent knock sounded on the other side of
her closed door, accompanied by Brynne’s voice,
brisk with alarm. “Phaedra? Are you here? I need
to speak to you. It’s urgent.”
She hurried over and opened the door. The
daywalker’s gaze took her in with a swift up-and-
down. If she had questions about her change of
attire, it didn’t appear there was time to ask them.
“Something awful’s happening in the city. A
gang of Opus followers have taken control of a
building downtown. They’ve got hostages—Breed
dignitaries and other civilians. They say they’re
willing to release them, but they want Lucan in
exchange.”
“Oh, no.” Phaedra’s heart sank.
Brynne’s expression took on an even graver
look. “Phaedra, there are more than a dozen of
them that we know of, and they’re all armed with
UV rounds. Just a moment ago, they ashed one of
the dignitaries on live video. They’ve threatened to
kill one hostage every five minutes they have to
wait for Lucan’s surrender.”
Phaedra swallowed. “What can I do to help?”
Brynne flashed a brief, but relieved, smile. “I
was hoping you’d say that. Come on.”
They ran through the snaking corridors toward
the weapons room. Nearly all of the Order were
already assembled and gearing up to roll out.
Gideon announced he would be monitoring the
operation from headquarters and holding the fort
along with Savannah, Gabrielle, Jenna, and Elise.
The hallway buzzed with hurried talk of unit
strategy assignments and the jostle of weaponry as
the men headed for the elevator that would take the
teams down to the fleet garage.
Through the hustling crowd, Micah’s gaze
found Phaedra. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel
the electricity of his penetrating stare, or the spiral
of longing it woke inside her. Nor could she deny
the jagged bolt of fear clutching her heart as he and
his comrades hastened to prepare for another UV
battle with an enemy force that had already slain
one of their own.
Zael and Jordana, also dressed in black like
everyone else, intercepted Phaedra and Brynne as
they arrived at the edge of the activity. Their small
group was quickly joined by Sterling Chase and his
daywalker mate, Tavia.
“Phaedra’s in,” Brynne said. “Do we have our
plan of attack?”
“Yes,” Chase said, “and our odds of pulling it
off just got better.” Turning a rushed nod and a
smile on Phaedra, he then signaled to Lucan and
the others that they were ready to move out. “Let’s
go. We’ll lay out the details on the way.”
They split up into two units. Chase, Tavia, and
Nathan took Phaedra, Brynne, Zael, and Jordana in
one of the Order’s Rovers. Micah and the rest of
the warriors followed Lucan and Tegan into a huge
black SUV that looked as heavy and indestructible
as a tank.
With Nathan at the wheel, Chase doled out
instructions for their covert support strategy their
team would be providing for Lucan and the others.
Phaedra prayed the plan would work. While
Lucan feigned his intent to publicly surrender in
front of the building, his warriors would be taking
up positions around the location at various points of
entry. Meanwhile, Phaedra’s team would be
infiltrating the theater from the roof and service
entrances with the goal of protecting the hostages
and eliminating as many UV gunmen as possible
until the Order could come in to safely rescue the
captives.
“Everyone ready?” Chase asked after Nathan
had parked the vehicle a couple of streets behind
the historic building. At the round of assenting
replies, he pulled his black knit cap over his light-
colored hair. The tips of his fangs gleamed as he
spoke. “All right, let’s get this done.”
They jumped out of the vehicle on silent feet
and made their way through the darkness to the
back of the old brick theater. Chase indicated the
zigzagging fire escape where Zael and Brynne were
to take Phaedra up to the roof. As they began the
climb, Nathan wrapped his arm around Jordana,
then leapt from the ground to a second-floor railed
balcony that circled the building.
Phaedra held her breath as she watched Nathan
stealthily unlock a pair of French doors then slip
inside with his Atlantean mate. Chase and Tavia
leapt to the balcony on the opposite side of the
building and went in from their assigned position
too.
Zael was the first onto the roof. Brynne hopped
up from the top of the metal fire escape, then they
both reached down to grab Phaedra’s hands and
hoist her up beside them.
A chill night wind skated across the roof tiles,
carrying the sounds of the video news crews and
curious spectators who had gathered in front of the
building after the reports of trouble inside. People
on the ground out front started to shout when they
spotted Lucan approaching by himself.
“That’s him!”
“Holy shit, Lucan Thorne’s actually giving
himself up!”
Phaedra exchanged a smile with her two
partners. The Order’s risky plan was moving right
on schedule. Now all they had to do was execute
their end.
Alongside Zael and Brynne, she stole toward
the roof’s access door Chase had shown them on
the digital blueprint they reviewed on the way from
headquarters. Brynne mentally disabled the lock
and the three of them slipped inside. On silent feet,
they moved onto one of the many catwalks two
stories above the stage.
The performance had been halted in a hurry, as
evidenced by the knocked over stage props and
vacated orchestra pit with its scattered chairs in
complete disarray. The sounds of panicked voices
and crying drifted in from the open doors of the
vestibule in the front of the theater, where the
gunmen had apparently corralled their hostages.
“Let us go,” one of the captive Breed males
pleaded. “There’s Lucan Thorne now. You have
what you wanted, you bastards!”
“Not yet, we haven’t,” came the smug reply.
“All you bloodsuckers stay put and do what you’re
told. We want a nice, big crowd out there before we
open these doors. Anyone gets brave and we’re
gonna ash another of you just for the fun of
watching you fry.”
Brynne eyes flashed with rage at the human’s
threat. She looked at Zael, giving him a short nod.
Then she stepped off the edge of the catwalk and
dropped to a crouch on the stage as silent as a
ghost. She started moving swiftly toward the doors
to the vestibule.
Zael listened to the earpiece connecting him
and Brynne to the rest of the Order’s teams and
Lucan. He nodded, then whispered to Phaedra.
“Everyone’s inside. I’m going down to help Brynne
get the hostages back into the theater. Tavia and
Jordana are closing in from their positions too.
Once we have them all inside, then you can shield
—”
“Hey, bitch!” A menacing shout came from the
theater below. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
Zael’s face blanched. “Brynne.”
His palms lit up with power—at the same time
the crack of a gunshot split the air.
Phaedra sucked in her breath. The UV bullet
wouldn’t have given Brynne anything more than a
puncture wound. That is, if she hadn’t been fast
enough to dodge it.
And if her Atlantean warrior mate hadn’t
unleashed a ball of light from his palms at the same
instant.
The human slammed against the wall from the
impact of Zael’s assault, dead even before his
broken body hit the floor.
Panicked screams went up from the crowd
being held in the vestibule.
The men holding them there showed the first
signs of alarm as well. One of them poked his head
into the theater.
“Fuck! Biggs is down,” he shouted into a
mouthpiece clipped to his jacket. “Repeat, Biggs is
—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish. Brynne let a
dagger fly. The blade now buried in the gunman’s
chest silenced him as he crumpled to his knees,
then fell in a lifeless heap.
“Hit the switch!” another of the Opus lackeys
bellowed from the vestibule. “Hit the goddamn
switch now and unlock the doors. We gotta get the
hell outta here!”
“What’s going on?” Phaedra asked.
Zael shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t like
it.”
Smoke started to filter in through the ventilation
system. It was bitter and strange, and tinted an odd,
reddish color. It billowed in more rapidly now, big
clouds of it beginning to fill the theater from all
angles.
Zael’s receiver rasped with an incoming status
from the Order’s teams. “We’ve got gunmen
fleeing for the basement exits over here,” Darion’s
deep voice reported. “We’re going after them.”
“Get out! Everyone, get out,” Brynne shouted
into her comm unit. She started coughing as the
smoke fell down toward her. She vaulted back up to
the catwalk, her irises lit with amber sparks.
“They’re pumping Red Dragon inside here.”
“Damn it,” Zael growled. “I need to get you out
of here. Phaedra, you too. Back to the roof with us.
Now.”
Down below in the vestibule, the Breed
civilians and diplomats started choking on the
narcotic fumes. The snarls and animal sounds they
made as the Red Dragon absorbed into their
bloodstreams put a chill in Phaedra’s marrow.
Their captors having abandoned their posts, the
Breed hostages had no one to keep them inside
their makeshift pen.
One big male in a tuxedo burst out of the
vestibule and into the theater. He tilted his head up,
spotting them on the catwalk. His lips peeled back,
fangs bared in rising Bloodlust. On a roar, he sprang
into the air.
Phaedra’s palms went hot with her alarm. She
released the bolt of light that built in her hands,
knocking the snarling Breed male back to the floor.
Another one stormed inside behind him, letting
out an unearthly bellow.
“Let’s go!” Zael shouted, hurrying away with
Brynne huddled close to him, her face buried in his
chest to keep from breathing any more of the toxic
air.
“What about the rest of them down there in the
vestibule?”
“They’re a lost cause. The Red Dragon has
them now. If I don’t get Brynne out of here, it’ll
have her too.”
Phaedra started running with them, panic like
cold lead in her breast. She only hoped Micah and
the other warriors heeded Brynne’s warning. Part
of her couldn’t bear to leave without knowing for
certain they had fled the building.
 She hesitated, needing to know he was safe. If
anything happened to him—
The thought cut off abruptly as an iron grasp
sank into her shoulder and yanked her back.
On a sharp cry, she wheeled around . . . and
found herself staring into the savage, bloodthirsty
amber eyes of the tuxedoed Breed male she should
have killed with her power.
His jaw hung open, revealing razor-sharp fangs
dripping with pink-tinged saliva. “Where do you
think you’re going, pretty?”

