by Lara Adrian
“Cass,” Jordana whispered, her breath drying up in her lungs. “Cassian Gray.”
She closed her eyes as the realization sank in, a wave of shock washing over her. Then sorrow, when she recalled Cass’s strange visit to the museum.
The enjoyable, far-too-brief time she’d spent talking with him. And the unthinkable way he died, just a short while later.
“His true name was Cassianus,” Zael said. “He adopted a simpler one—an entirely new identity as well—to help him blend in with the mortal world after he left the Atlantean realm.”
“Is that where we are now?” Her new reality settling over her, she glanced out at the breathtaking coastal paradise beyond the open French doors and couldn’t help but wonder … “Is this Atlantis?”
“No.” Chuckling quietly, Zael lowered his head. “Atlantis was destroyed long ago by our oldest enemies, the Ancient fathers of the Breed. There are some similarities between this place and Atlantis, but this is Amalfi, on the coast of Italy. This villa was a private sanctuary of Cass’s for a long time, although it’s been many years since he was last here.”
Jordana could hardly speak. She glanced around at the sophisticated villa with its priceless antiques and masterpiece paintings. At least that part made sense now: Cass’s unexpected, uncanny knowledge of art. He had apparently loved it as much as she did.
Cassian Gray was her father.
The news staggered her, perhaps even more so than any of Zael’s other incredible revelations. To say nothing of the fact that she was hearing all of this not in the comfort of her home in Boston but evidently a continent away, and from the mouth of a man who’d brought her there through means she still hadn’t determined and was almost afraid to guess at.
Her head spun with a hundred questions—so many, she wasn’t sure where to start.
“You said Cass had enemies,” she murmured. “Soldiers from the queen’s legion who are also after me. You mean Atlantean soldiers. That’s who killed him?”
“Yes.” Zael’s face was grim. “Their method left little doubt. They had been pursuing him for a long time on Selene’s orders.”
“Why?” Jordana struggled to keep the memory of the savagery from forming in her mind. “What did he do to her that she would hate him enough to want him killed?”
“For starters, he fell in love with a member of her court. It was forbidden, even for a legion soldier of Cassianus’s renown. But Soraya loved him too,” Zael explained. “For a while, they carried on in secret, meeting anywhere they could. They even risked time together outside the realm, coming here, to this villa.”
It didn’t take much for Jordana to imagine loving someone in defiance of what anyone else wished or expected. When it came to love, she’d learned firsthand that the heart gave itself freely, openly, completely.
Sometimes foolishly.
She met Zael’s solemn look and knew the story he was telling her would not end well for the forbidden lovers.
“So, Cassianus and Soraya … they were my parents?” At his grave nod, she had to ask the other question that sat like a jagged pill on her tongue. “What happened to my mother?”
“She died,” Zael said. “Soraya had you in secret, here in this villa. Cass thought the three of you could be a family together, stay on the run, never go back to the realm. But Raya missed the Atlantean way of life. She missed her home. To please her, Cass returned with Raya and you. Selene was furious. She called for his immediate execution. Raya pleaded for mercy. Selene finally granted it, but at a price.”
Jordana listened, rapt yet heartsick for what her parents had endured. “What did the queen ask in exchange for Cass’s life?”
“She made Raya agree to take a mate of Selene’s choosing and exile with you until you turned twenty-five and your powers came of age. Once that occurred, Raya would be free to return, and you were to take your place as a member of the royal court.”
“But Soraya didn’t accept the queen’s terms?” Jordana guessed.
If she had, Jordana would have never been raised as Martin Gates’s daughter.
She would have never met Nathan.
As much as it hurt to think she’d meant nothing to him, the thought of having never known his touch, or his kiss, or the pleasure they shared, was too bleak to imagine.
Zael shook his head, his voice low. “Raya could not promise to give herself to another man. She begged for a different punishment, but Selene would not be swayed. Finally, on the day Raya and you were to leave the court for your new home, she took a drastic, irrevocable step.”
