by Adrian, Lara
“Just because you don’t have an invitation to the party doesn’t mean you don’t belong.”
Brynne picked up her empty plate and coffee cup, then carried them to the sink. As she washed both, her phone chirped on the island countertop. Murmuring her excuses, she dried her hands and took the call into the other room.
No sooner had she gone, than Carys set down her half-eaten breakfast and headed for the command center.
She didn’t have to guess where everyone was because a low rumble of voices carried out from the war room at the far end of the corridor. Carys slowed her pace to a stroll as she approached the interior windows and glass-paneled door.
Her father saw her immediately. She waited for his questioning look or even a scowl, but instead, his handsome face eased into surprise. His blue eyes bright under the crown of his trimmed blond hair, he motioned for her to come inside.
She opened the door and stepped into the room.
“Carys,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just . . .” She felt awkward suddenly, but would have felt even more so if she gave in to the urge to turn around and leave now that everyone was staring at her.
Seated around the long conference table with him were her mother and the Boston team of warriors: Nathan and Rafe, Elijah and Jax. Her brother, Aric, was there too. Mathias and Nova sat together across from her parents. Jordana was there too, seated beside Nathan.
And on the video wall opposite the table was Lucan and Gideon.
Her father stood up. “Come in. We were just talking about you.”
On the huge monitor, Lucan’s stern mouth curved into a smile. “Excellent work, tracking down that information on Crowe’s associate, Carys.”
Heads nodded in agreement, both in D.C. and around the conference table in front of her.
Even Aric seemed pleased and impressed. Despite their personal cold war of the past week or so, his green eyes were warm on her. As she stepped farther inside, he pulled out the empty chair beside him.
Carys sat down. It was the first time she’d seen the war room from such an angle—at the table as one of them. Part of the group. It felt surprisingly comfortable.
It felt pretty damn good.
“Gideon’s been putting Hayden Ivers under the microscope since you gave us his name last night,” her father informed her from his seat at the head of the conference table.
“That’s right,” Gideon said on the video screen. “Ivers is human. Runs a private law practice in Dublin, but for more than a couple of decades, he’s only handled confidential clients. Two, to be exact. Anyone care to guess who the second one is?”
“Riordan?” Carys’s father practically spat the name. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Mathias Rowan stroked Nova’s hand as a murmur of outrage traveled the table. “Do you think Ivers could be a member of Opus too?”
“If he is, he’s covered his tracks well,” Lucan said. “Gideon’s hacked into his computers and found a whole lot of nothing.”
“I scoured Ivers’s computers and email accounts,” Gideon added. “I can’t find anything to implicate him in Opus or anything even remotely suspect.”
Carys frowned, finding it hard to hide her disappointment. “What about Crowe’s trust?”
“I could only find a handful of references to the trust document—all taking place after Crowe’s death. But no trace of the document itself. I couldn’t find digital files of any kind pertaining to Crowe or the trust or any other aspect of Ivers’s relationship to Crowe.”
Nathan glanced at Carys and the others at the table. “Ivers knew to leave no trail, even after Crowe’s death.”
Chase grunted. “Given Crowe’s true identity, he obviously warned all of his business associates to be meticulously cautious with his affairs.”
Aric smirked. “Too bad no one warned Crowe to be cautious with his head around helicopter blades.”
Jax, Eli and Rafe all chuckled with him at the reference to the Atlantean’s demise the night of his attempted attack on the GNC peace summit.
Carys looked up at the D.C. group on screen. “There has to be some record in Ivers’s possession. Printed documents, if nothing else.”
Across the table from her, Mathias nodded. “My team in London is assembling at nightfall to pay a visit to Ivers’s residence in Dublin. If he doesn’t prove cooperative, we’ll bring him in for a thorough questioning.”
Lucan flashed the tips of his fangs. “If the human doesn’t want to talk, I’ll be there to persuade him personally.”
“What if he isn’t part of the organization?” Carys blurted. “What if the trail to Crowe’s Opus colleagues goes cold again with Ivers?”
“Then we keep looking,” her father said.
Lucan nodded. “Right now, we’re farther ahead than we were yesterday. We have you to thank for that, Carys.”
“I just followed a hunch,” she murmured, but the validation felt like warm sunshine on her face.
“Keep following your hunches,” Lucan said. “We need them. We need everyone following every lead and working together if we want to flush Opus’s members out of the bushes and take them down. That goes double for our bigger adversary.”
Lucan’s gaze swung to Jordana now. “Have you been able to contact the Atlantean?”
Jordana’s white-gold hair flowed over her shoulders as she shook her head. “I wish it were that easy. When my father, Cass, summoned Zael to find me, he apparently was able to reach him through the power of his mark. This mark.”
She held up her hand now, and the center of her palm began to glow. A symbol emerged, illuminating in the shape of a teardrop and crescent moon. A Breedmate mark, the symbol that had, in fact, originated with the Atlanteans.