###

Micah’s vision burned raging amber when he saw

the newly turned Rogue in the fancy tux catapult
himself up to make a grab for Phaedra.
The Breed male may have been a gentleman
when he arrived at the theater event, but the clouds
of Red Dragon pouring in through the ventilation
system had made him a slavering animal. Putting
him down would be a mercy at any time now that
he was Rogue, but the male had made the mistake
of threatening Phaedra and for that, his death was
guaranteed.
Micah leapt up behind him with not even a
second to spare and drove one of his long titanium
daggers into the back of the Rogue’s neck. The
metal was toxic to a Breed vampire caught in the
throes of Bloodlust.
The body dropped off the catwalk, plummeting
to the stage below.
“Micah.” Phaedra stepped forward on a small
cry. “I didn’t want to leave without knowing you
were okay.”
“I’m good now,” he said, relief at finding her
unharmed pouring through him. He kept his words
to a minimum, trying not to breathe any more of the
poisonous dust. Grabbing her around the waist, he
used every measure of Breed velocity at his
command to flash to the roof’s open exit and bring
Phaedra outside to the fresh night air.
Zael and Brynne were there too. The Atlantean
had his hand resting on his mate’s back as she
doubled over and tried to expel the Red Dragon
fumes from her lungs.
“Is she all right?” Micah asked.
Zael gave him a grim nod. “She will be once I
get her out of here. Where are the rest of the
teams?”
“Clearing out of the building as fast as they
can.” Micah was still holding on to Phaedra, his
arms unwilling to release her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “You saved my life.”
He cocked a crooked grin. “I still owe you one.
Don’t make me have to pay it back.”
She smiled, reaching up to caress his face.
Christ, it felt good to be holding her, to be looking
into her eyes, even under shitty circumstances like
these.
Tegan’s voice sounded in Micah’s ear. “You
safe?”
“Yeah. I’m on the roof with Phaedra, Zael, and
Brynne.” Micah cursed under his breath. “Things
are fucked up ten ways to Sunday inside. That Red
Dragon they pumped into the vents has turned all
the hostages into Rogues.”
As if to underscore the grim situation, a loud
crash sounded from the front of the theater
building, followed by a burst of terrorized screams
and general hysteria.
“Ah, fuck,” Tegan hissed. “Those sons of
bitches let them loose. We’ve got Rogues pouring
out of the building down here.”
“I’m on my way.” He glanced at Phaedra,
reluctantly letting her go. “Stay here with Zael. I
will come back for you.”
He took off before she could argue with him,
which he was certain she was about to do.
Peering down from the rooftop at the front of
the theater, he watched in horror as a mob of close
to fifty Breed vampires rushed at the news crews
and spectators.
Left with no alternative, Lucan, along with
Tegan, Brock, Darion, and Jax had formed a line
and were taking out the charging Rogues as they
poured out and ran blindly to attack human prey.
 A hail of 9mm gunshots rang out. Titanium
blades flashed, spilling the blood of the Breed
civilians who, only minutes ago, had been among
the Breed nation’s most prominent citizens and
dignitaries.
All of it captured on live video being broadcast
around the city, if not the whole world.
Another goddamn setup.
Another direct strike on the Order from Opus
Nostrum. One that had now painted not only the
warriors, but the Breed as a whole, as savage
monsters who could only be controlled by death.
Micah cursed as he watched the carnage
worsen. Then he drew the hand-tooled titanium
blade his father had given him when he first joined
the Order, and he stepped off the edge of the roof
into the fray.
 CHAPTER 22

