Crave the Night: A Midnight Breed Novel (25 page)

Whatever it was that he felt for Jordana, it surpassed simple desire or affection. It consumed him. Made his heart feel squeezed in a tight fist yet soaring free at the same time.

He glanced down, gave a mute shake of his head. “Maybe I do. Fuck, I don’t know.”

“You better figure it out,” Chase replied. “Because anything less than that is a waste of our time here. Especially when it could cost you your rank under my command. Possibly even your place in the Order as a whole.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Nathan assured him. “No matter what I have with Jordana, the Order is my family. My duty. I’ve got this under control.”

Chase grunted. “Then prove it to me. Prove it to yourself, and bring her in, as you should’ve done last night.”

Nathan pictured her in her stunning red dress, surrounded by half of Boston as she proudly unveiled her exhibit.

Then he imagined walking in there, just as he’d dreaded, not as the man she hoped to have at her side for that important moment but the warrior sent to ruin her night and likely earn her hatred.

He swore roundly under his breath. “I can’t do that. Not tonight. She’s got this event at the museum. She’s been planning it for months—”

Chase rose to his feet on a snarl. He scrubbed his hand over his brow, then leveled a hard look on Nathan. “Listen, I didn’t live nearly two hundred years without more than a few fuckups and near disasters to my credit. You know my history; it’s far from spotless. I’m hardly the one to lecture you on duty or how you should live your life. But I’m your commander. I’m taking you off patrol for the night. Tell Elijah he’ll captain in your place.”

Nathan absorbed the edict with a conceding nod. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Chase challenged. He motioned for Nathan to stand up. “Consider this a chance to figure your shit out with Jordana. I need to know if you can come back and continue your mission as captain of your squad. I’ll expect your answer first thing tomorrow morning.”

Nathan gave him another nod. “Yes, sir.”

Chase slanted him a thoughtful but frustrated look. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Nathan left and headed down the corridor.

Rafe rounded a corner up ahead and immediately jogged forward to meet him. Worry etched his face.

“Have you seen Commander Chase yet today?”

“Yeah. He just finished chewing me a new asshole.”

“Shit.” Rafe looked at him, contrite. He fell in alongside Nathan and walked with him toward the warriors’ wing of the compound. “I had to name Jordana as a witness, man. I left her out of the patrol report because I didn’t want to make things hard for you, but—”

“It’s nothing,” Nathan replied. He could hardly be upset with his friend for simply carrying out his duty. “You had to report. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“So what’d he say?”

Nathan shrugged. “Nothing I didn’t deserve to hear. Then he yanked me off patrol for tonight. I need to let Eli know he’ll be heading things up in my place.”

“Jesus, Nathan.” Rafe frowned, gave a slow shake of his head. “This is serious shit.”

Yes, it was. But what he felt for Jordana was serious too.

And Chase was right, he needed to sort it out. He needed to see if there was any way for both the Order and her to fit into his life.

“What are you going to do?” Rafe asked.

Nathan chuckled. “I guess I’m going to go to Jordana’s exhibit opening at the museum tonight.”

Rafe gaped. “What? You mean, like some kind of date? You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not.” When Rafe paused outside the weapons room, Nathan kept walking, heading for his quarters.

“I hope you don’t plan to go there in full patrol gear,” Rafe called out from behind him, laughing now.

Shit
. Nathan hadn’t considered things that far. He, the consummate tactician. The expert at weaponry and warfare didn’t have the first clue how to present himself as anything even remotely resembling a man going to be with his woman in a social gathering.

A date, for crissake.

Nathan pivoted and strode back to find Rafe. He pulled him outside the weapons room and lowered his voice. “What the fuck does someone wear to a museum party?”

JORDANA STOOD IN THE GALLERY OUTSIDE THE EXHIBIT HALL of the museum, feeling a sense of relief—a sense of pride and accomplishment—as she looked out over the packed house at the grand opening that evening.

She had been hoping the event would be well attended, but the sea of benefactors, society elite, museum members and general public arriving to fill the space far exceeded anything she’d dared to imagine.

Everyone was there tonight, her father included. Martin Gates mingled easily among his Darkhaven peers and the other upper-class citizens of Boston. Dressed in a conservative charcoal gray suit, pristine white shirt, and perfectly knotted silk tie, the handsome, staid, dark-haired Breed male looked every bit the wealthy investor and businessman that he was.

It was hard even for Jordana sometimes to remember that her father wasn’t a Brahmin product of this city but a self-made man who’d established himself in Vancouver before relocating to Boston with Jordana almost twenty-five years ago.

She’d been just a newborn then, an orphaned Breedmate adopted by Martin Gates only days after her birth. She could never repay her father for the life he’d provided her, and it warmed her heart to see him there to support her tonight.

Hundreds of people strolled the exhibit, conversing with one another, admiring the art and sculptures, enjoying the canapés and champagne being served by catering staff in tuxedoes while a small orchestra
played softly in the background. The exhibit hummed with conversation, laughter, and enthusiastic energy.

Even Elliott had come, despite the graceless way she’d ended their nonrelationship. But that was Elliott—dutiful, political, in all things. Then again, watching him blithely chat up a couple of Back Bay socialites in front of the French tapestry collection, she had to wonder if his prior interest in her had been more about pleasing her father than any kind of true affection he may have felt for her.

It certainly hadn’t been desire, not even during Elliott’s most ardent moods. Jordana knew true desire now—scorching, insatiable, consuming desire. What she and Elliott had was little more than a tepid, companionable regard for each other.

Nothing like what she’d experienced the past few nights with Nathan.

Jordana scanned the exhibit hall again, looking for the one face in the crowd she longed to see above all others.

