Table of Contents
Title Page
DEFY THE DAWN
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
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About the Author
COPYRIGHT
DEFY THE DAWN
A Midnight Breed Novel
Book 14
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
LARA ADRIAN
© 2016 Lara Adrian, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (v1)
DEFY THE DAWN
An immortal warrior must decide between loyalty to his people and desire for a beautiful Breed female determined to bring a powerful enemy to justice at any cost, in this new novel in the "steamy and intense" (Publishers Weekly) Midnight Breed vampire romance series from New York Times and #1 international bestselling author Lara Adrian.
CHAPTER 1
London, England
Brynne Kirkland threw her head back and downed the shot of premium whisky in one throat-scalding gulp. Being Breed, alcohol wasn’t her typical drink of choice. This noisy bar and strobe-lit dance club in Cheapside wasn’t her usual after-hours hangout either. On those rare occasions when she socialized, the staid taverns and social clubs on the other side of the Thames were more her speed.
Then again, that was precisely why she was here.
She needed to decompress, let off some steam.
Get a little wild for once in her life.
Ah, to hell with the pretense of decorum. After the lousy day she’d just had, what she really needed was to get drunk and get laid.
Preferably in that order.
She also needed to feed. Although quenching that other self-inflicted dry spell was a problem she was hardly prepared to deal with on a good day, let alone now.
Setting the shot glass down on the mirrored surface of the sleek bar, she licked her lips and blew out a heavy sigh. The bartender was right there with the bottle of Glenmorangie as soon as she lifted her finger to beckon him over.
Ginger-haired, broad-shouldered, with a pair of sweet dimples bracketing his friendly smile, the twenty-something human wasn’t hard to look at in the least. And given his firm, muscular body, obviously honed by years of dedicated work in the gym, he looked reasonably able to withstand the intense cardiovascular workout he’d get from taking a Breed female into his bed.
Which is more than she could say for most of the other human men in the place tonight. She had already sized up and mentally discarded a dozen potential candidates for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being the fear that sex with one of her kind was liable to kill a mere mortal from sheer exhaustion alone. She already had one dead human on her record this week; she damned well didn’t need to add another.
The bartender took in her conservative white silk button-down and dark navy slacks as he refilled her shot glass. She’d come straight from work, hadn’t even bothered to pull her hair loose from its tidy twist at the back of her head.
“Rough day at the office, luv?” The bartender asked over the throbbing pulse of the club music.
Brynne arched a brow at his unwitting remark. “You have no idea.”
She’d spent the past decade building her career as an investigator at the London branch of JUSTIS—the Breed/human law enforcement organization more formally known as the Joint Urban Security Taskforce Initiative Squad. She’d worked hard, devoted her life to her job. Hell, the job was her life.
Or, rather, it had been until a few hours ago.
Everything she’d worked for had gone down in flames—all the worse because she had no one to blame but herself.
Two nights ago, she’d secretly assisted a covert mission with Lucan Thorne and the Order, willfully withholding information about that mission from her colleagues and superiors at JUSTIS, well aware that in so doing she was gambling with her career. Thankfully, the Order mission had been a success. They’d struck a major blow against the terror group Opus Nostrum, taking out a key player in Dublin and unmasking another in London. Brynne’s cooperation had been instrumental in making that happen.
Unfortunately, JUSTIS didn’t see it that way.
Her superiors had no quibble with the Order exterminating the Breed male in Ireland. Fineas Riordan was a known criminal and underworld figure, but the human councilman who killed himself in London rather than fall into the hands of the Order was a scandal that JUSTIS could not afford.
Never mind that Neville Fielding had been corrupt and secretly on the take with Opus Nostrum. Never mind that the two men, along with the deadly cabal they belonged to, had declared themselves in war against the rest of the civilized world.
And never mind that Brynne had done what she believed was right—the result being two fewer problems for the world to worry about later.
None of that mattered, because in aiding the Order on their clandestine operation, she had willfully defied JUSTIS command. She’d broken the organization’s trust.
For the first time ever, she had followed her heart instead of her head.
Unfortunately, the price was her career.