By the time it was all over, the stone steps outside

the old theater looked like a battlefield.
Blood stained the ground and pavement. The
bodies of dozens of dead Breed civilians lay where
they had fallen in their elegant evening attire. Some
of the Bloodlust-crazed victims had been taken
down by Order gunfire, others felled by daggers
like the one Micah still held in his hand as the
warriors regrouped in the aftermath of the
slaughter. The titanium bullets and blades were
already devouring the flesh and bones of the dead.
It would only be minutes before the corpses would
be gone completely.
Lucan’s eyes blazed as he pivoted to the news
crews, their spotlights still shining over the carnage,
cameras still broadcasting the grisly scene all
around the world.
“Haven’t you got enough fucking pictures? Get
out of here.”
The snarled command sent the reporters and
video crews scrambling to collect their equipment
and race to their vehicles.
Micah glanced across the way where Darion
and Jax were holding one of the Opus gunmen. The
group of humans had scattered like rats after they
sent the Red Dragon into the theater, but they
hadn’t gotten far. Micah’s comrades had killed all
but one. Scarface didn’t look so smug now that he
was caught between two Breed warriors and left to
answer to the Order all by his lonesome.
As for Micah and the rest of his team, it was
only by some miracle that none of the warriors had
inhaled enough of the heinous narcotic to turn them
Rogue. If not for Brynne’s early warning, this bad
night could have ended up even worse.
And then there was Phaedra.
Micah could hardly contain the urge to run to
her. She stood beside Zael, Brynne, Nathan, and
Jordana as he and the rest of the Order rounded the
building to meet them at the vehicles. Her private
smile as she watched him approach cracked
something open inside him. He had been telling
himself he could hold her at arm’s length, but all of
that fell away now.
She took a halting step toward him, then
paused, uncertain. He had no such reservations.
Closing the distance in a few swift strides, he pulled
her into his arms and held her tight.
He felt the eyes of his comrades on him, but he
didn’t give a damn. Let them stare.
He released her only so he could tip her chin up
and press his lips to hers for an all-too-brief kiss.
There would be time for more of that later. He
intended to make certain of that.
“Let’s roll out,” Lucan said. “Micah, you ride
with Zael. We’ve got to make room for this piece of
shit who’s going to tell us everything he knows
about Opus.”
Scarface struggled against the restraints locked
around his skinny wrists. “I don’t know anything,”
he whined. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”
“We’ll see about that,” Darion said, flashing his
fangs in the human’s face. “Come on, asshole.”
He yanked Scarface toward the rear of the
Order’s SUV and shoved him inside. They all
climbed into their respective vehicles and headed
back to the command center.
Phaedra stuck close to Micah for the duration
of the drive. He’d never known a braver woman,
but he could feel the depth of her shock in the small
tremors vibrating through her. What happened
tonight was enough to rattle even the most
seasoned warrior. He hated like hell that she’d been
there to witness any of it.
Everyone began to disperse once they arrived
at headquarters. There would be reports to provide
to the JUSTIS about what occurred, not to mention
all of the countless public relations and political
fires that would have to be put out now that video
of the incident was circulating to all corners of the
globe.
On top of that, the Order now had an Opus
asset they needed to take apart for intel.
Micah would have loved a front row seat for
Scarface’s interrogation, but he had something
more important to tend to.
He dropped a kiss to the top of Phaedra’s head
where it rested against his shoulder. “I’ll walk you
to your room.”
His arm sheltering her, they made the trek in
silence. Once inside, Micah closed the door and
followed Phaedra to where she paused near the
bed.
She stared at him, her pretty golden gaze
troubled. “The Order’s enemies are never going to
let up, are they?”
He shook his head. “Not until we stop them.
And we will.”
“How?”
“We’ll keep fighting. That’s what we’ve done
from the very beginning.”
“How do you do it, Micah?” Her eyes were soft
on him, as tender as a caress. But there was pain in
them too. Pain for him. “The violence that never
ends. The ugliness you have to face every time you
put on your patrol gear and go out there. All the
hideous things you have to bear because of your
gift. How do you keep it from consuming you?”
“I deal with it,” he said. It was an automatic
response he was so used to giving, it slipped right
past his lips now, too.
But she deserved more than that.
Reaching down for her hand, he traced his
finger over the silken skin of her palm. He could
feel her power thrumming there, the warmth of the
light she carried within her, not only as an
Atlantean, but as a unique, singularly extraordinary
woman.
“What I’ve done, Phaedra, is built a wall. Stone
by stone, one layer on top of another. Nothing
could get past it. Nothing ever did. No has one ever
gotten inside. Then I met you.”
She stared up at him, inhaling a shallow breath.
“I thought you only had room for the Order, for
your duty to their cause.”
He nodded. “If you had asked me that several
days ago, I would’ve agreed. I would’ve told you
that’s the only way it could be.”
“I’m asking you now, though, Micah.”
He brought his other hand up and stroked her
cheek. A storm of emotions swamped him when he
thought about Phaedra and what she meant to him.
All the words he wanted to say jammed in his
throat, inadequate and clumsy.
 It would take him a lifetime to express what she
had come to mean to him in only a handful of days.
He scowled, frustrated at his lack of eloquence.
“I don’t want you to go back to Rome.”
“That’s where my life is,” she said softly.
“That’s where my work is.”
He felt his brow furrow deeper. “It’s not safe
for you there. Not without someone to protect
you.” She started to draw back and he knew he was
fucking things up. “I know you’re strong, Phaedra.
I know you’re smart and resourceful. You’re the
most courageous and powerfully gifted woman I’ve
ever met. Yes, you’re immortal, but that doesn’t
mean you can’t be hurt . . . or that you can’t be
killed.” The very notion gripped his heart in a vise.
He blew out a curse as he caressed her beautiful
face. “I thought about that tonight, when I saw that
Rogue going after you. If anything had happened to
you—if you had gone into that theater tonight and
not come out . . .”
She turned her cheek toward his palm. “I felt
the same way about you, Micah. I don’t know what
I’d do if that Red Dragon had poisoned you like it
did those other people. Or if it had been you the
other night along with Eli when—”
He gave a harsh shake of his head. “I’m here.”
Lifting her chin on the edge of his hand, he
lowered his head and kissed her. Need erupted
inside him, but he kept his mouth gentle on hers,
unwilling to mistreat her the way he had the last
time he’d gotten close enough to kiss her.
She moaned as he moved his hands to her
delicate shoulders.
No, it wasn’t a moan. Not one of pleasure, that
is.
Hearing her sharp little intake of breath, he
realized she was in pain.
He pulled back at once, releasing her. “You’re
injured.”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
Taking the hem of her black shirt in his hands,
he carefully lifted it over her head. His gaze lit on
the purple bruise in the shape of four large fingers
and he ground out a low curse, recalling how the
Rogue at the theater had grabbed Phaedra as she
was trying to get away.
The edges of his vision burned amber with rage.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Micah, I’m
okay.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the dark outline of
the Rogue’s fingers. It was impossible for him to
ignore how her blood was gathered there, just
beneath the creamy velvet of her skin. Being
Breed, his hearing was acute enough to detect the
flutter of her pulse, which sped to an even stronger
tempo under his hungered stare.
He hadn’t fed in days. Too long, especially
considering he was little more than a week out from
serious injuries of his own.
But what he felt as he watched Phaedra’s
heartbeat throb in the graceful curve of her neck
and shoulder, he wasn’t thinking about satisfying
his need for nourishment or healing.
His thirst was something more than that.
The thirst to claim her.
To make her his alone, for as long as he lived.
Reining in all of the needs he felt when he
looked at her, he lowered his head and lightly
kissed the unmarked skin around her bruise. She
would heal soon enough, and while he knew his
