Edge of Dawn(8)

At least it was only picket signs and shouting, not the all-out street combat and acts of terror that had occurred on both sides in the months and years following the Breed’s discovery by mankind. War had been inevitable then, even though Lucan had hoped to avoid it. There’d been too much blood spilled, too much fear and suspicion. While the Breed had lived alongside man in secret for thousands of years, all it took to undo centuries of care and discretion was the unspeakable act of one Breed male two decades ago, who, in his villainous lust for power, had freed scores of incarcerated, blood-addicted vampires, loosing them onto an unsuspecting human population.

It had fallen to the Order to help clean up the carnage and stop the Rogues who were cutting a bloody, horrific swath across the entire globe. But Lucan and his warriors couldn’t act swiftly enough to curb the violence that broke out in the wake of the attacks. Whole cities were razed, buildings tumbled, governments dissolved by anarchy and rebel uprisings. The Breed’s civilian communities suffered daytime raids that left the Darkhavens in shambles, families slaughtered or exposed to the killing rays of the sun.

Then, when it seemed the fighting between man and Breed couldn’t possibly get worse, a massive chemical weapon was deployed in the Russian interior, rendering hundreds of thousands of acres of wilderness an uninhabitable wasteland. It was a catastrophic move, one that neither humans nor Breed had admitted responsibility for to this day.

It could have been worse. To think what might have been, if the weapon of that size and power had been unleashed on a major city instead.

Still, the impact of the damage had been felt around the world. And it had prompted Lucan to send the Order in swiftly and in full force to destroy all of the nuclear silos and chemical weapons facilities in every corner of the globe.

Although it had been the right thing to do—the only sane thing to do—there were individuals of both races who held Lucan in contempt for the heavy-handed tactic. Some feared he would not hesitate to appoint himself sole judge and jury for the world once more, if the strife between man and Breed were to escalate.

Goddamn right he would.

Lucan only hoped it was a decision he’d never have to make.

A knock sounded on his study door, a welcome intrusion on the grim path of his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called, more growl than invitation. Letting the drape fall back into place, he turned away from the window.

He’d been expecting Gideon, the Breed warrior who had long been the technical genius of the Order’s complicated operations center and compound. Gideon was currently on task to provide Lucan with security updates on the summit meeting facility, so that Order assets could be assigned to cover the multiday event.

But it wasn’t Gideon at the door.

“Darion.”

“Am I interrupting your work, Father?”

“Not at all.” He gestured for Darion to join him inside.

Just the sight of his boy—the tall, muscular nineteen-year-old man bearing a dark chestnut shade of his mother’s auburn hair and her same soulful brown eyes—made the weight of Lucan’s current burdens fall away. It was the other traits Darion bore—Lucan’s angular facial structure and strong jaw, coupled with an inflexible iron will inherited from both parents—that usually put father and son at odds. Apart from Gabrielle’s coloring and her extrasensory ability, both passed down to her son, for Lucan, being around Dare was like looking in a mirror.

Darion was too much like his father in many ways, a recognition that unsettled Lucan more than he cared to admit. But where Lucan had struggled with his natural tendency to lead others, Dare had no such qualms. Too bold, more often than not. Fearless in anything he attempted. These were qualities that made Lucan’s blood run cold with a father’s fear when he pictured his son eventually dressed for combat as a warrior of the Order and charging out to battle.

If Lucan had his way, that moment he’d been dreading would never come.

Darion strode into the study, casual in dark jeans and a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, unbuttoned at the collar. “More protesters tonight,” he remarked, lifting his squared chin in the direction of the windows, where the din of voices outside was rising. “Seems like the numbers are increasing the closer we get to the date of the summit.”

Lucan grunted, gave a curt nod. “For all their bleating, it’s only background noise to bigger problems, unfortunately.”

“I take it today’s meetings did not go well?”

“No better or worse than any other these past few weeks.” Lucan indicated a chair on the other side of his desk, then walked around to take his own seat as Darion sat down. “More and more, this summit is becoming a mockery. How can we expect to bridge the gap of mistrust between the races when the GNC’s own Council members can’t agree on the most basic principles?”