If that didn’t call for a few shots of single malt and a rare, blindingly hot one-night-stand with someone she’d never see again, she didn’t know what did.
Wrapping her fingers around the small glass the bartender had generously filled to the rim, Brynne tossed it back. She felt his heated gaze on her, felt the ripple of his sexual interest thicken the air as he watched her swallow the fiery liquor then wipe the back of her hand across her parted lips.
“Another, please.”
His answering smile was slow, charmingly crooked. Framed by those endearing twin dimples. “Careful now, luv. Take things too fast here tonight, and you’ll leave me no choice but to carry you home.”
Was he serious? She stared at him, realizing he had no idea what she was. To anyone who looked at her now, she wasn’t identifiable as Breed. At a glance, she was merely a tall, athletically built, green-eyed brunette.
Her fangs only appeared when she was emotionally provoked in some way, be it hunger, anger, or desire. That was when her other Breed characteristics manifested too, from the fiery amber glow of her irises and the vertical narrowing of her pupils, to the awakening of her dermaglyphs—color-changing skin markings that every member of the Breed had on their bodies to varying degrees.
Right now, she felt nothing but the pleasant buzz of the alcohol seeping into her bloodstream. Well, that, and the lingering sting of useless, self-directed anger. What she wanted was to feel less sting and more buzz, thank you very much.
“I’d like another shot, please.”
“Jamie,” the bartender said, still holding on to the bottle. “And you are?”
Brynne smiled. “Thirsty.”
He chuckled as he leaned in close and poured more liquor into h
er glass. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Not that I’d mind carrying a pretty lady like you home. In fact, I’d consider it my chivalrous duty.”
Flirting. God, he was flirting with her. Or trying to, at any rate.
She had no skill in that area, had never imagined she’d have a use for it until this very moment. She licked her lips, casting about for a witty comeback or better yet, something to show him that she was ready, willing, and able to take him up on whatever he had in mind.
Except she couldn’t.
She wasn’t—interested in him, that is.
And that was a shame, because none of the other men leering at her in the club stirred anything more than shades of boredom in her.
Lamely, she thanked Jamie for the further shot, then breathed a sigh of relief when he was summoned down to the other end of the bar to wait on other patrons. The place was crowded, practically elbow-to-elbow with people jockeying for spots at the bar or at the twenty-odd pub tables in the area at Brynne’s back. Out on the dance floor, bodies bounced and gyrated and swayed to the relentless thump of the music.
With the bartender swamped by customers placing drink orders, Brynne sipped her shot and tried to convince herself she was there to have a good time. She may not have much experience with flirting or seduction—and okay, maybe that was putting it mildly—but she could do this. She wanted to do this.
God knew, she needed some kind of outlet tonight or she was going to lose her mind.
Still nursing her drink, she pivoted around in her seat to watch the crowd. Not long afterward, a waitress carrying a long-stemmed martini glass approached her from the other side of the club. The bright blue cocktail glowed like neon and had some kind of lacy sugar stick of candy resting in it.
Brynne frowned when the server stopped right in front of her.
“This is from the gentleman across the room.”
The waitress gestured to a group of young men—some of them with visible glyphs on their arms. The Breed youths were civilians from the area Darkhavens, no doubt on the prowl for human blood Hosts before the nightly feeding curfew went into effect.
While most of the little pack were chatting up human women, one of them stared directly at Brynne. Dark-haired, serious, the Breed male nodded in acknowledgment as the waitress started to hand her the frou-frou cocktail.
Brynne shook her head. “Please tell the gentleman thanks, but no thanks. I prefer whisky, and I prefer to drink it alone.”
The waitress shrugged. “Whatever.”
Just brilliant, Kirkland. That’s two for two on failed attempts to engage.
No wonder she sucked at sex.
Growing more frustrated with herself by the moment, she swung back around in her seat and slammed the shot—her fourth tonight, but who was counting?—then set the glass down on the bar.
That’s it. No more dragging her feet about this.
She’d come here to self-medicate and forget the empty mess she was making of her life, and that meant she wasn’t leaving this club alone.
