Ah, Christ. His father was mindless in his Bloodlust, savage with a fury Darion had never witnessed in him before.
And no wonder.
There had been enough Red Dragon pumped inside the vehicle to turn a dozen Breed males into Rogues.
At that same moment, Lucan swiveled his head at the interruption of his kill. His transformed eyes were molten, pupils barely slits of darkness amid all that amber. His fangs were enormous, dripping with Keener’s blood.
Darion stared in horror. “Jesus. How did this . . .whodid this to you?”
But he knew the answer.
Opus Nostrum.
Somehow, they had gotten close enough to his father to poison him. And it would have taken something of a miracle for Lucan Thorne to fall into an Opus trap. A miracle, or an act of unforgivable duplicity.
Darion’s gaze flicked to the dead human slumped in the passenger seat. The damage to the sedan, the stench of a human corpse inside the house . . . it all pointed to an ambush on the Order’s leader. Almost certainly aided by Oliver Keener in some way.
Lucan had gotten his vengeance on the traitor, but at what cost?
Darion cursed. “Those sons of bitches. I’m going to kill every last one of those Opus bastards if it’s the last thing I--”
On a roar, Lucan lunged at him. He took Darion down beneath him onto the pavement of the driveway in a blur of snapping jaws and feral, mad Rogue eyes.
Darion fended off the assault with his free arm, blocking his father’s strikes and dodging those razor-sharp fangs by fractions of an inch. The titanium-loaded gun in his other hand felt like a lead weight, but he refused to lift it in defense.
Lucan could kill him before Darion would so much as consider using his weapon on his father.
“Stop,” he uttered tightly, struggling with the big Gen One Breed male. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Father and son were nearly a match in size and strength, but Lucan was fueled by the disease coursing through his veins.
Darion bellowed, summoning all his might and power to throw Lucan off.
He scrambled to his feet, breath heaving, heart cracking open inside his chest as he stared at the feral stranger crouched in front of him, ready to pounce again.
Darion met and held those murderous, searing eyes. “Father, it’s me, Darion. You have to see me. I know you can.”
Lucan panted, his chin and chest painted with Keener’s lifeblood. His hands were held out at his sides, fingers splayed like claws. Darion had never feared his father even once in all his life. He had always respected him for his ability to shoulder any responsibility or burden, no matter its weight.
No Breed male--not even his indomitable father--could carry this weight.
Opus had struck true this time, straight to the heart of the Order.
“You need help,” Darion told him. “We’ll figure this out. I promise, we will.”
Lucan snarled, curling his lip away from the long daggers of his fangs. His transformed gaze slid for an instant to the weapon Darion still clutched in his grasp. Even though Red Dragon had a hold on his mind, there was still a part of Lucan that seemed to recognize the threat of titanium rounds.
Darion swallowed, giving an understanding nod. Slowly, he stooped to place the pistol on the ground beside him. He held up his hands in a show of trust.
“Let me help you, Father,” Darion said. “Let me take you back to headquarters so we can try to find a way to get you through this.”
Lucan grunted, madness and regret swirling in his transformed gaze.
“If you won’t do it for me, then do it for Mom. I can’t go back to her tonight without you.”
Lucan’s attention snapped away. Tilting his head, he listened to their surroundings.
“The rest of the teams are on the way,” Darion told him. “Gideon got the ping from your comm unit earlier. We’re all searching to find you and bring you home.”
