Lucan's answering curse hissed through his teeth and emerging fangs. He'd thought the same thing, of course. Gideon and he had been taking every precaution to ensure the summit was nailed down and secure on every conceivable level. If he had to personally pat down every dignitary who entered the event, by God, he would do it.
He glanced at Darion, reflecting on how easily he slipped into confiding in his only son as his equal. He respected Dare as a man. Marveled at his keen intellect and the strength of his convictions. Darion, the squalling, helpless infant who had somehow become a man, seemingly overnight to someone like Lucan, whose life spanned nearly a thousand years.
Lucan had hoped that Dare might one day take a seat beside him on the GNC, despite the exemplary skill that the young male had demonstrated during his training in weapons and combat. That hope died a little as he met his son's intense gaze. The gaze of a warrior, though his father was loath to admit it. As a parent, he wanted to keep his son close. Keep him safe.
"I can help," Darion said. "You know I want to help. You know I'm ready."
Lucan dropped back into his chair and reached for the pile of documents still awaiting his approval. "Don't wish for war, boy. You're too young to remember the hell of that word."
"I was six when the wars were at their worst. I heard enough. I learned enough in my studies at the Order's compound and at university. I've listened to you talk about battles and fighting for most of my life. I understand what war means, and I understand what it takes to be a warrior."
Lucan's pulse spiked, more from concern than anger. He aggressively scrawled his name on one of the GNC agreements, then grabbed for another set of documents. "Reading and talking about war doesn't make you a warrior. It doesn't prepare you to witness or be part of the things people do to one another under the banners of war. As your father, I hope you never know those things."
Darion's temper was a palpable thing, a force of power rolling from across the desk. "You still see me as a child in need of your protection."
Lucan set his pen down. "That's not true," he replied, sober now. Regretful that his conversations with Darion always seemed to end up in this same place. At this same cold impasse.
His son's jaw was clenched tight, a tendon ticking in his cheek. He scoffed, holding Lucan's stare, unblinking. "I trained under Tegan from the time I was twelve years old, because he is - in your own words - one of the best warriors you've ever known. Why send me to learn from the best, if you never intended to give me a place within the Order?"
Lucan couldn't tell him that he'd sent him to Tegan because of all the warriors ever to serve the Order, it was under Tegan's hard, merciless training that Dare stood the best chance of breaking. But Darion hadn't broken. No, far from it. He'd excelled. Smashed all expectations.
"You have your place here."
Dare grunted. "Advising on tactical stratagems and mapping out ops I'll never be part of in the field." He leaned back now, a negligent sprawl, with his long legs outstretched and one muscled, dermaglyph-covered arm draped along the back of the chair. His frustration was evident in the pulsing color that had begun to seep into the flourishes and arcs of his Breed skin markings. "Just once, I'd like to put my training to a true test, on a true mission, not mocked up in a computer program or scribbled on the walls of the war room. I could do more, if you'd only give me the chance."
"Your role with the Order is no less important than any other." Lucan picked up his pen again and calmly began to sign his name to the rest of the documents littering his desk. "I don't imagine you came here at this hour to reopen our same old argument. If you did, it will have to wait."
"No. That's not why I'm here." Darion took out his comm unit and touched the screen of the slim device. "I wanted to ask you about something I ran across in the headquarters' private archives today."
Lucan looked up at the mention of the chamber in the D.C. compound that housed a large and ever-growing history of the Breed and its otherworldly origins. A history the Order had been collecting for the past two decades through the sole efforts of an extraordinary woman. "You've been reading Jenna's journals?"
Dare's smile was dry. "I have a lot of free time. Not like I'm spending it all on Facebook."
Lucan chuckled, glad their conversation wouldn't end in a heated stalemate after all. "Tell me what you've found."
No sooner had he said it when Gideon arrived in the open doorway of Lucan's study. The Breed male's spiky blond hair was more disheveled than usual, raked up in all directions as though Gideon had just repeatedly run his hands through it, as he often did when faced with a problem he couldn't solve in three seconds flat. Or when he found himself appointed the bearer of disturbing news.
The look in Gideon's blue eyes as he peered over the tops of wireless silver shades told Lucan that nothing good was coming his way right now.
"Trouble with the security schematics?" he guessed, rising to face the other warrior as Gideon entered the room.
"Trouble in Boston a short while ago." Gideon gave Darion a slight nod in acknowledgment, then looked to Lucan for permission to speak of Order business in front of the younger male.
Lucan inclined his chin, a scowl furrowing deep in his brow. "Tell me what happened."
Lucan listened as Gideon gave a rundown of the incident at the club that had landed two of the Order's most decorated teams in JUSTIS custody. "She discharged deadly weapons to attack an unarmed civilian. Unprovoked. In a public establishment.
"Not that Mira needs me to make excuses for her," Gideon interjected, "but apparently the human she chased into the place has ties to rebel groups in the area."