Keener attempted to stutter directions to his estate, but Lucan ignored them. He already knew the way. He’d been patrolling every corner of the District with his brethren for the past two decades and counting. It was as much home to him as the Order’s former Boston location had been. He hated like hell seeing either city under attack, and he was more than ready to make it all end.
The city-wide curfew kept most of D.C.’s residents inside, so it only took minutes to navigate the wrecked streets and areas littered with burnt-out debris left behind from the night’s earlier battles.
Keener sat slumped in the passenger seat, his thousand-yard stare fixed on the road ahead. Lucan hoped he didn’t notice the handful of bodies they passed in the dark, all hapless victims of the Rogues prowling the streets and neighborhoods, slaves to the unquenchable thirst of their Bloodlust.
Keener’s big house stood on a prime lot of semi-secluded real estate, surrounded by old-growth trees, cultivated lawns and gardens. Lucan killed the headlights and turned onto the long driveway. A black delivery van was parked on the pavement. Inside the Federal-style home, warm lights burned with a welcoming glow.
No sign of trouble whatsoever.
Lucan swung a look at Keener. “What the fuck?”
Keener swallowed, looking guilty as hell. “I-I’m sorry--”
At that same instant, a blinding spotlight fired up in front of the sedan. Lucan brought his arm up to shield his eyes, just enough to see that the light was coming from the back of the delivery van.
Behind Keener’s sedan now, a huge, armored SUV barreled into them. The delivery van roared in reverse, sandwiching Lucan and his duplicitous passenger between the heavier vehicles.
Teams of soldiers in tactical gear and armed with assault rifles closed in from both sides. Not just ordinary rifles. Lucan spotted the unmistakable iridescent blue glow of UV rounds in the men’s weapons.
Lucan’s fury was like gasoline in his veins.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he seethed at Keener through his teeth and fangs.
But first, he needed to deal with the dozen-plus Opus soldiers surrounding the vehicle. He was only one hair-trigger finger away from getting ashed right where he sat.
From the looks of it, Opus had sent enough ultraviolet firepower to this ambush to blast him into the next century.
He’d never been one to give in to fear, but damn if the threat of all that liquid UV didn’t make him dial back his urge to smash out of the car in the hopes of taking out a few Opus men before they lit him up.
And then there was Gabrielle.
Fuck.
Any pain he felt here tonight--including his death--would travel down their blood bond as if his agony were her own.
His sweet Breedmate.
The only woman he’d ever loved.
The extraordinary soul who’d saved him, made him feel, who gave him the precious gift of their son. Gabrielle made him desperate to live for another nine-hundred years, but only he could do it with her by his side.
Regret rolled up on him like a dark wave.
He couldn’t die here. Not like this, burned alive behind the wheel of Keener’s fucking useless vehicle before he could even draw his own weapon to defend himself.
He had to live.
For Gabrielle, if for no other reason. He couldn’t put her through the pain of his death.
He was prepared to surrender if that’s what Opus demanded of him. He’d find a way out of it later. All he had to do right now was not get his ass smoked before he had the chance to fight.
He slowly raised his hands.
As he did, his gaze locked with that of the guy whose gun was aimed at Lucan’s head. A slight, satisfied smile lifted the edge of the human’s mouth. As if this had all been just a fucking game. As if somehow it still was.
“Let me out of here!” Keener wailed. “You promised I’d be protected if I brought him to you. You said you’d protect me and my wife! You said we’d be safe!”
The men outside chuckled at Keener’s complaints.