Being one of that immortal race, Jordana carried the same hidden mark in the center of her palms since her twenty-fifth birthday several days ago. She had the same extraordinary powers, which she and the rest of the Order were still attempting to fully understand.
She lowered her hand as the glow dimmed. “I don’t know if Zael’s received any of my attempts to find him, but I’ll keep trying.”
“Good,” Lucan said. “I need to meet this immortal face-to-face as soon as possible. I’ll be ready on a moment’s notice to make it happen.”
Aric frowned thoughtfully, then leaned away from Carys, toward her friend. “Do that again with your hand, Jordana. I want to try something.”
Chase and Tavia exchanged a hesitant look. Even Nathan’s face was grave with caution. “Be careful, Aric. We’re still trying to assess the full scope of Jordana’s new powers.”
As her mate spoke, Jordana lifted her palm. The symbol in the middle of it began to appear again, gradually lighting with an otherworldly, internal fire.
Aric moved closer, studying it. “So, this is some kind of Atlantean communication device?”
“I guess so,” Jordana said. “Among other things.”
He grunted, and put his face near the ember-bright glow. Then he chuckled. “E.T., phone home.”
Carys punched the muscled bulk of his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
But she laughed anyway. So did Jordana. God, Carys thought, how long had it been since she’d smiled with her twin brother? How long since she’d laughed with him over stupid jokes only the two of them could appreciate?
If her coming down to the command center today had done nothing else, it had at least thawed some of the ice that had gathered between her and Aric over her relationship with Rune. She’d missed him since their falling out.
Lucan cleared his throat and all eyes returned to the Order’s leader. “Speaking of following hunches, I’m interested to hear more about Brynne’s suspicions concerning Neville Fielding. If there’s reason to believe the London GNC representative warrants a closer look, I want the Order heading things up and I want to move on that as soon as possible. I’ll need Brynne to tell me everything she knows or suspects about Fie
lding, if she’s around.”
“She’s upstairs,” Carys volunteered, looking to her parents. “Shall I go get her?”
At their nod, she rose. Jordana did too. “I’ll go with you.”
Carys and her friend stepped into the corridor and began the walk back up to the Darkhaven mansion.
Jordana blew out a soft breath. “I never would’ve thought to look into Crowe’s portfolio records at the museum, Car. Was his collection listed in the general inventory catalogue?”
“Ah, not the general one, no.”
Jordana’s eyes widened. “The chief curator’s account? How did you . . . Never mind, I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
“Probably better that way.” Carys smirked. “You’ll have plausible deniability in case anyone notices the after-hours login on her account. And anyway, I only started with the curator’s files. I found Crowe’s trust listed in the conservation department files.”
Jordana slowly shook her head. “With sleuthing skills like those and your steel-trap mind, what are you doing assisting me with exhibits and patron receptions? You should be putting your talents to use in more important ways. Have you ever thought about—”
Carys slanted her an arch look. “Working for the Order? That seems to be coming up a lot lately.”
“Does it sound that awful to you?”
Carys shrugged, wishing it did sound awful. “I’m not in the market for a new job. I enjoy what I do at the MFA with you. Besides, I like having my nights off. I’m sure my family would love nothing more than to make sure I never had time to be with Rune.”
“No one wants to see you get hurt, that’s all.”
“I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.” Except even as she said it, the small prickle of her growing doubts about Rune came to life again.
Was she heading for broken heart with him? She didn’t want to think so. She wanted to think she was as important to him as he was to her. In the time they’d been together, she’d all but convinced herself they had a future together, and that someday his need for her—his love for her—would overrule his determination to avoid any long-term entanglement.
Too often, her heart had entertained a fantasy that someday Rune would climb out of the arena and leave the brutality of the fight club behind him for good. Then they would make a life together—maybe even raise a family of their own—as a mated, blood-bonded couple.
This morning, when she had reached for those slender threads of hope, they’d disintegrated through her fingers like elusive wisps of smoke.
“I heard what happened last night,” Jordana said as they rounded a corner in the long corridor.
Confused, Carys looked at her in question.
“Last night, at La Notte. The rowdy patrons and the woman who was injured?”
“Oh. Yeah, things got out of hand and Rune shut everything down for the night and sent everyone home.”
Jordana nodded. “I’m glad he did. Rune was right, the club can’t go any longer without proper management in charge.”
“He told you that?”
“When I spoke to him earlier this morning,” Jordana said. “When he called me to make an offer to buy the club.”
Carys wasn’t sure if her feet had stopped moving in reality, or if it only felt like they had suddenly turned to lead. Her heart sank with equal heaviness. “He . . . He told you he wants to buy La Notte?”
“You didn’t know?” Jordana looked at her, aghast. “I just assumed—”
Carys waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, I knew. Yeah, he told me he was thinking about it. I just didn’t know . . . I didn’t realize he was ready to . . .”
She was rambling, hoping to hell she sounded convincing when her veins had gone cold and her entire being had gone numb with shock and disappointment.
With bitter heartache.
While she had been foolishly dreaming he might trade in his brutal lifestyle for her one day, Rune was busy putting down roots.