She knew better than to think Nathan would actually come. This wasn’t his kind of place, not his kind of event at all. He had far more important things to do. She knew that even when she’d sent him those impulsive messages earlier in the day.

God, what did he think of her now? She was sure she wouldn’t want to know.

If only she could erase those messages, take back the photo she’d sent him. He hadn’t responded, so there was a chance he hadn’t seen her messages. Maybe Carys had given her the wrong number.

She could only hope to be that lucky.

“Old Mr. Bonneville sends his regards,” Carys said with a wry grin, emerging now from inside the exhibit hall to join Jordana in the quiet of the adjacent gallery. “As do Mr. Delano, Mr. Putnam, and Mr. Forbes. I told you that dress was amazing. Every man in that room who still has a pulse is waiting to get another glimpse of you. What are you doing hiding out here?”

“I’m not hiding, I’m—”

“Waiting,” Carys gently finished for her. She strolled over, catlike and graceful in a pair of strappy, stiletto sandals that perfectly complemented the midnight hue of her body-hugging cobalt blue dress. “Come on. Rune won’t be here either, and we both look much too hot to be flying solo.” Carys looped her arm around Jordana’s elbow and gave her a bolstering smile. “Let me be your date tonight.”

They walked into the noise and bustle of the party, offering greetings to clusters of happy patrons and supporters who sought Jordana out as soon as she entered the hall.

It didn’t take long for her to put aside her disappointment that Nathan hadn’t come. There were too many people to welcome, endless hands to shake, one conversation after another to attend to as she slowly circulated through the crowd. Carys drifted away as the attendees converged on Jordana.

“An exquisite collection, my dear,” enthused the jewel-draped Breedmate of a prominent Darkhaven leader from within her circle of elegant society companions. The ladies all nodded in agreement. “Each display offers something to delight or intrigue.”

“Just lovely,” added the petite, silver-haired human of the group as she wrapped cool fingers around Jordana’s hands. “If the museum doesn’t take care of you properly, tell your director I may have to steal you away to curate our family’s private collection.”

Jordana accepted the praise with a polite smile to the elderly matriarch who’d raised a powerful Boston political clan the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the middle of the twentieth century.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Amory,” Jordana demurred. “I’m so pleased you’re all enjoying the exhibit.”

The old woman winked and leaned in close. “If any of my unwed sons were here tonight, I might attempt to convince you to join our family in a more permanent capacity. Not that they would complain. Have you met my youngest, Peyton? He’s quite the charmer.”

“I, um …” Jordana stammered, eager to make her excuses and move on, but then her father stepped in to do it for her.

“I’m afraid you’ll find my daughter is immune to matchmaking, Mrs. Amory,” Martin Gates replied smoothly, placing a light, sheltering arm around her shoulders. He offered a gracious smile to the now-giggling ladies before turning a warm, if less jovial, look on Jordana. “Take it from someone who knows.”

She winced inwardly at the private chastisement. So much for hoping she might delay having to explain about her abrupt breakup with Elliott.

“May a proud father steal his daughter away for a moment?” he asked the women, to a collective round of approval. As he guided Jordana away from the well-meaning society hens, he murmured quietly, “An interesting choice of dress tonight. You look …”

She waited for him to disapprove, to tell her it was too provocative, drawing too much attention. Or maybe her father would say no more than he had, merely give her the silent, pensive look that always made her worry she was letting him down by not doing what he expected of his only child.

He paused and affectionately smoothed his hand over her hair. “You look beautiful, Jordana. And what you’ve done here tonight is remarkable. I’m very impressed.”

His praise was heartfelt; she could see as much in his caring expression. That he approved meant more to her than all of the other attendees’ compliments combined.

Jordana reached up and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Father.”

“I want you to know that I’m pleased that you’ve found something that gives you so much obvious satisfaction—”

“But,” she prompted, noting the faint crease forming between his dark brows. He was trying to be supportive, but it was obvious he couldn’t turn off the part of him that seemed determined to direct the way she lived her life.

His frown deepened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Jordana, this is hardly the best time or place—”

“Say it,” she said without venom or dread. “It’s okay. I’ve been avoiding this conversation long enough. I’ve got a few minutes before I need to make my welcome speech. We might as well have this talk right here and now.”

Although he didn’t seem to agree, Martin Gates lowered his voice to a private tone. His features were pinched with genuine concern. “I’ve always been proud of your accomplishments, Jordana. You’ve given me so much reason to be proud that you’re my daughter. But when I took you in as my own, I made a promise—to myself, and to you. I made a promise to the parents you would never know. I vowed to do the best for you, to provide everything you could ever possibly need.”

“And you have.”

Unmated and without heirs of his own, it was common knowledge that Martin Gates, the Vancouver hospital’s most generous benefactor, had stepped in to take personal responsibility for Jordana after learning that a Breedmate had been orphaned there by a penniless, unwed mother who died giving birth to her.

“No.” He slowly shook his head and muttered a low curse. “I made a
vow that I would see your future was secured. It’s all that matters to me, and I’m failing you in that, Jordana.”

Seeing his genuine distress, she reached up to touch the tense jaw of the Breed male who had always been her father, her only family. “Elliott Bentley-Squire was never my future. I know you hoped he would be. That wasn’t your failing, Father. It wasn’t even Elliott’s. It was mine.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s at fault now. We must fix it,” he argued quietly but firmly as he took her hand in his. Idly, his thumb moved over her Breedmate mark on the inside of her wrist. “It’s important that you find a suitable mate. Time is running out, Jordana. You must do this—for me, if you won’t do it for yourself.”

His grip tightened, desperation filtering into his stern gaze as he spoke. Jordana’s veins jangled at the urgency in his voice. She’d seen him argue this point before, but never with such intensity. “I’m a grown woman. You worry about me too much.”