“What happened?” Jordana whispered, her heart in her throat.
“Raya put you in the palace nursery. Then she went to her chambers, locked herself in, and set the place ablaze. By the time the fire was discovered, it was too late. Even an immortal could not heal from the wounds Raya inflicted on herself.”
Jordana choked on a ragged breath. “And Cassianus? What did he do?”
Zael smiled sadly, proudly. “He did what any loving parent would do. Risked everything to take you away from there and ensure that you had a new life—a better life. One where Selene’s guards wouldn’t find you. Cass wanted you to have a life of your own choosing.”
Except the irony was, as good as her life had been living with Martin Gates as his child, it hadn’t been authentic. She’d lived under the cloak of secrets and half-truths, never really knowing who—or what—she was. She’d never been given the chance to know the two people who brought her into the world and gave up everything, including their lives, because of her.
Two people she missed keenly now, despite having had them in her life so briefly.
“Why did she do it?” Jordana murmured. “Why couldn’t the queen just let them be happy together? Why chase Cass down and kill him after all this time? Why keep her guards searching for me?”
Zael’s tropical blue eyes were steady on her. “Because Soraya was her only child.”
Jordana went still. She shook her head slowly, at a complete and sudden loss for words.
When she couldn’t speak, Zael did it for her. “You, Jordana, are Selene’s granddaughter. You are her only living heir to the Atlantean throne.”
IN THE HOUR FOLLOWING CARYS’S ARRIVAL, THE BOSTON COMMAND center buzzed with sober conversation and urgent preparation for a do-or-die sweep of the city.
Gathered in the weapons room along with Nathan, Rafe and Eli and Jax rehashed the team’s game plan for turning the city upside down in their search for the Atlantean bastard who had Jordana. In the corridor outside the war room, Sterling Chase and his mate, Tavia, were attempting to reassure a shattered, sobbing Martin Gates that the Order would do everything in its power to find Jordana quickly and bring her back, safe and sound.
Nathan had no words for anyone. He had no energy to expend on talking or hoping or wishing. He had no patience for consolation or promises that morning wouldn’t be allowed to break without Jordana returned home.
All he had was his determination, his ruthless discipline.
With robotic efficiency, Nathan suited up in his patrol gear. In utter silence—with deadly calm purpose—he zipped and cinched, buckled and tied his black fatigues and combat boots, then strapped on his weapons belt and holsters for multiple firearms.
He would find Jordana.
There would be no failing that mission.
There would be no failing her, not ever again.
He had never been more committed to any goal in all his life. Jordana was all that mattered to him. If she were found harmed—if the man who took her tonight inflicted even the smallest pain on her—Nathan would eviscerate the son of a bitch.
Slowly.
He knew countless ways to kill, incrementally when necessary. If Jordana was hurt in any way, her abductor was going to suffer the full, merciless force of Nathan’s wrath.
He readied the last of his weapons and threw a hard look on his team. “Let’s go.”
Leading the way, he stalked out to t
he corridor with Rafe, Jax, and Eli.
They were halfway up the winding hallway when Carys came rushing around a corner, her face stricken and grave. She clutched her comm unit in a white-knuckled grasp. “Nathan, wait. Something’s happened.”
The female’s fearful voice just about stopped his heart. He was almost afraid to guess at this new, obviously bad news. “Jordana?”
Carys shook her head. “There was an attack at La Notte a few minutes ago. Syn’s been killed. Rune wants to talk to you.”
Normally, the death of a Breed cage fighter would be the last of the Order’s concern. And neither Syn nor Rune had many friends among the warriors. But this was a night unlike any other, and a deadly attack on Cassian Gray’s club within hours of Jordana having gone missing was far from coincidental.
Without slowing down, Nathan grabbed the comm unit and put it to his ear. “What happened?”