beautiful Phaedra could withstand far greater pain
than what the Rogue’s punishing grasp had
inflicted, Micah wanted to take away every hurt
she suffered. Now and in the future.
Forever, if he had his way.
He lifted his face to hers, blown away by the
affection shining in her eyes.
And the desire.
Holy hell, her desire sparked a fire in his blood
now. It ignited all of the need he’d been fighting
since he brought her into the room.
Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her
toward him and brushed his lips over hers. Her soft
gasp against his mouth was raw with invitation.
Drawing her closer, he slid his tongue inside her
heated kiss, then gently nipped his way along her
jaw line. She said his name on a broken whisper. He
answered with a deep growl that unfurled from
somewhere deep within him.
“Christ, I’ve needed to kiss you again,” he
murmured, his breath harsh and heavy. “I’ve
needed to touch you again.”
Her shuddering little moan spurred his desire.
He reached between them to caress her breasts, his
fingers searching out the front closure of her bra
and snapping it open. He groaned against her mouth
as he stroked and kneaded the soft, buoyant swells
and the pearled peaks of her nipples.
Breaking their kiss, he bent so he could bring
one of the cherry-red buds up to his mouth. Her
head fell back as he suckled her, taking care not to
abrade her tender skin with the sharp points of his
fangs. The temptation to bite down and pierce the
soft flesh—to claim her by blood—was nearly
overwhelming.
On a snarl, he pulled back. “You look so
fucking hot dressed in combat gear. I’ve been hard
all night just from seeing you like this. Now, all I
want to do is strip you out of it.”
She gave him a saucy smile, her lovely face
flushed with arousal. “I want you naked too.”
They moved with urgent, determined fingers,
unfastening buttons and buckles and laces, tugging
at fabric and zippers. When the last of their
clothing and boots lay on the floor, their hands
found each other.
Questing fingers on bare skin.
Soft curves pressed against hard planes.
Hot, mingling breaths and a wild, escalating
desire that had both of them shaking with the depth
of their mutual need.
Micah brought her over to the large bed and
followed her down onto the mattress. He stroked
her gorgeous face, then let his fingers trail along her
shoulder and onto the beautiful terrain of her body.
Her touch moved all over him too. He
shuddered at the feather-light feel of her fingertips
as she traced his dermaglyphs, anticipation
wringing him as tight as a coil as her exploration
continued downward, where the thick jut of his
erection rose between them.
Her grasp wrapped around his shaft and he bit
off a guttural curse at the arrow of pleasure that
shot through him. Then she began to stroke him,
her fingers moving from root to tip, making his
blood surge in his veins.
He took her mouth in a hungry kiss, bucking his
hips in time with the tormenting tempo of her
caress. He slid his hand down her silky curves and
over the pliant angles of her body, memorizing
every velvet inch of her on his way to the juncture
of her thighs.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he slid his touch
over the delicate patch of dark curls between her
thighs. She was drenched for him already, her clit a
tight knot at the top of her tender folds. He moved
his thumb in teasing circles over her flesh, then
slipped one finger inside her.
She moaned and arched as he penetrated her,
her tender walls constricting around his finger as he
teased her with what was yet to come.
“You feel so soft and wet,” he uttered thickly.
“Fuck, I need to taste you.”
Shifting lower on the bed, he moved between
her legs and spread her open for his hungry gaze.
Her sex glistened, as ripe and succulent as a peach.
On a growl, he lowered his head and took her
juicy sweetness into his mouth. Where his fingers
had been a moment ago, now it was his tongue
drinking in every tender part of her, savoring every
nuance of her pleasure.
He didn’t let up until she came, her throaty cry
exploding out of her as she shuddered and broke
against his mouth.
He could have devoured her all night, but his
own needs were a demand he could no longer deny.
He moved so he was kneeling between her parted
thighs, her legs wrapped around him. She stared at
him with pleasure-drunk eyes, her hands reaching
for his stiff cock.
She stroked him with both hands, her touch as
greedy and possessive as her immortal gaze.
“Please,” she gasped jaggedly. “I need you to
fuck me now, Micah.”
He wasn’t about to make her ask twice.
Shifting position, he covered her with his body
and entered her slowly, pushing all the way to the
hilt in one long stroke. She sucked in her breath as
he filled her, then moaned in protest as he began to
withdraw.
Together they watched their bodies joining,
then their eyes found each other and locked as they
settled into a deep, perfectly matched rhythm.
“You’re mine,” he growled as he rocked into
her. “I’ve known it all along. Even fate knows
you’re mine, Phaedra.”
“Yes,” she answered, her gaze fearless and
without a shred of reservation as she stared up at
him. “I never knew it was possible to love someone
so deeply, so quickly. But I do, Micah. I love you.”
It was more than he was prepared for her to
say. Everything about this woman was more than
he was prepared for. She was his. God help her, but
he belonged to her too.
On a low growl, he took her mouth in a rough
kiss. Passion had him in flames now. He was savage
with the possessive need that swamped him. He
was ravenous with thirst for this woman.
His woman.
As they kissed and moved together, he could
hear the strong beat of her pulse ticking at the side
of her neck. The sound grew, filling his head as he
pounded into the welcoming heat of her body.
Christ, the temptation of that vein was too close
to his mouth, too close to his fangs, which throbbed
with the demand that he make her his in the most
primal, permanent way he could.
On a curse, he broke their kiss and turned his
head away from her, his breath heaving.
Phaedra’s hands lit tenderly on both sides of his
face.
Slowly, she brought his blazing amber gaze back
to her. Understanding simmered in her shining
golden eyes. “I want it too, Micah.”
His reply was wordless, just a rough snarl of
warning. She shook her head, her stare locked on
him.
“I want this. I want you to do it.” She tilted her
head, giving him full access to the delicate column
of her neck. “Drink from me.”
Ah, fuck. Her plea burned away what little
control he had where she was concerned.
She clung to him as he drove deeper, unable to
hold back on the desire he had for her . . . or the
thirst.
“I don’t ever want to let you go,” he confessed
thickly, then lowered his head and sank his fangs
into her yielding flesh.
She cried out, flinching in his arms. For one
awful instant, panic gripped him. It was too late for
doubts now; there was no turning back what he’d
just done.
But she didn’t have any doubts. He could
already taste that truth as the first hot rush of her
Atlantean blood surged into his mouth. He had only
ever drank from humans, so the electric taste of her
came as a shock.
Holy hell, it was more than a shock. It was a
revelation.
There were no words powerful enough to
describe the flood of heat and energy and light that
poured into him from her vein. She lit him up from
within, her blood as sweet as nectar and as pure
and bright as heaven and the stars combined.
He drank more of her, unable to get enough.
He would never be able to get enough of
Phaedra. He’d known that even before his bite had
now cleaved her to him in an unbreakable bond for
as long as either of them lived.
And through that bond, he could feel the
overwhelming wave of her oncoming release.
Her pleasure intensified his own, until he could
no longer hold out against the force of it.
With a hasty swipe of his tongue over the
punctures he’d made, he sealed her wound and
began thrusting into her in a blind, desperate
rhythm. She raked her fingernails over his shoulders
as the first crash of her climax slammed into her.
He was right behind her, his release exploding
inside her. Holding her in his arms as they both
gave themselves over to the power of their
connection, he felt invincible.
He felt complete in a way he never imagined he
could.
And he couldn’t stop moving inside Phaedra.
Whether he was still hard or hard again, he didn’t
know. He only knew he needed to feel her around
him, for the rest of his days and nights if fate would
allow it.
Eventually, he would have to let her sleep. The
morning was going to arrive too soon, bringing with
it the mission to the Deadlands.
But for now, there was only room for pleasure.
Kissing Phaedra again, he pressed her beneath
him for more of what they’d just shared.
 CHAPTER 23

