Lucian and Alexander hit the ground near the Hollow of Shadows with more weight than they'd started with.

"You jackass." Lucian pushed the unwanted paven off of him. "You piggyback on me again and you'll be lying on a platter with your eyeballs gone and an apple in your mouth."

Synjon looked unfazed at the threat as he processed his surroundings: the lush green forest, the rocky caves, the deep, rich scent of earth that always permeated the air in the Hollow. "Save your threats for the Order," he said evenly. "This is my right, my claim on my mate."

"Your mate," Lucian scoffed with an edge of suspicion. What the hell was going on here? he mused, his gaze as challenging as his tone had been. What was he missing? "Why is it you have no sense of where she is? It's impossible."

Squaring his shoulders, Synjon leveled a brick-wall stare at Lucian. "We won't be connected until she's inside me, and I haven't taken her blood or her body." He raised a brow and tipped his chin up. "Yet."

Lucian's growl was fierce and feral. Hot coils of possession unraveled in his gut, and the need to rip this male apart, then find and take his mate, was unrelenting inside him. He didn't know what to do with these feelings, and goddamn-he refused to name them, but if the paven before him wanted to live, he'd better shut the fuck up about Bronwyn's blood and body.

"Luca has a point," Alexander said, stepping between the two pavens, his tone the very essence of calm as he eyeballed Synjon. "The true mate bond is impenetrable and uncomplicated. Whether you've taken her blood or not, you should know where she is. Unless-"

"Unless by taking her blood you screwed something up," Synjon accused him severely.

Alexander snorted. "Get serious."

"This whole thing is screwed up," Lucian stated with ire, stalking around Alex and getting in Synjon's air space once again. "You're hiding something, Brit Boy. I can scent it, along with that cheap cologne you're wearing. What is it?"

Quick as an intake of breath, Synjon reached out and grabbed Lucian's gun, but just as the weapon slipped from the holster, Lucian was flashed from the Hollow and away from both pavens. In seconds, he felt both heat and sand, and even though he knew exactly where he was, he stumbled for a second to find his balance.

"Goddamn Order," Lucian muttered as he righted himself and slid his gaze over the table in front of him.

As usual, the ten ancient ones were dressed for success-otherwise known as "Please, assholes, be intimidated by us." Each wore a red monklike robe, had a black circle, a perfect O, branded around their left eye, and each paven had a full beard. But-he squinted, there seemed to be a robe missing. His eyes searched the line of bodies, landing on his father at the end, head covered with his red hood. Only nine accounted for.

Cruen.

The mastermind, the evil one among all the other evil ones who had defected to places unknown. Sounded like a good trick. Maybe the others would follow his lead. Lucian sniffed at that. Maybe not. The Order had yet to find Cruen and bring him to justice for what he had done with Ethan Dare and all those Impure fools who had been destroyed and manipulated in the name of progress, but no doubt they were working their own schemes to find him.

Of the three veana members, the one with skin the color of clay and waist-length hair the color of snow spoke first. "Good evening, Lucian Roman."

Lucian didn't have time for making nicey-nice-even if he thought the old assholes before him worthy of it. "Where is she?" he said with undisguised menace.

The veana looked confused, the skin between her brows wrinkling. "Who do you seek, Son of the Breeding Male?"

Oh joy. He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. "Are we really going to play this game? Because if we are then I'm going to need one of those BarcaLounger recliners and a snack."

"We play at nothing," she said quickly, seriously.

"And by snack I mean blood; preferably from a female and over ninety-eight degrees."

Her lip curled with distaste. "It is you who have sought us this eve, Lucian Roman. We felt your presence in the Hollow, pulled you in, and brought you here before us."

This bunch of relics was working his last goddamn nerve. "That's bullshit and you know it," Lucian said, heading to the table like they couldn't incinerate him with just a thought. "I just came from a wall with your scrawl on it. Bronwyn Kettler and the sun. Ring a bell?"

The veana turned to the others at her table. "Did one of you call for Lucian Roman?"

Beyond irritated now, Lucian's gaze shot to his father, who, like the others, shook his head in response.

"We sent no message, Son of the Breeding Male," she said, her tone rife with confusion and concern as she turned back to face him. "Bronwyn Kettler has mated. We all witnessed this mating. She is no longer a concern of ours."

A low growl started in Lucian's throat. He had no idea what was going on here, but he didn't like it. "The Order cannot open their mouths without deception bleeding out."

A paven beside the white-haired veana hissed. "This censure is uncalled for."

"Lucian, Son of the Breeding Male." It was Titus now, his hood unmoving, his voice an even thread of calm and reason. "We have made no call to you."

Jacked up on both irritation and-fuck it-a pretty heavy dose of concern for Bronwyn now, Lucian sneered at his father, and was about to open his mouth and say something ugly and obvious when the paven spoke inside his mind.

"Do not reveal my identity. I beg you."

"Beg all you want, Daddy," he mused, lifting his upper lip as he stared at that hood. "This is about Bronwyn now. Your secret is not mine. Your life, your future-none of it is-"

His thoughts, his ire, his near reveal of the paven who had given him life, were interrupted by the white-haired veana. This time her voice demonstrated its own version of irritation. "There is another who has the power to call upon you still."

