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So did Zael, although he kept that hope to himself.
Because if Selene’s need for vengeance should eventually overrule her logic and reason, everyone on this planet would be doomed.
CHAPTER 9
Brynne returned to her suite next to the library, her mind spinning from all she had learned over breakfast with Tavia and the other women.
The investigator in her had been fascinated by the facts of Jordana’s incredible origins. She’d listened raptly over a plate of crepes and fresh fruit as the pale blonde beauty had described the events surrounding her father’s efforts to safeguard his infant daughter.
Not to mention the powerful crystal he’d taken from the Atlantean realm.
Cassianus had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep both of his treasures from falling back into Selene’s hands.
Then there was Zael. From the way Jordana told the story, he had been ready to sacrifice anything for her safety too.
As professionally intrigued as Brynne had been about the details concerning the Atlanteans, their dangerous queen, and the powerful crystals at the center of so much bloodshed and strife, the woman in Brynne was equally fascinated by the deepening paradox that was Zael.
She couldn’t help thinking that perhaps she’d judged him too hastily, and too harshly.
That had long been one of her many flaws when it came to dealing with anyone—and not something she found easy to change. After all, she’d found out a long time ago that life was a hell of a lot easier to survive when it was lived in basic black or white. Things were either right or wrong, good or bad.
The people around her were either on her side or against her.
Friend or enemy.
With Zael, her old methods didn’t seem to hold up. Everything about the male shook the firm foundation she’d constructed for herself. He seemed to understand that too. Even worse, he seemed to enjoy knocking her off kilter, making her question herself. Making her squirm.
Lord knew he did that all too well.
She thought she’d had him pegged, but he kept proving her wrong. Now that she was forced to look at him in the flattering light of Jordana’s praise and affection, Brynne didn’t know what to think about Zael.
Stepping into the solace of her guest room, she hoped to find a few moments alone to rest and freshen up. She needed a shower and a change of clothes, the latter having been generously provided by Gabrielle. A light blouse and pressed linen slacks were folded neatly at the end of the bed. Brynne traced her fingers over the crisp fabric, moved by how readily everyone in the Order had welcomed her.
That didn’t mean she wanted to stay.
It didn’t mean she could. Not for long, anyway.
Not without letting them all see what was wrong with her.
Not without earning everyone’s fear—and rightly so.
Because sooner or later, she would need to feed. Not on fancy breakfasts or other human food she was fortunate enough to enjoy in spite of her Breed genetics. Sooner—rather than later—she would need to nourish herself with blood.
An act that was as normal as breathing for any other member of the Breed was torment for her. Damned if she drank and damned if she didn’t, Brynne had grown accustomed to stringing herself out as long as she could, if only to avoid the pain . . . the horror.
The shame.
She only hoped she could last until she was able to return to London and resume her life. What remained of it, that is.
Zael had accused her of being lonely and he was right.
He was right about so much where she was concerned, and it terrified her that he could see through her so easily when she’d worked all her life to shelter herself.