Phaedra woke at the edge of night and daybreak.

It was her favorite hour, when the moon and
stars still shone in a sky that hung suspended
between fading indigo and the lavender shades of
dawn.
Wrapping a thin shawl over the ankle-length
nightgown she’d slipped into before leaving her
guest room with Micah yet asleep in her bed, she
padded barefoot through the mansion to the
courtyard garden she loved.
A layer of fog swirled in the crisp morning air.
Like puffs of feathers, the mist danced over the
stone tiles of the patio as she stepped outside. The
gardens beckoned, their beds of red roses, pink
dahlias, and gold chrysanthemums glowing like
jewels against the dew-covered greenery.
She walked along the stone path, smiling to
herself as she thought about the hours she’d spent
with Micah. She never dreamed she’d find this kind
of happiness, this kind of fullness.
Absently, she brought her hand up to the side of
her neck where he’d drunk from her. To think she
had long considered the Breed to be a dangerous
race, one she should fear as the offspring of the
marauders who had decimated her people. She
hadn’t held the Order much higher.
Now, she had given her heart to one of them.
She had given Micah more than that. Her blood.
Her bond. Her soul.
She felt giddy in love, and as she strolled
deeper into the fragrant gardens, she could hardly
curb the joy that blossomed inside her. A small
giggle escaped her lips as she tilted her head up to
watch the stars twinkle defiantly in their last hour
before morning would come and chase them away.
She was so engrossed in her own contentment
she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the garden.
Feeling a soft stir in the air, she broke out of her
reverie and looked to the path ahead of her.
A handful of yards away, the white doe stood in
the swirling fog.
Phaedra drew in her breath. “Are you real?”
The ethereal animal pivoted away and trotted
deeper into the milky mist. She followed, hurrying
to catch up as the fog thickened and the tall hedges
turned one way, then another.
Breathless, Phaedra rounded a corner—and
there she was.
No longer the white doe, but a woman
illuminated in a soft glow.
She was tall and graceful, with luminous, gentle
golden eyes ringed in thick lashes and a face so
beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. The long dark
hair Phaedra remembered was now snowy white
shot with silver.
“Mother?”
She smiled. “Oh, Phaedra.”
A choked cry caught in Phaedra’s throat. “It
really is you?”
When she took a step forward, her mother took
a step back, giving a sorrowful shake of her head.
The thin outline of light that surrounded her
trembled with her movements. “You cannot touch
me, dear heart. I can only maintain this form from a
distance, and only for a little while.”
Phaedra swallowed past the knot of emotion in
her throat. So many emotions. Shock, amazement.
Regret that she couldn’t walk up to her mother and
embrace her, if only for a moment.
“It was you. The white doe in my dreams all
those nights—in Micah’s dreams too, leading both
of us into those barren woods.” Phaedra stared at
her, feeling a niggling confusion begin to seep into
her heart. “It was you in the Dreamscape?”
Sindarah nodded soberly. “It was the only way.
I had to reach you somehow. I had to take the
chance.”
“What do you mean? Take what chance?”
It took her mother a moment to say the words.
“Interfering with destiny.”
Now it was Phaedra who drew back. Her voice
came out hoarse, hesitant. “What are you saying?
What did you do?”
Yet even as she asked the questions, a cold
understanding settled over her.
“Phaedra,” her mother said, her careful tone
only making the dread worse. “The two crystals
used to destroy our realm must be found . . . before
their power can be unleashed again. Nothing is
more important than that, do you understand?”
She shook her head. “What does that have to
do with me?”
“Your father and I know where the crystals are
located, but we cannot retrieve them. They’ve been
kept somewhere no one from our realm can go.
Only the Order can do that. Only their human who
is no longer human.”
“You mean Jenna. Only she can access the
Ancients’ ship because of her changed DNA.”
“Yes.” Sindarah tilted her head, remorse in her
tender gaze. “What Jenna would not know is the
location of the ship, nor had we any way to make it
known to her. So, we had to wait. We had to hope
that one day, the tide would turn and we could
nudge fate in our direction.”
 “What does that mean? Nudged fate, how?”
“The warrior, Micah. When I felt his presence
near the barren forest several weeks ago, I knew he
was the one who could help. I could feel his honor,
his courage. I couldn’t reach out to him or guide
him while he was awake . . . so I led him into the
Dreamscape instead.”
Phaedra closed her eyes as the realization sank
in. “And then you led me there, too. Why?”
“Because only you would feel the crystals’
nearness. You were the bridge to connect their
location with the key required to retrieve them.”
“You used me,” Phaedra whispered. “You used
both of us.”
Her mother made a broken sound. “Would that
there had been another way, we would have chosen
it. But all our hopes rested in you, my dearest
heart.”
“So, the Dreamscape . . . it wasn’t real at all?”
Sindarah’s silence was answer enough.
Phaedra lowered her head into her hands and
blew out a heartsick sigh. “We believed it. We
believed all of it was true. The Dreamscape. The
soul bond. Our connection to each other. None of it
was real at all?”
Her mother’s expression moved from confused
to contrite. “I never intended to deceive you.
Please, believe that. I never imagined you would
think it was possible for an Atlantean and one of
the Breed to share a soul bond.”
“I didn’t at first,” Phaedra admitted. “We both
were so sure it had to be a mistake . . . and now it
is.”
A mistake discovered too late, after she allowed
Micah to drink from her only hours ago.
He would despise her for this. How could she
imagine he wouldn’t?
She despised herself for not realizing the
chances of them sharing a bond forged by destiny
was as impossible as she’d first thought it to be. It
was a ruse. A lie.
Faith, she had cost him so much.
She studied her mother, thinking she should feel
some amount of rage for the woman who had
manipulated fate itself to bring Micah and her
together for her own reasons. But she couldn’t
despise her mother for that. Not for anything.
And especially not when the love she had for
Micah felt nothing close to untrue, despite the
reason they had found each other.
That didn’t mean his feelings wouldn’t change
once he learned the reason for their meeting.
“Micah’s team was killed that night in the
Deadlands, Mother. He was seriously wounded,
too. Please, tell me you didn’t know you were
bringing them into harm’s way.”
“No, love. I did not realize there would be
danger . . . or death. I do know the warrior is alive
because you were there with him.”
“But not his friends. I couldn’t save them all.”
Phaedra thought about the road still ahead of her,
the mission back to the Deadlands where the
crystals—and the Ancients’ dangerous ship
awaited. “Why not leave the crystals where they
are? Why not let the Deadlands keep them along
with whatever is left of the ones who wanted to
destroy us? Mother, what if we fail?”
Sindarah smiled sadly. “You are more powerful
than you know, my daughter. You always were.
Your gift will guide you. It will protect you. But
nothing will save you or this world if the crystals’
power is unleashed to destroy it.”
Dread carved a chasm in Phaedra’s breast. “Is
that what’s going to happen?”
“I do not have that answer. If I could predict
the future, your father and I would still be with
you.”
Phaedra nodded, emotion choking her voice. “I
miss you both so much.”
“We will never stop loving you, my darling.
You have always been our greatest pride. And I’m
sorry for everything I’ve done.” The glow outlining
her form began to tremble. “I cannot stay much
longer. My energy won’t hold. I just wanted to see
you one more time. I wanted you to know the
truth.”
“I’m not going to see you ever again, am I?”
 Sindarah slowly shook her head, her silver-and-
white hair floating around her shoulders like the fog
that was now beginning to envelop her. “This is the
last time I’ll look upon you, but my love for you
will endure forever.”
Phaedra stepped forward. “Mother, wait—”
Sindarah’s slender hand rose, her lips forming
the word “Goodbye.”
Then she was gone.
Phaedra opened her eyes and found herself
naked in her bed, looking up at Micah’s handsome
face above her. Concern lined his mouth and put a
crease in his brow.
He touched her cheek with infinite gentleness.
“Were you having a bad dream?”
She couldn’t find the words to explain. She
wanted to dismiss the encounter with her mother as
merely a dream, but she knew it was real.
Micah smoothed her hair away from her face
and shifted beside her, gathering her close to the
warmth of his strong body. With his arms wrapped
around her, he pressed a tender kiss to her bare
shoulder.
“Everything’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got
you now, and I won’t let go.”
 CHAPTER 24

The Deadlands expedition team departed the D.C.

