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"Dispose of this rubbish," he snarled to the pair of assassins who looked on in silence from the other side of the hotel suite.
He stalked into the bathroom to scrub the offending gore from his hands, calming himself with the knowledge that although the Order had managed to deliver yet another strike against him today, he still had the upper hand. A pity they didn't realize it yet.
Very soon, they would.
He had the Order squarely in his sights now.
And he was more than ready to pull the trigger.
Chapter Thirty-four
When Jenna woke up, she was staring at the ceiling of the compound infirmary. She blinked slowly, waiting to feel the searing pain of the knife wound in her side. Instead, she felt a warm touch skating tenderly along her arm.
"Hey" came the deep, velvet voice that she'd been hearing in her sleep. "I've been waiting for you to open those pretty eyes."
Brock.
She turned her head on the pillow and was struck to see him seated next to her by the bed. He looked so handsome, so caring and strong. His dark brown gaze drank her in, his sensual mouth curving with just the barest traces of a smile.
"They called me in Newport and told me about your injury," he said, then exhaled a soft curse. "I saw the blood on you outside the Minion's house, but I didn't know it was yours, Jenna. I couldn't get back here fast enough to make sure you were okay."
She smiled up at him, her heart soaring to be near him again, even while she was afraid to be happy, uncertain whether or not he'd returned only to help her heal.
"How are you feeling, Jenna?"
"Okay," she replied, and realized just then that she actually felt very good physically. She sat up a bit and moved aside the sheet and blanket that covered her. The ugly gash that should have been below her rib cage was nothing more than a small scab, the wound that had been bleeding so profusely now all but gone. "How long have I been out?"
"A few hours." Brock's expression softened as he looked at her.
"You've surprised us all, particularly Gideon. He's still trying to figure out what's going on with your physiology, but it appears your body is learning to heal itself. Adaptive regeneration, I think he called it. He says he wants to run more tests, try to determine if the regeneration might also impact the aging of your cells over time. He seems to think there's a decent chance that's going to be the case."
Jenna shook her head, astonished. Also wryly amused. "You know, I'm starting to think it might be kind of fun being a cyborg."
"It doesn't matter to me what you are," he replied soberly. "I'm just glad to see you're doing well."
In the silence that stretched out between them, Jenna fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. "How are the other women--the Breedmates we rescued?"
"They're all settling in at Reichen's place. Gonna be a long road for a lot of them, but they're alive and Dragos can't touch them ever again."
"That's good," she replied quietly. "And Corinne?"
Brock's face grew solemn. "She's been through hell and back. She wants to go home to her family in Detroit. She says there are things she needs to take care of back there, in her past, before she can think about her future."
"Oh," Jenna said.
She understood how Corinne felt. She'd been thinking about her own past a lot, as well, and about the things she'd left unfinished back in Alaska.
Things she had been too cowardly to face before but now felt ready to confront as soon as she was able.
Since the rescue today, she'd been thinking about her future, too. It was impossible to picture without Brock in the equation, especially now that she was looking up into his handsome face, feeling the warmth and comfort of his dark gaze and his gentle touch.
"Corinne has asked me to take her back home," he said, words that tore at her heart.
She bit back the selfish reply that might have implored him not to go.
Instead she nodded, then blurted out the things she knew he'd need to hear.
Things that would relieve him of any guilt about what they'd shared together or the tender promises he'd made her in the time before he knew his past love would be delivered back into his arms.