As the low rumble of concerned chitchat ebbed up and down the long wood table, Lucian felt the pulse of understanding jar his mind. This game was a sick one, a cruel one-and clearly it wasn't stopping here.

"Cruen," he said, his pupils dilating, his skin retracting over his bones-ready for flight, ready for fight.

The veana nodded, her eyes glazed with the anger of one who thought that up until a moment ago they had all the control.

Welcome to my world, Veana. Feels pretty shitty, don't it?

"So," Lucian began, having a seat on the Order's illustrious wood table. He ignored the quick intakes of breath from either side of the veana. "Why would that menace to our breed have a need to call upon me?"

"It seems he has a special interest in you," she said evenly, though beneath her cool exterior there was more than a sliver of unrest. "We didn't know it when there was the original call on the Roman brothers. We think Cruen may be trying to draw you in, draw you to him-wherever it is he hides from us, from justice." She lifted one pale eyebrow. "Did you know that Cruen was the one who created the Breeding Male program?"

Lucian's gaze shot to Titus.

"Yes, I knew."

"His main goal was to morph you," the female continued, "to send you into Breeding Male status."

"There is another place for us to speak of this, my son."

Lucian could barely contain his anger, his questions, could barely keep his fangs from extending. Betrayal-ever present when it came to this paven who sired him-surged through his blood. Had his father known about Cruen's intentions and given Lucian no warning? Piece-of-shit bastard...Using his mental gifts to get inside Lucian's head, planting ideas and maybe even a little bit of softness in there while he was at it. And now the old paven expected Lucian to keep Titus's secrets?

The growl that left his throat was meant for the lot of them. They were all fucking with him-it was their greatest pleasure to fuck with the Roman brothers.

"Wasn't that the Order's goal?" he said, his tone accusing and ugly as he jumped off the table and headed down the row to stand in front of Titus-who incidentally refused to look at him. "Getting me morphed, sending me into Breeding Male status?"

"No," the veana confirmed more passionately than she no doubt intended. "We only wanted Dare found and destroyed. Cruen wanted the Romans premorphed. He wanted to see which one of you might have the gene."

The intensity of Lucian's ire at that moment threatened to tear his sanity apart. These self-righteous wannabe gods created monsters like him, like his father, and reveled in their abilities, then acted offended and disgusted when the animals didn't heel the way they wanted them to. And now they pretended to care about his pale ass, pretended they hadn't fated him to an existence where he was either utterly alone or lost inside the mind and body of a beast in heat...Because-let's get serious here-those were his only options as he was allowed no true mate in his future.

Well, screw the Order. Screw dear ol' Daddy. He needed to get off this plane-find that ancient bastard and get the girl back where she belonged.

With him, a voice deep inside his blood uttered maliciously. And just to make things real nice and brutal, the ancient veana with the white hair and clear, gentle voice said it-the thing that was meant to kill his insides and make him beg.

"There is one other thing, Son of the Breeding Male," she began tentatively. "We have reason to believe Cruen may have an antidote for the Breeding Male gene, something that could possibly turn off the need to breed."

Lucian didn't move. In fact, nothing inside him moved-not his blood, his skin, his muscles, not even a twitch as he processed the words thrust upon him. Words that had to be a lie, a manipulation...

His gaze burned into the unseen face below the hood, his father. He waited-waited for confirmation, something inside his mind. But nothing came.

He chuckled, dark and sick. He was a descendant of cowardice. Shit, that was unfortunate.

"How convenient this all is," he said, walking toward the veana. "And how timely."

"Perhaps if you help us," the veana began, her Order status forcing her to use the serendipitous moment to her advantage.

But Lucian wasn't biting. Hell, he wasn't even hungry anymore. Time was being wasted...If Cruen truly had Bronwyn, they were in some serious trouble-she was in some serious trouble. He needed to jump on that, not sit here and lap up juicy bits of possibility. Life didn't run that way for him. No hope, no girl-no happy ending for Lucian Roman.

"Gotta go, boys and girls," he said, backing up from the table.

"If you bring Cruen to us," she continued as he moved back, "we will force him to halt the Breeding Male gene inside you."

Shaking his head, Lucian laughed with centuries of bitterness. "Go fuck yourselves. All of you."

"Lucian."

Not a chance, Pop.

"Go! Now!"

The alarmed tone inside his head had Lucian stuttering with sudden panic. What the hell was going on?

"You must go! He knows. God, he wanted you here-wanted you to come here."

Lucian stared at the male in the robe.

"It is the one place he can latch on to you. I should have realized...I cannot send you back myself-"

For the sixth time that day, Lucian was yanked away, flashed out of one reality and deposited into another. But this time, he was on his own and where he landed looked nothing like the Hollow of Shadows, SoHo, or France-and everything like his jail.

His eyes sliced over the endless scene of blue.

Oh shit.

And her jail...

"Don't come anywhere near me, Lucian Roman," she called out, terror in her voice, in her eyes.