headquarters in the morning.
Micah still didn’t like the idea that Phaedra was
coming along, but he knew there was no persuading
her away from it. In fact, she’d seemed more
closed-off than ever in the hours before they
boarded the Order’s private jet with Jenna, Brock,
Zael, and Brynne for the thirteen-hour flight to
their first stop in Kazakhstan.
She had all but avoided him on the trip as well,
except to discuss mission details with the group or
pore over the sketches Jenna had made based on
the Ancient’s vision of the ship’s interior and maps
of where Jenna envisioned the vessel to be hiding.
Phaedra’s distance was driving him crazy,
especially after the amazing night they’d shared.
Her blood still thrummed inside him, warm and
electric. Through his bond to her, he knew
something was bothering her.
Worse than that. What he felt from her was
overwhelming regret.
Because of him?
Fuck, he hoped not.
He had left important things unsaid between
them last night, chief among them the fact that he
was in love with her. She had to know that even
without him saying the words, but she’d deserved
to hear them and not be left to wonder what she
meant to him.
If she was having second thoughts about letting
him drink from her, he wasn’t sure he could blame
her. Despite the fact that she had granted him the
honor, it had been a selfish thing to do. Just as it
had been selfish to presume she would abandon her
life in Rome to be with him.
Now, there would be no breaking his psychic
bond to her no matter where she chose to live. For
the rest of his life, he would feel her strongest
emotions. He would know her heart like it was his
own. As for his future, she would be the only
woman for him as long as either of them drew
breath.
Then again, he didn’t need a blood bond to
guarantee that. He was hers, and always would be.
That was pretty much what he’d told his father
and Lucan Thorne this morning, when he’d put in
his request for a new assignment with the Order.
 His gaze clung to Phaedra as she stepped away
from the worktable littered with papers, maps, and
schematics. With the rest of the team taking a break
from their strategy talks, Micah stood up and
followed her into the private lounge area of the jet’s
main cabin.
With little time left before they would have to
prepare to touch down at the Kazakhstan airport,
he couldn’t take the chasm of silence that seemed
to be opening between Phaedra and him. There
would be no time to talk once they transferred to
the military helicopter chartered to drop the team in
the Siberian taiga for the long trek into the
Deadlands.
Hell, he was already half out of his mind just
from not being able to touch her or kiss her all
these many hours of the flight.
He strode up behind her as she was gathering
her long brown hair into a thick braid for the
mission. The bared curve of her neck and shoulder
was too great a temptation for him to resist. When
he stroked his fingers along her tender skin, she
ducked out of his touch and whirled around to face
him.
He frowned. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” She swallowed, glancing away
from him and letting her unfinished braid swing
against her back. “I’m sorry I’m so jumpy.”
“Are you nervous about the mission?”
 She shook her head, her brow pinched. And
damn it, she still wouldn’t lift her eyes to his. He
caught her chin on his fingertips and guided her
gaze to him.
“You haven’t wanted to look at me or talk to
me since we got out of your bed this morning,
Phaedra. Tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
The strangled noise she made in the back of her
throat put his heart in a vise. She took a few steps
away, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him. “It’s
nothing you’ve done, Micah, believe me.”
Ah, Christ. He really had fucked things up,
then. Her face said it all. She stared at him in
uncomfortable silence, her expression anguished
and filled with remorse.
He lowered his voice and moved closer. “If I
pushed you too far last night . . . if I asked things of
you that you weren’t prepared to give me—”
“That’s not it. You didn’t do anything I didn’t
want.”
But he was still losing her. He could feel it
through his blood bond to her. “Was it something I
said, then? I shouldn’t have told you I didn’t want
you going back to Rome. I want you to live
wherever you’re happiest. That’s why I’ve put in a
request to be assigned to Lazaro Archer’s
command center.”
“Micah, you shouldn’t—”
“I’m in love with you, Phaedra.” He blurted the
words because he needed her to hear them, before
she tried any harder to push him away. “I never
believed in fate or destiny, but I do now. We belong
together. I feel it in my soul and I think you do too .
. .”
He had more to say—a lifetime of promises he
wanted to make to her—but his words evaporated
in his throat when he heard her quiet sob. When
she swiped at the trail of wetness that rolled down
her cheek, he couldn’t find his voice at all. Her
sorrow was all he could taste.
“It wasn’t real, Micah.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Us. The Dreamscape. It wasn’t real.” She
collected herself, but he could feel the struggle
inside her. She was heartsick. She was miserable
with guilt. “This morning, I saw the white doe. I
dreamt I was in the garden outside the mansion. I
saw the doe and I followed her. Except it wasn’t
the doe. It was my mother.”
“Your mother?” Confusion rolled over him,
even as the depth of Phaedra’s regret sank cold
claws into his heart. “I thought Sindarah was dead.”
“She is. For all that it matters, she is. But she
and my father somehow exist in the crystals too.
Micah, they want the two missing crystals to be
recovered. That’s why we met in the Dreamscape.
They needed us to help make that happen.”
“What are you saying? They used us?”
 She nodded, looking even more tormented.
“There is no soul bond between us. It wasn’t
destiny at all. We were never meant to be
together.”
He scowled. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s the truth,” she said softly. “We both
sensed it had to be a mistake in the beginning. It
turns out it was.”
It felt like a hundred years ago, not a handful of
days, when he’d thought of Phaedra with mistrust
and suspicion. Yes, he had dismissed the idea of a
soul bond with her as some kind of cosmic joke.
But now?
Now, she was everything to him.
Now, his life didn’t make any damn sense
without her.
Phaedra stared at him for a long moment, her
sorrow carving deeper—not only into her, but him
as well.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m so, so sorry,
Micah.”
She brushed past him and stepped into the jet’s
small lavatory and locking the door.
He stood there for a moment, unsure if he had
more fury for her parents, the crystals, or the fact
that both had not only thrust Phaedra and him
together but were now tearing them apart.
He didn’t have long to contemplate it.
The pilot came over the speakers to announce
they were on their descent into Kazakhstan. Their
ride into the Deadlands—and whatever future
awaited Phaedra and him on the other side—was
now only minutes away.
 CHAPTER 25

