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Lucan's scowl deepened with mounting suspicion. He knew who Benson's genius nephew was. Knew that Jeremy Ackmeyer's work was respected around the world and that the human was regarded as one of the most gifted minds of all time - a recognition that had recently earned the young scientist a sizable cash prize to be presented personally by one of the world's wealthiest men. "I'm afraid Jeremy is somewhat . . . eccentric," Benson's message went on. "My sister's boy. From the day the child was born, I warned her not to coddle him." A dismissive wave of a thin, bony hand before the councilman finally got to his point. "I'm embarrassed to say that Jeremy has refused to appear at the summit gala. He's a fearful boy, an irrational shut-in, if I'm to be perfectly frank with you. He refuses to travel for fear of dying from one cause or another. I suppose I was hoping I might convince you to provide some means of escort for him to Washington - "
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Lucan cut the message off with a stab of his finger on the end button and a low, muttered curse.
Since when had the Order become a personal chauffeur and security detail for hermit eggheads?
Politically ill-advised or not, he glared at the tablet, ready to tell Councilman Benson that his paranoid nephew would have to make other arrangements. But as his finger hovered over the record button on the screen, the sound of rising voices outside drew his attention toward the tall, curtained windows of his private study.
Protesters.
Lucan stalked to the window and drew open the long drapes. Apparently the graveyard shift had reported for duty. He counted fifteen human men and women - Christ, even a sign-carrying, shouting little girl - standing on the other side of the towering iron gates at the street. The signs bore the same tired vitriol that had been hurled at the Breed for two decades now: Go Back Where You Came From! Earth Is for Man, Not Monsters! You Can't Make Peace with Predators!
Since the announcement of the summit, picketers and chanting protests representing both human and Breed dissent were hardly uncommon outside the GNC building near the Capitol or at the Order's heavily secured D.C. headquarters. Tonight, with a headache from hours spent poring over Council rulings and the now-throbbing ache of his molars as he ground his teeth in outrage over the ridiculous request from someone he'd been counting on for political support down the line, the thought of a mob of hate-spewing rabble-rousers annoyed Lucan more than usual.
At least it was only picket signs and shouting, not the all-out street combat and acts of terror that had occurred on both sides in the months and years following the Breed's discovery by mankind. War had been inevitable then, even though Lucan had hoped to avoid it. There'd been too much blood spilled, too much fear and suspicion. While the Breed had lived alongside man in secret for thousands of years, all it took to undo centuries of care and discretion was the unspeakable act of one Breed male two decades ago, who, in his villainous lust for power, had freed scores of incarcerated, blood-addicted vampires, loosing them onto an unsuspecting human population.
It had fallen to the Order to help clean up the carnage and stop the Rogues who were cutting a bloody, horrific swath across the entire globe. But Lucan and his warriors couldn't act swiftly enough to curb the violence that broke out in the wake of the attacks. Whole cities were razed, buildings tumbled, governments dissolved by anarchy and rebel uprisings. The Breed's civilian communities suffered daytime raids that left the Darkhavens in shambles, families slaughtered or exposed to the killing rays of the sun.
Then, when it seemed the fighting between man and Breed couldn't possibly get worse, a massive chemical weapon was deployed in the Russian interior, rendering hundreds of thousands of acres of wilderness an uninhabitable wasteland. It was a catastrophic move, one that neither humans nor Breed had admitted responsibility for to this day.
It could have been worse. To think what might have been, if the weapon of that size and power had been unleashed on a major city instead.
Still, the impact of the damage had been felt around the world. And it had prompted Lucan to send the Order in swiftly and in full force to destroy all of the nuclear silos and chemical weapons facilities in every corner of the globe.
Although it had been the right thing to do - the only sane thing to do - there were individuals of both races who held Lucan in contempt for the heavy-handed tactic. Some feared he would not hesitate to appoint himself sole judge and jury for the world once more, if the strife between man and Breed were to escalate.
Goddamn right he would.
Lucan only hoped it was a decision he'd never have to make.
A knock sounded on his study door, a welcome intrusion on the grim path of his thoughts.
"Enter," he called, more growl than invitation. Letting the drape fall back into place, he turned away from the window.
He'd been expecting Gideon, the Breed warrior who had long been the technical genius of the Order's complicated operations center and compound. Gideon was currently on task to provide Lucan with security updates on the summit meeting facility, so that Order assets could be assigned to cover the multiday event.
But it wasn't Gideon at the door.
"Darion."
"Am I interrupting your work, Father?"
"Not at all." He gestured for Darion to join him inside.
Just the sight of his boy - the tall, muscular nineteen-year-old man bearing a dark chestnut shade of his mother's auburn hair and her same soulful brown eyes - made the weight of Lucan's current burdens fall away. It was the other traits Darion bore - Lucan's angular facial structure and strong jaw, coupled with an inflexible iron will inherited from both parents - that usually put father and son at odds. Apart from Gabrielle's coloring and her extrasensory ability, both passed down to her son, for Lucan, being around Dare was like looking in a mirror.
Darion was too much like his father in many ways, a recognition that unsettled Lucan more than he cared to admit. But where Lucan had struggled with his natural tendency to lead others, Dare had no such qualms. Too bold, more often than not. Fearless in anything he attempted. These were qualities that made Lucan's blood run cold with a father's fear when he pictured his son eventually dressed for combat as a warrior of the Order and charging out to battle.
If Lucan had his way, that moment he'd been dreading would never come.
Darion strode into the study, casual in dark jeans and a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, unbuttoned at the collar. "More protesters tonight," he remarked, lifting his squared chin in the direction of the windows, where the din of voices outside was rising. "Seems like the numbers are increasing the closer we get to the date of the summit."
Lucan grunted, gave a curt nod. "For all their bleating, it's only background noise to bigger problems, unfortunately."
"I take it today's meetings did not go well?"
"No better or worse than any other these past few weeks." Lucan indicated a chair on the other side of his desk, then walked around to take his own seat as Darion sat down. "More and more, this summit is becoming a mockery. How can we expect to bridge the gap of mistrust between the races when the GNC's own Council members can't agree on the most basic principles?"
"That bad?" Darion asked, his deep voice as grim as Lucan's thoughts.