“That’s what I wanna know.” Rune’s breath was tight, shallow. His deep, growling voice held an edge of wariness that Nathan had never heard before. “We just took a bad hit down here at the club. Couple of thugs tossed Cass’s office. They fucking killed Syn, broke every bone in his body.”
Like Rune, Syn was a proven champion in the cages. It would take a hell of an opponent to knock him down. “You see who did it?” Almost too much to hope.
Rune grunted. “Yeah, I saw them. Heard a ruckus in the office above the arena, then I smelled blood. Lots of blood. Found three men tearing the place up. Syn was already in bad shape, no more fight left in him. I dropped one of the bastards, but the other two got away.” Rune paused. “The one I killed? He didn’t go down easy, man. Not until I took his fucking head from his shoulders. Then the whole damn place lit up with the glow he threw off as he died. Sure as hell wasn’t human, but he wasn’t Breed either.”
No, Nathan thought, grave with understanding. They were Atlanteans.
“Any idea what they were looking for?”
“Yeah,” Rune replied. “When I found the fuckers hammering on Syn, they kept demanding that he tell them where Cass’s daughter was.”
Nathan cursed and drew up short in the corridor.
“Syn kept telling them Cass didn’t have any family, but they wouldn’t believe him.”
Nathan stood there, frozen, his mind racing to process everything he was hearing. “This just happened, you say? These men—they were there just now?”
“Aye,” Rune said. “The corpse of the one I killed is still warm.”
Rafe drew up next to Nathan, the blond warrior frowning in question. “What is it?”
“You’re certain they were looking for Cass’s daughter?”
“Dead certain.” The fighter was quiet for a moment, menace radiating through the comm. “Carys just told me what happened to her and Jordana a little while ago. Goddamn it, Nathan. I’m sorry about Jordana. And I hate like hell that Syn is gone. But these fucks—whoever, whatever, they are—put their hands on my woman tonight. This shit just got personal.”
“Tell me about it,” Nathan replied grimly.
With a murmured end to the conversation, he handed the comm unit back to Carys. She pivoted away, speaking to her lover in hushed, private tones.
Outside the war room, Nathan and his team were joined by Sterling Chase and Tavia, their expressions indicating they knew the weight of the information he’d just received.
Martin Gates drifted over too. “What is it? Has there been news about Jordana?”
Nathan glanced grimly from his commander and teammates to Jordana’s distraught father. “Three men just broke into Cass’s office at La Notte. They killed one of the fighters. Rune said they’re looking for Jordana.”
“Atlanteans,” Gates murmured woodenly.
Nathan gave a sober nod but turned a look on Chase and the other warriors. “So, if Cass’s enemies don’t already have Jordana …”
“Then who took her?” Tavia asked.
Nathan glanced back at Gates. “Was there anyone else Cass might have trusted to know about Jordana living in Boston? One of his own kind?”
Martin Gates considered for a moment, then gave a shaky nod. “Yes, there is one other person who knew. Oh, my God. Dare I hope she’s with him?”
“It may be all we’ve got,” Chase replied.
Gates met Nathan’s unblinking stare. “If she’s been taken somewhere safe, I believe I know where you’ll find her.”
Jordana wiped some of the steam from her shower off the large mirror in the villa’s master bathroom suite. She stared at her reflection for a moment, trying to understand how the pale blue eyes and familiar face looking back at her could feel so much a stranger now.
It had been only a few hours since her conversation that morning with Zael. A few hours since everything she thought she knew about herself had been peeled away.
Now, with the sun soon to set outside the villa where she’d been born, Jordana was looking at a new face. A new reality.
She was Atlantean.
Immortal.
The orphaned granddaughter of the race’s vengeful queen.
It all felt so foreign to her, so incredible. And yet it also seemed as if the missing pieces of a puzzle had finally dropped into place. Her restlessness, her sense that she’d been sleepwalking through her own existence, living someone else’s vision for what her life was supposed to be.