It took more than a couple of hours before their

feet touched ground in the Siberian interior. The
private helicopter transport that dropped them in
the taiga under the deep cloak of night had been
instructed to wait for their return, no matter how
long that might take.
Phaedra knew they had limited time to trek into
the Deadlands and get out. If they didn’t run into
complications or missteps, the threat of daybreak
would eventually force them back to the shelter of
the helicopter to attempt their search another time.
She did not want to fail.
Even though her heart yearned for Micah, she
was duty-bound as an Atlantean—as her parents’
daughter—to find the crystals and ensure they
could never be used against her people or anyone
else on this fragile planet they all shared. Her
parents had sacrificed everything to create the
crystals; now, it was her turn.
She was determined, but a part of her knew
only the hurt and shame she felt over Micah having
been unwittingly dragged into her parents’ scheme
as well.
His bewildered face haunted her, as she trudged
through the scorched forest with him and the rest of
their team. He’d been as stunned as she was to
learn they had been manipulated. As she’d feared,
he was angry too.
She had waited for him to tell her it didn’t
change how he felt about her, but, of course, it had
to matter. If he had loved her, even a little, it was
based on a lie. A trick.
Never mind her mother’s noble, if desperate,
motivations. She had meddled with destiny and it
was Phaedra and Micah who were left paying the
price.
“We’re getting close to the area I’d been with
my team,” he said, his long-legged pace slowing to
a pause ahead of Phaedra and the rest of the search
party.
“You’re certain?” Zael asked quietly from
beside the others.
With a curt nod, Micah glanced over his
shoulder, his gaze lingering on Phaedra. “I would
know this godforsaken stretch of woods
anywhere.”
So would she. The skeletal, blackened trees, the
dry forest bed crunching like brittle bones under
her boots . . . the darkness all around them.
She caught herself holding her breath, waiting
for the ghostly white doe to appear as it had so
unfailingly in her dreams before her tragic first
encounter with Micah in this same area of the
Deadlands. But she knew the doe wouldn’t appear
this time. Not ever again.
They were on their own now.
The team continued forward, pushing farther
into the scorched taiga in search of the large field
of boulders Jenna had seen in her vision of the
Ancient’s memory.
“You guys,” she whispered. “There they are.”
Phaedra and the rest of the group looked to
where she pointed. There, all but obscured by
Deadlands trees and moonlit darkness, stood a
jumbled clearing of massive rocks. On the whole
unremarkable, appearing to be nothing more than a
natural element of the forbidding terrain.
Jenna’s eyes gleamed with excitement—and
certainty. “We’ve found it. Better let me lead the
way. If I’m right, the ship will sense my DNA and
let us approach.”
No one asked what might happen if she was
wrong. They all knew the answer to that, and
Phaedra braced herself for the worst with each step
they followed behind Jenna.
They made their way over to the rocks, moving
swiftly and silently. Phaedra opened her senses,
waiting to feel the low-frequency buzz that would
tell her they were close to the crystals. All she
could feel was the heavy hammering of her heart,
and the slick rush of adrenaline through her veins
as Jenna led the team toward the largest of the
rocks.
Jenna glanced at Brock, a note of hesitation in
her face now that they had arrived. “In case I don’t
get the chance to tell you later, you’re the most
amazing thing that ever happened to me.”
He smiled. “Ditto, beautiful. I expect to hear it
again, and often, after we all get out of this
hellscape. So, open sesame whenever you’re
ready.”
Phaedra couldn’t keep her gaze from straying
to Micah in those breathless few moments as Jenna
stood before the boulder. If everything went
sideways in the next few minutes, she would never
regret giving her heart to Micah. She wanted him to
know that she loved him without a shred of
reservation or regret, and that she would continue
loving him to her last breath, whenever that
moment might come.
He stared back at her, his handsome face stern
with purpose. But then, something changed in his
shuttered expression. His eyes softened on her, his
mouth relaxing into a bittersweet smile.
Because he knew.
 Through his blood bond to her, he knew what
she was feeling now without her having to say the
words. He knew, and the look of yearning in his
eyes told her she wasn’t alone.
He loved her too.
All they needed now was the chance to start
over, to make it right.
Jenna drew in a shallow breath and pressed her
palm to the rock. “Oh, my God. I think it’s
working.”
No sooner had she whispered the words, the
rock she was touching vanished—along with the
rest of the field of boulders.
It was just as she had described to everyone in
the Order’s war room. With the concealing cloak
dissolved, what remained was an enormous, alien
craft. One end of the huge ship was clearly
disabled. The other, where the team stood, was
glossy and smooth, crafted of dark metallic material
that didn’t appear to have any seams or doors.
But Jenna seemed to know just where to lay her
hand. After a moment, a hatch that wasn’t visible
before silently lifted open.
No one said a word. No one so much as
breathed as the cavernous interior was revealed.
Dimly illuminated by small, glowing lights
somewhere inside, the ship sat utterly quiet and
still. True to Jenna’s description, just inside the
sleek main cabin of the craft, corridors branched
out in different directions, all of them empty.
Micah was the first to break the awestruck
silence.
“Let’s get to work,” he commanded quietly,
taking the lead with his natural confidence and
courage.
Phaedra and the rest of the group followed him
inside.
“This way,” Jenna said, heading for one of the
bare corridors.
They followed it to another chamber of the
ship, one that appeared to be the main command
center. Jenna strode forward to one of the
dashboards. After inspecting several of the
controls, she glanced over her shoulder with a look
of relief on her face.
“The detonation timer is dark. It must’ve lost
power over time or been deactivated when the
Ancient put his chip in me.”
Brock blew out a breath. “Thank God.”
“Do you remember where the crystals were
stored?” Brynne asked her.
Jenna nodded. She indicated an area in the
same chamber, while Zael walked cautiously
toward the collection of cylindrical pods arranged
on the far side of the large space.
“I’m going to have a look around over here.”
Phaedra felt Micah’s studying gaze beside her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowed.
“You’re uneasy about something.”
She frowned, giving him a small shake of her
head. “It’s just . . . the crystals. I don’t feel them
anywhere near here.”
Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Zael’s
sudden curse drew everyone’s attention.
He stood near the eight pods. “Jenna, how
many of these were empty in your vision?”
“Six.” She stopped investigating the control
panels and pivoted to face him. “The others
contained the bodies of two crew members who’d
died of ultraviolet exposure soon after the ship
crashed here.”
Zael’s expression was beyond grim. “Only one
of these has a body in it.”
“That’s impossible,” Jenna replied. “In the
Ancient’s memory, he’d been certain there were
two dead comrades in those pods.”
Phaedra’s stomach took a sudden plunge into
her boots. “That means there’s one of them out
there somewhere.”
“Holy shit,” Brynne hissed.
“We need to get out of here,” Micah said.
“Now.”
“The crystals,” Jenna said. “We have to find
them.”
Phaedra shook her head. “They’re not here. I
would feel them if they were here, and I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” Zael said, his eyes grave.
“They’re gone.”
Jenna raced back to the dashboard and pressed
her palm against the glass. “We have to look for
them, don’t we? We have to try—”
Brock stilled her hand with his. “Babe, we’ve
got to go. Now.”
Micah linked his fingers through Phaedra’s and
in a scramble of movement, they all hurried out of
the chamber with him in the lead. He skidded to a
stop as soon as they cleared the end of the corridor.
“Son of a bitch.”
There, on the other side of the open hatch,
blocking the only exit from the craft, stood a seven-
foot-tall otherworlder. Hairless, covered in
dermaglyphs that ran from the top of his bald head
to the full breadth and width of his bared torso, the
Ancient glowered at them with blazing amber eyes.
His huge fangs gleamed like daggers behind dark
lips that peeled back in a sadistic smile.
Micah had a gun in his hand the instant he
spotted him. He fired several shots, each one hitting
its mark. Brock did the same, to no avail.
Laughing, the Ancient pressed his hand against
the exterior of the craft.
“No,” Jenna shouted. “Oh, no. He’s going to
lock us in!”
Zael and Phaedra both unleashed the power in
their palms, sending twin balls of energy forward.
Too late. The light hit the inside of the sealed hatch.
 In less than a second, they found themselves
sealed inside the ship.
Jenna flew at the door, holding her palm to the
smooth metal in one spot, then another, and
another. Nothing happened. The door remained
closed.
Suddenly, everything got worse.
One of the dashboard panels behind them lit up.
The ship started to hum to life.
“Shit,” Jenna gasped. “He’s reset the detonator.
Oh, God, Brock. This can’t be happening.”
But it was.
“No,” Phaedra said, steeling herself. “Micah.”
She drew in a breath and suddenly he was there
with her, wrapping her in his arms.
Zael and Brynne huddled into each other, too.
Brock drew Jenna close, tucking her head under his
chin.
The entire world seemed to fall into a hush all
around them . . . right before the explosion tore
through the ship in a burst of blinding, unstoppable
force.
 CHAPTER 26

Micah opened his eyes and saw only light.

It spread out all around and above him,
diamond-bright and limned with a shimmering
silver glow.
The ship had vaporized.
No trace of the field of boulders that had
concealed it, either.
Micah and the rest of the team now stood in a
clearing, protected and unharmed by the blast that
had obliterated everything in its path.
Except them.
“What the hell just happened?” Brock
murmured.
“Are we dead?” Jenna asked, lifting her head
off his chest to look at the dome of light covering
them.
Shielding them.
They were all alive because of Phaedra.
 His extraordinary, miraculous woman.
His mate, whether destiny approved or not.
“Phaedra, you did this,” Brynne said,
wonderment in her voice.
Zael nodded. “This is her light. She saved us.”
She stood in the center of their small group, her
arms raised to hold the shield of light in place,
though her head was slumped toward her chest.
Micah went to her, smoothing her damp hair out of
her face.
“It’s over, love. You did it. It’s all right to let it
go now.”
She didn’t, or couldn’t, respond. Her head
remained bent forward, her eyes closed against her
pale cheeks. Worry settled coldly into his marrow
when he realized how much the effort had cost her.
“Phaedra?” He stroked her bloodless brow.
“Phaedra, can you hear me?”
Ah, Christ. She had to be okay. Reaching for
her outstretched hands, he gently brought them
down to her sides.
The dome shivered, then fell away like stardust.
The Deadlands went dark under the thin moonlight
overhead, and Phaedra slumped unconscious into
his waiting arms.
“Is she okay?” Jenna asked.
“I don’t know.” Micah scooped her up, panic
beating like a caged animal in his chest. She felt
boneless . . . almost lifeless in his arms.
 He threw a wild glance at the others. “I have to
get her out of here.”
“Go,” Zael said. “We’re right behind you.”
Micah didn’t wait. Holding her close he took
off, calling upon all of his Breed genetics to speed
him back to the waiting helicopter.
He hoped he wouldn’t be too late.
 CHAPTER 27