And he hadn’t even cared enough to tell her.
CHAPTER 13
Rune knew Carys was in the building even before he saw her. Still, he was surprised to find her seated alone at the bar in the arena around noon as he carried a box of cage equipment out of the back room. A shot glass and an open bottle of Jameson sat in front of her. Rune’s nostrils flared at the scent of the Irish whiskey and the faint, but lingering salt of her spent tears.
He didn’t have to see her face or get any closer to sense that she was fuming. Anger radiated off her long, lean form.
Christ, she was livid. Trembling with fury and something else that stabbed at him even harder. Sadness. Pain.
Without looking at him, she poured a shot of whiskey into the short glass.
His voice rasped in the quiet of the arena. “What’s this about, love?”
“I hear there’s cause to celebrate.” Lifting the shot, she pivoted toward him with a brittle smile. “Congratulations on buying the club.”
“Shit.” Of course. He didn’t mean it to be a secret between them. God knew there were enough of those without this one. “Jordana told you.”
“At least someone did.” Carys lifted her shoulder in a move that was anything but blasé. “In her defense, she thought I knew. I suppose that should’ve been a safe assumption, seeing as how you and I have been fucking nearly every night for the past seven weeks.”
When she threw back the liquor in one hard toss, Rune let out a hissed curse. He set the box of fighting gear down near the cage. As she poured another shot, he walked over to her. “What are you doing, Carys?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question all day.”
“I would’ve told you about the club.”
“When? After you signed the papers?” Her lips pressed flat. Her blue eyes were shooting hot sparks of anger and disappointment. “Since you called Jordana early this morning, you must’ve known last night you were going to make an offer for the club. You must’ve already thought it all out and had your plans in place, but you didn’t say a word to me.”
“It didn’t come up,” he said. A lame excuse, but it was the truth. “I didn’t think it was important.”
Those fiery sparks flared sharper now. “You’re making this a permanent part of your life, but you didn’t think that was important to tell me?”
“It’s always been a permanent part of my life. I thought you knew that.”
She glanced away, and he realized she didn’t know that at all.
“Fighting is the only thing I know, Carys. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
“Not the only thing,” she muttered quietly. Her velvety voice was dry, simmering with the hurt he was causing her now.
He tried to be gentle. “This is the only way I know how to live. I don’t expect you to understand that. I wouldn’t want you to understand what that really means.”
“What if I want to understand? What if I told you I need to understand, Rune?” She looked at him, holding his stare with a searching gaze that pierced him. Stabbed him. “What if I want something more than this for you . . . for us?”
He slowly shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could say that she would want to hear. “I’m never going to be part of the world you want me in. Not in any way that matters, Carys. I can’t be.”
“Only because you refuse to be,” she said, seeing through him as only she could do.
“Ah, love.” Regret made his words hard to summon. “I tried to warn you. I told you not to expect anything from me . . .”
She scoffed now. “Oh, don’t worry. I remember the rules. No blood between us, not ever. We’ll have a good time together until it’s no longer a good time, then we’ll go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”
Jesus. Had he actually said something so stupid and callous? He knew he had, and Carys, with her flawless memory, hadn’t forgotten a syllable of the asinine terms he’d set down for their relationship.
He reached out to smooth a wild
tendril of caramel brown hair behind her ear. “This is what I wanted to prevent from happening with you, Carys. Hurting you. Disappointing you.”
“Because you care so much.” She said it as if the words were ashes on her tongue.
“Yes, because I care.” He slid his fingertips under her chin to draw her eyes to his. “I care more than you can possibly know.”
She pulled away from his touch. “Why don’t you want a blood bond with me?”
The question made his pulse hammer, even while the notion of binding her to him as his mate sent a coldness into his veins. “I don’t have room for that in my life.”
“No room for me.”
“No, not just you.” He shook his head. “Hell, especially you.”
“Especially me?” A jagged laugh scraped out of her. “At least you’re finally being honest about something.”
Shit. He was fucking this all up. Saying the wrong things. He was making everything worse.
In a darkened corner of his conscience, he knew this was the moment when he could do the right thing by her at last. Right here, right now, he could let Carys go.
She was angry with him for good enough reason, already wounded by him. One more hard push and she would probably be able to hate him.
But damn it . . . He couldn’t do it.
He didn’t want to let her go.
A harsh curse rushed out of him as he looked at the misery on her beautiful face. “You weren’t supposed to happen to me, Carys. You were going to be trouble for me and I knew it. I told myself that, the very first time I saw you. I should’ve fucking listened.”
He leaned in to kiss her, but she shoved him away on a broken cry.
“Don’t touch me.” She was off the barstool and standing more than arm’s length from him in less than a blink of time. Her eyes were glittering with fury now. The pretty tips of her fangs peeked out from behind her lip as she glared at him. “Sex isn’t going to fix this, Rune. I’m asking you to let me in. I want to know who you truly are.”
In truth, she didn’t want to know.
No more than he wanted to go there with her.