Corinne backed away from him and eased herself down onto his splayed coat. He moved toward her in a slow, predatory prowl, then sank down beside her as she stretched out tentatively on her side atop the buttery soft black leather. His body was a long wall of heat along her spine and curved backside, his thighs firm and solid against hers. Even though they were fully clothed, her every nerve ending came alive with awareness. Need unfurled deep within her, a slow stretching of feather-light wings, putting a flutter in her already erratic heartbeat, stealing her already shaky, shallow breath.
Hunter's arm came around her, a band of heavy bone and muscle caging her gently against him. Power radiated from every inch of his body, but instead of fear or anxiety at the sensation of being hemmed in, Corinne felt protected.
She felt safe, something she hadn't known for a very long time.
Safe in the arms of the most lethal man she'd ever known.
Midmorning at the Order's Boston headquarters normally meant lights out, shut-eye time for Lucan and the rest of the compound's residents.
Not today.
And although no one had said as much, as the head of this expanding household Lucan knew that the tension gripping them all was nearing the breaking point. Even Mira seemed subdued, the perceptive child seer quietly eating the last few bites of her pancakes and sausage beside Renata at the large dining table instead of chattering at her usual mile-a-minute speed. The impromptu breakfast gathering had been Gabrielle's idea. The fact that the Order's female residents had been dining in the compound alongside their warrior mates instead of up in the mansion at street level had been at Lucan's insistence. Although it felt odd having everyone crowded into Gabrielle and his quarters, nineteen people gathered around the long table Gabrielle had special-ordered months ago from a local Darkhaven craftsman, it was far more palatable than the thought of having anyone out of his sight in the daylight hours when he could do nothing to protect them.
Protect them? Shit.
What a goddamn joke that had become. Lucan scoffed to himself, well aware that the Order had never been more vulnerable. The once-certain security of the compound had been reduced to a flimsy veneer of safety now that Dragos had access to their precise location. Not only that, but Dragos was apparently going on the offensive elsewhere too - case in point, the status call Hunter had made to headquarters a couple hours ago. The attack at the airport hangar by one of Dragos's Gen One assassins had left the two charter pilots dead and Hunter stranded in New Orleans with the civilian female Corinne Bishop. They were currently holed up in a post-Katrina ruin awaiting sundown and Lucan's further instructions. Then there was the lingering matter of Sterling Chase's absence. Lucan had declared the warrior cut loose from the fold since he'd gone AWOL, but the fact was, it bothered him to have lost Harvard. It bothered everyone, and his absence from the table - and the missions - was felt by the whole of the Order. But wanting him back wasn't bringing him back, and since it was Chase's decision to walk out, it was going to have to be his decision to walk back in. The only good thing to happen around the compound recently was the safe return of Brock and Jenna from Alaska late last night. The massive Breed male from Detroit and his pretty human mate sat at the other end of the table from Lucan, Brock's long, dark fingers woven through Jenna's slender, paler ones as the couple conversed with Kade and Alex. The fact that Jenna wasn't a Breedmate didn't seem to make her bond with Brock any less intense. Then again, calling Jenna Darrow human wasn't quite accurate anymore, considering the rice-size bit of alien DNA and biotech material the woman had been carrying in her spinal cord for the past couple of weeks.
She'd only been gone for a few days, but in that time the small dermaglyph that had so spontaneously appeared on the nape of her neck before she'd left had begun to creep around toward her shoulders. It was the damnedest thing, seeing a Breed skin-marking on the flesh of a human - a female human, besides. Add to that the fact that Jenna's body seemed to heal from injuries at a rate similar to that of Lucan's kind, combined with her newfound superhuman strength and agility, and the former trooper from Alaska was shaping up to be one hell of an addition to the Order's personnel arsenal.
Just how far Jenna's genetic transformation would eventually go was still anyone's guess. Jesus, what a strange f**king trip it had been, Lucan thought to himself as he scanned the circle of faces assembled around the table. Most of those faces had been unknown to him just a year and a half ago, and now they were as familiar to him as blood kin. Even Lazaro Archer and his grandson, Kellan, seemed less like strangers than members of the compound's family in the handful of days they'd been under the Order's watch. Lazaro had proven himself a strong, honorable male. As for Lucan, he remained humbled by the other Gen One's offer of his stronghold in Maine as the Order's temporary headquarters. It was a lifeline they needed, and one he meant to take advantage of as soon as possible.
"I want to thank you again for your offer, Lazaro," he said, glancing to the left side of the table where Archer sat, smiling idly as he listened to the spirited debate taking place between his teenage grandson and young Mira over a book they'd both recently read. Lazaro Archer's dark blue eyes were solemn as he met Lucan's gaze. "Please, no need to thank me. I owe you and the Order more than I can ever possibly repay. You saved Kellan's life, and you saved mine. I will always be in your debt. Besides," he added with a shrug of his broad shoulder, "the place up north has been sitting idle practically since I had it built in the 1950s. Eleanor thought the whole concept ridiculous - she laughed, said I was crazy when I told her I wanted to build a secured bunker and bomb shelter under the house, like so many humans were doing during the period of their so-called Cold War. She said in the event of a nuclear disaster, she'd rather go up in a cloud of dust like the rest of the population than cook like a bunch of canned sardines underneath our house. Never was able to convince her to spend so much as one night up there. As headstrong as she was beautiful, my Ellie."