Warm waves rolled up the sand where Phaedra

walked, salty white foam sparkling on the tops of
her bare feet. All around her was the scent of
lemons and sunshine and sea spray.
The fragrances of home.
Not Italy. Not the mist-shrouded shores of the
colony, either.
Atlantis.
The way it had been before the annihilation that
swept it under the sea so many years ago.
The Atlantis she never knew, but dreamed of
from the time she was a girl living in the new realm
Selene had rebuilt for the survivors of the ruined
paradise.
Phaedra tipped her head to the indigo-and-
lavender predawn sky where the moon and stars
danced in the hour between night and daybreak.
Her favorite hour.
 And she had seen this sky before, not long ago.
Her heart ached with yearning to be back
where she belonged.
With Micah.
She didn’t know how long she’d been away
from him, but it felt like a lifetime. The anguish in
thinking their separation might last forever was
more than she could bear.
She took another step and glanced down as her
toe lifted a small shell out of the wet sand. It was
shimmering white and kissed with iridescent silver,
tossed in the surf and weathered into the shape of a
tiny heart.
The diminutive thing of beauty broke through
her sorrow to bring a smile to her lips. She
crouched and picked it up, folding her fingers
around it as though it were a precious treasure.
When she stood up again, she realized she was
no longer alone.
Micah was walking toward her from the other
end of the beach.
Wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, he strode
barefoot over the dusky sand, handsome and
strong. The sight of him was so comforting she
couldn’t hold back her smile. Nor could she hold
back her love.
Running to him, she threw herself into his open
arms. He lifted her off the ground, and she clung to
him, laughing as he held her and spun with her
under the starlight.
“Is this a dream?” she asked when he set her
back on her feet in the sand. “Are you real?”
He grinned. “Do I feel real?”
She ran her hands over his broad chest and
muscled biceps, then she cupped his squared jaw in
her palms. “You feel real.” Smiling, she rose and
brushed her lips over his. “You taste real.”
He stroked his fingers along the side of her
face. “I’ve been looking for you, Phaedra. It feels
like I’ve been searching for you all my life. Until
now, I thought I’d lost you. You are my destiny. So,
I came to find you and bring you home. Home to
me . . . as my mate.”
“But the Dreamscape—”
“I don’t care if we’re soul bonded or not. I
don’t care if fate disagrees with the fact that we’re
together. All I know is that I love you. I want you at
my side, in my heart, in my blood. I want you,
Phaedra . . . forever.”
Hope burst inside her and spilled off her lips in
a happy sob. “I want that, too. I love you as deeply
as any soul bond could bind me to you. Deeper
than that. I love you with every fiber of my being,
Micah.”
His lavender eyes began to glow with the light
from a thousand amber sparks. “I was hoping you’d
say that.”
Holding her face in his hands, he lowered his
head and kissed her. The feel of his mouth on hers
was better than any dream. Better than any joy
she’d ever known before him.
“I’m yours, Micah,” she whispered against his
lips.
He moaned in pure, masculine agreement.
“And I’m yours.”
Phaedra slowly opened her eyes. She wasn’t
kissing Micah anymore. The beach was gone.
Above her head it was no longer the starlit,
predawn sky, but a white clinical ceiling fitted with
a pale fluorescent light.
She abruptly sat up—only to realize Micah was
seated at her bedside, his head resting on his folded
arms at the edge of the narrow mattress. He lifted
his head and gave her a drowsy, sexy smile that
sent spirals of heat licking through her.
Her voice came out husky and quiet. “Where
am I?”
“The infirmary at the Rome command center.”
Although he sounded calm and in control, his words
were rough with emotion. “You’ve been
unconscious for two days. I’ve been waiting for
you to wake up.”
“The whole time?”
He slid his warm fingers along the side of her
face and into her tangled hair. “Where else would I
be?”
“I just had the strangest dream, Micah. I was
walking along the old Atlantis shore. You were
there with me.”
He smiled, unsurprised. “I know. I just woke up
from the same one.”
He opened his other hand, and in the center of
his palm was the white shell she had been holding
in the dream. She stared at that tiny, iridescent
heart and drew in her breath.
“Micah, I picked up that shell on the beach. I
was holding it when you appeared.”
He tilted his head, brows drawn together. “I
picked it up from the sand. I was holding it when
you appeared.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak for the
astonishment that poured over her. The realization
of what he was saying made her heart pound
against her rib cage. “The Dreamscape. We were
there, just now.”
His face registered surprise as well, before a
look of satisfaction lit his warm gaze. “What’d I tell
you? Destiny.”
He set the shell down on the small table next to
the bed, then moved in closer to her, bringing her
into his embrace as he kissed her deeply. His love
for her radiated from his touch and his lips as he
moved them slowly over hers.
Phaedra could have kissed him for hours, but
through her relief and elation, she recalled the
terrible last moments before everything she knew
turned white and silent.
She drew back from the pleasure of Micah’s
mouth, worry clutching at her. “Where is everyone
else? Jenna and Brock, Zael and Brynne. Are they
—”
“They’re all fine. Everyone is safe back in
D.C., thanks to you. You shielded all of us with
your light.” He smirked. “I’m racking up quite a
debt when it comes to you saving my life.”
She shook her head. “It’s you who’s saved
mine. I don’t ever want to lose you, Micah.”
“Not gonna happen, beautiful. Not ever.” He
dropped a kiss on her chin. “Besides, it seems
we’ve got fate on our side, after all.”
“Yes, we do,” she agreed, her amazement
settling into an acceptance that felt so real, so right.
But there was more that weighed her heart
down. She couldn’t dismiss the heavy feeling of
dread for what they’d discovered in the Deadlands.
“What about the crystals, Micah? What about
the Ancient who’s still alive?”
His face sobered. “I won’t pretend the entire
Order isn’t concerned about that. I’m never going
to lie to you. Of all the enemies we’ve faced over
time, this new one poses a threat beyond anything
we’ve seen before.”
She swallowed and nodded, loath to imagine
what an Ancient who’d intended to obliterate her
and her team in the Deadlands in one fell swoop
might be willing to unleash on the rest of the world.
“If he’s got the crystals, Micah . . . If he has any
idea what can be done with them—”
“I know,” he replied, without any effort to hide
the grimness of his tone. “No matter what happens,
we’ll confront it together. You and your safety are
my primary concern. That’s why I’ll be part of the
team here in Rome effective immediately. Lazaro’s
already given the okay—”
“Micah, no.” She shook her head. “You need to
be wherever the Order needs you most. So do I.
Right now, that means D.C.”
“What are you saying?”
“I want to go back with you. I want to help the
Order get those missing crystals. Whatever I can do
to help, I’m part of this now.”
He scowled as if he might refuse, but instead of
arguing he moved up onto the bed with her.
“You’re a part of me now, too. I don’t ever want to
feel what I did these past two days. I need to know
that you’re going to be with me forever.”
She caressed the hard line of his jaw, seeing the
sharp points of his fangs glinting behind his lip as he
spoke. “I want that too. I want all of you, Micah.”
He growled, low in his throat, before he brought
his wrist up to his mouth and sank those diamond-
bright tips into his flesh. Then he held the twin
punctures out to her.
Phaedra lowered her mouth to the wound and
ran her tongue over his blood. The power in that
first taste took her aback. His strength flooded her
as she drank, renewing her body and washing away
any doubt she’d ever had that the bond between
them was anything less than soul-deep and
destined.
He was the part of her she’d been missing all
her life, and as his blood roared into her senses, into
her every cell and fiber and particle of her being,
she knew that what they shared was eternal.
It was unbreakable.
Their bond, like their love, would outlast
anything . . . even time itself.

~*~

Thank you for reading FALL OF NIGHT!

I hope you enjoyed Micah and Phaedra’s story.
Up Next:
KING OF MIDNIGHT
 The epic conclusion of the Midnight
Breed series is coming later this year!

The line between darkness and light is drawn in

blood, and the stakes have never been higher.

Nothing less than the fate of the world rests in the

hands of the Order, and in one Breed warrior's
quest to thaw the heart of an immortal queen in the
final novel of Lara Adrian's New York Times and
#1 international bestselling Midnight Breed vampire
romance series.

Click to pre-order or learn more

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 About the Author
LARA ADRIAN is a New York Times and #1
internationally best-selling author, with nearly 4
million books in print worldwide and translations
licensed to more than 20 countries. Her books
regularly appear in the top spots of all the major
bestseller lists including the New York Times, USA
Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal,
Indiebound, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, etc.
Reviewers have called Lara’s books “addictively
readable” (Chicago Tribune), “extraordinary”
(Fresh Fiction), and “one of the best on the
market” (Romantic Times).

With an ancestry stretching back to the Mayflower

and the court of King Henry VIII, the author lives
with her husband in Florida.

Visit the author’s website and sign up for new

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 COPYRIGHT

FALL OF NIGHT
© 2021 by Lara Adrian, LLC
Cover design © 2020 by CrocoDesigns

eBook ISBN: 978-1-939193-35-3

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be

used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of
this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, without permission in writing from the
Author.

www.LaraAdrian.com

Available in ebook and trade paperback.

Unabridged audiobook edition forthcoming.