Movement in the air alerted Darion that his comrades were closing in on the estate now. They were likely already in the wooded areas, moments away from the standoff taking place in the driveway.
“He’s here,” Darion called out to them. “I found him. He’s alive, but he’s--”
Darion didn’t get the chance to say another word.
One moment his father was standing in front of him, the next he had bolted away, vanishing into the darkness.
CHAPTER 8
They searched for hours, Darion and the rest of the patrol teams looking for Lucan in every corner of the city. He was nowhere to be found.
Darion couldn’t shake the shocking image of his father staring back at him with the feral gaze and mad fury of a Rogue. He would never be able to purge the horror he felt at seeing the Breed male he respected and admired above all others turned into a snarling animal by the poison that Opus Nostrum had unleashed on him.
“I’m going to search the Metro stations again,” he said to his teammates who’d regrouped a few minutes ago near the nightclub, Slake. The popular place was dark and vacant tonight, as was the rest of the city, still under curfew as the Rogue violence continued.
Nathan put a hand on Darion’s shoulder. “It’ll be daybreak in less than half an hour. We can start again tomorrow night.”
Darion shrugged off his captain’s concern. “There’s still time for another look. I’m not leaving until I find him.”
“You won’t find Lucan if he doesn’t want to be found.”
This time it was Hunter who spoke. He was one of several warrior elders who had assisted in the search. The Gen One assassin’s normally cool stare held an edge of sympathy that did less to comfort Darion than drive home the hopelessness of the situation.
Hunter slowly shook his head. “He’s gone to ground for now, somewhere we won’t find him.”
Brock nodded in agreement. “No doubt. That’s what I would do.”
Darion couldn’t argue with them, even if he wanted to. The only people who knew Lucan half as well as Darion’s mother were the warriors who’d been through hell and back with him over the past two decades and longer. Some of them much, much longer than that. They had all grown as close as any brothers could be, and it was clear they shared Darion’s concern for his father’s condition.
“We need to put some daywalkers on him. The longer he’s left out there on his own, the worse things could get for him.”
Brock’s dark eyes locked on Darion with sympathy and something else. “As bad as things are for Lucan right now, he’s not the only one suffering. Your mother--”
“Ah, Christ.” Understanding hit Darion like a physical blow.The blood bond.
He’d been so focused on his father, he hadn’t paused to consider the other harm Opus was inflicting tonight. Those fucking bastards.
He didn’t want to imagine what his poor mother must be feeling through her Breedmate connection to his father. Without a mate of his own, he truly couldn’t imagine it, but he could guess well enough. The bond that was the deepest gift between a mated couple could also be the sharpest weapon. And now his gentle, loving mother would be feeling his father’s agony and madness as if it were her own.
The thought of her enduring even a fraction of the suffering he saw in his father earlier tonight was more than Darion could stand.
Reluctantly, and with a low growl of renewed rage for Opus Nostrum, he gave his comrades a curt nod.
“Let’s go, then.”
With Darion in the lead, they rounded up the rest of the patrol teams in other parts of the city and headed back to Order headquarters.
Gideon greeted the teams as they rushed inside. His gaze scanned Darion’s face, then the others. “Shit. He’s not with you.”
Darion gave a tight shake of his head. “Where’s my mother?”
“In your parents’ quarters. I tranced her so she could rest, but she’s not--”
Darion didn’t wait to hear any more. His booted feet chewed up the distance as he raced from the command center to the residence.
The door was partially open, so he stepped inside without knocking and walked through the spacious living area to the equally expansive bedroom. There, he froze.
His mother lay on the bed in loose-fitting pajama pants and a sleep tank, restless despite the trance Gideon had administered. Savannah sat beside her on the edge of the big mattress, holding a damp washcloth in her hand. She pressed it to Gabrielle’s brow, but it seemed to do little to soothe her. Her long auburn hair was a matted tangle that clung to her pale, sweat-sheened face.
