That the Siberian-born, battle-hardened warrior had been unable to finish the thought told Lucan just how deeply Niko’s concern went. Renata’s too. The tough-as-nails female who’d become a valued, highly effective member of the Order’s combat missions these past two decades was slumped close to her mate, her jet-dark hair drooped into her face but not quite masking the lines of worry there. Renata’s mercilessly lethal hands trembled a bit where they rested on the pronounced bump of her late-term pregnancy.
“We don’t have anything more yet, but we will,” Lucan told them. “We’ll get her back safe and sound, I promise you.”
He considered the kill op he’d sent Nathan on, its purpose to recover Mira and the human and shut down their captors with a minimum of noise or attention. Nathan’s skill and suitability for the job would never be in question, but the laboratory explosion and the killing of Jeremy Ackmeyer had blown their mission objective to pieces.
And the fallout from that disastrous event was creating newer, bigger problems of its own.
In just the handful of hours since the news of the prominent human scientist’s death broke, there had been a swift, and extremely vocal, public outcry for justice. An outcry made all the more troubling when reports suggested not only that rebels were involved but that the Order was partially at fault for his abduction and resulting murder.
Lucan was still pissed that Ackmeyer’s uncle, GNC director Charles Benson, had immediately gone to investigators and the press with the fact that the Order had been enlisted—and had ultimately failed—to keep the civilian safe on what was supposed to have been a simple security escort to D.C. for the upcoming summit gala.
The already uneasy human population reacted with paranoia and suspicion, a few vitriolic prophets of doom warning that this failure only confirmed what they already feared: that the Breed, and the Order in particular, could not be trusted to value human life.
Peace, the worst of them were shouting to anyone who would listen, could never be had living alongside inhuman monsters.
The answering panic was widespread and quickly gaining ground. Riots in Boston had begun spreading to other cities. The small number of protesters that were commonplace in front of the Order’s D.C. headquarters had swelled to dozens in just a matter of hours. And while the civilians’ upset was trouble enough, militant groups around the world were now using the attack on Ackmeyer’s lab by suspected rebels as a rallying cry to vandalize and loot, to lash out at governments they deemed too willing to capitulate to the might and will of the Order and the rest of the Breed.
The current situation was, in a word, chaos.
With Lucan and the Order now standing squarely in the middle of it.
“We need to shut this shit down,” Lucan growled, anger spiking as the rumble of picketers outside the estate’s gates droned on. “We should be back on watch at our district command centers, in case the response to tonight’s news escalates from aggravating provocation to all-out anarchy.”
“Then again,” Gideon interjected, “it may be more important than ever for us to stand with the GNC, show the human public that their panic is without merit, and the Order is on their side. Show the world that we can be trusted as a partner in the effort toward peace between our races.”
Lucan saw Gabrielle and a few others nod in agreement. He knew they were probably right, but at the moment it was difficult to rein in the part of him that was ancient and answered to no one. The leader who, for centuries now, was accustomed to making the rules and, when called for, enforcing them with unstoppable might.
And right now, the last thing he gave a damn about was making a group public appearance at the summit, just to demonstrate solidarity with the GNC, whose members were apparently all too willing to throw the Order under the bus, or with the humans, who may never see the Breed as anything more than bogeymen just waiting for the opportunity to rip out their throats.
Diplomacy had never been his strong suit, and tonight it chafed more than ever.
Lucan curbed his internal aggression and paused to address Gideon. “Any leads on the name Nathan supplied us—this rebel bastard, Bowman?”
“I got zip so far,” Gideon replied. “Bowman’s kept his nose clean, that’s for sure. I’ve dug everywhere I can for the guy—criminal activity, arrest records . . . no hard data on him anywhere. He’s like a ghost.”
Renata lifted her head, jade green eyes snapping with fury. “Meanwhile, he’s got my child. If he’s harmed Mira in any way—if he’s . . . touched her . . . I want to be the one to personally eviscerate him.”