Because she hadn’t been living her own life. She’d been living a fantasy conjured for her protection by parents she would never know and by a beloved adoptive father who’d sacrificed the past twenty-five years to the promise he’d made to keep her safe. To keep her hidden from enemies she’d never even realized had existed.
Enemies who were seeking her out even now.
After the initial shock of it all had worn off a bit, Zael had done his best to explain to her about his people—their people—and about Cassianus and Soraya and the Atlantean realm. He’d been patient and kind, forthcoming with everything she wanted to know. But she still had so many questions.
In particular, how long before she could get back home to Boston and resume her life.
Refreshed from sleep and a long shower, and dressed in comfortable, soft white linen palazzo pants and a sleeveless tank of the same fabric, Jordana braided her damp hair and let the long plait fall down the center of her back.
She heard Zael in the villa’s kitchen, the aromas of roasting meat, wine and spices, and warm, baked breads wafting through the place. The dinner smelled wonderful, but her stomach seemed to have other ideas. It rolled and twisted, making each step a delicate, careful effort.
Her veins seemed charged with a low-level current. Her palms felt prickly and warm again, the way they sometimes had when she was making love with Nathan, only more intense now. More persistently heated and tingling.
“How do you feel?” Zael asked as she entered the open-concept gourmet kitchen.
“The rest and the shower were just what I needed, but now I’m kind of woozy.” Her knees started to buckle beneath her, as wobbly as a new fawn’s.
In an instant, Zael came around and helped her to one of the tall counter stools at the center island. “Better?”
She gave a weak nod, then crossed her arms on the snowy marble countertop and laid her head down. No doubt she had to look more than a little green around the gills. “Some immortal princess I make, huh?”
He chuckled. “It’s par for the course. We all go through this—call them Atlantean growing pains. Your system will mature and stabilize after you turn twenty-five.”
“That’s next week.” Zael nodded and she took the glass of water he handed her. “What’s going to happen to me then?”
She sat up and sipped the water while he went back to chopping and sautéing a pan of fresh vegetables. “Your body stops aging completely. You’ll become stronger, your senses keener. You’ll be able to tap into an energy that connects all of our people—you’ve already experienced that when I frightened you earlier and you used your powe
r to push me away.”
“My hands were glowing,” Jordana said as she glanced down at her palms, which still tingled but held no light. “Yours glowed too, but I could also see the teardrop-and-crescent-moon symbol in them.”
“Yes,” he said. “Your symbol will manifest eventually too. As a member of the royal bloodline, it will happen sooner for you than most. Others of our kind have to be much older before the symbol appears.”
“How old?”
He lifted a bulky shoulder. “A hundred years, give or take.”
“So, you’re—”
“Older than that,” he replied, his mouth quirked in a grin.
She shook her head, unable to believe the youthful, golden man could be even a day out of his twenties. “How old can you—or any of us—get?”
“Atlanteans don’t keep count of years the way humans do, or even the Breed. We can live for many millennia, and have. Selene herself is one of the longest lived of our kind. When we mature, we develop the ability to heal from within, and nothing but catastrophic injury can kill one of us.”
“Like beheading,” Jordana murmured quietly. “Or self-immolation.”
Zael gave a sober nod.
“Would he ever have told me? Would Cass ever have explained any of this to me—who I was, who he was … who my mother was?”
“No,” Zael replied gently. “He wouldn’t have. You have to understand, he did what he thought was right for you. He manufactured a completely new identity in Boston, an unsavory facade meant to keep him under Selene’s radar. He was a soldier; he wasn’t afraid of dark work. But he never would’ve wanted that part of his life to brush up too closely against you.”
“Are you saying La Notte was just a front for him?”
Zael inclined his head. “A lucrative one, but yes. The club provided a deep cover for Cassianus in Boston. As for you, he thought you’d have a better life outside the Atlantean realm, in this world. He thought you could blend in if you were brought up as a Breedmate. Cass felt you’d be safest if he hid you in plain sight.”