Time to check her excuses and her conscience into her panties for the night.
As the Glenmorangie burned a soothing trail of fire down her throat, Brynne made a promise to herself.
She was going to scratch her itch on the first viable man to approach her.
It didn’t take long. No sooner had she made her ridiculous vow than a wave of heat moved in beside her at the bar. Awareness prickled along her nerve endings like electricity, lifting the fine hairs on her arms and at her nape, making her nipples tighten in immediate response.
“This seat taken?”
The low, aggravatingly confident voice was familiar to her.
As was the pair of unearthly cerulean blue eyes that arrested her gaze and didn’t let go as she turned her head to look at the man who’d just arrived.
No, not a man.
An immortal male.
Atlantean.
Golden-haired. Handsome. Arrogant beyond compare.
Easily the last person she wanted to see, especially tonight.
He grinned at her, that broad, sensual mouth of his sending a spike of outrage—and something far more troubling—through her veins.
“Hello, Brynne.”
“Zael,” she all but growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 2
Ekizael had walked this earth for thousands of years, every last one of them lived with the full awareness of what his sculpted, ageless face and sun-kissed, chiseled body did to the sensibilities of the fairer sex. His flawless Atlantean looks and preternatural sensuality had always been part of his charm.
Or so he’d thought.
Until he met Brynne Kirkland.
As she had several days ago in D.C. when they’d first laid eyes on each other, the gorgeous, but pitifully uptight, Breed female seemed utterly unimpressed.
She glowered at him as he slid onto the barstool beside her. A seat he’d ensured would be vacated when he mentally sent its previous occupant away a moment ago.
“What are you drinking, beautiful?”
She didn’t answer, and he knew the casual endearment annoyed her as much as his presence. Her forest green eyes narrowed on him pointedly as he picked up her empty glass. He sniffed the smoky, peat-laced fragrance of the top shelf whisky she’d been hammering back one after the other like shots of cheap tequila.
“You know, the real pleasure of a single malt is in its nuances. Like a lot of other pleasurable pursuits, if you rush through it, you miss the best part.” He smiled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
Frowning, she took the glass away from him and set it down on the mirrored bar in front of her. “I prefer to do my own thing.”
Zael chuckled. “Yeah, so I’m gathering. Is that why you’re sitting here all by your lonesome tonight, pounding down shots and driving every red-blooded male in the place crazy?”
He should know; he was one of them. It had taken every ounce of his restraint to keep from stalking over to stake his claim until now. Not that he had a claim to stake where she was concerned. Brynne could have her pick of any man she set her sights on, though whether she understood that or not, he wasn’t sure. She’d made a point of letting him know back in D.C. that he would never be in the running.
And damned if that didn’t make Zael even more determined to find out why.
She let out an indignant snort as she swiveled on her stool to face him. “I’m not lonesome. I was trying to have a good time. Until you showed up, that is. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you have a couple of close calls with some poor decision-making.”
She snorted. “Spying on me, you mean?”
Zael grinned. “How is that any different from when you crept out onto the terrace at the Order’s headquarters to lurk in the bushes and check me out while I did my sunrise workout?”
She gave him an outraged look. “I did not creep out there, and I most certainly didn’t lurk.”
“But you do admit you were checking me out?”
“Only in your deluded dreams, Atlantean.”
Her tone was defensive, though whether out of habit or the alcohol buzz she must be feeling, he wasn’t sure. She crossed her arms over her breasts, drawing his attention to her hardened nipples beneath the satiny fabric of her prim white button-down shirt. Her scowl and closed body language might be telling him she wasn’t interested, but the pretty flush of her cheeks—and the blood he could hear racing through her veins—were saying something far different.
As were the tiny amber sparks that kindled in her stormy irises.
The no-nonsense law enforcement agent may want to pretend the attraction between them wasn’t real, the way she had when they met for the first time last week, but he hadn’t been fooled then and he wasn’t fooled now. Whether Brynne wanted to admit it or not, the truth was right in front of him.
She cleared her throat and hiked up her chin. “You haven’t answe
red my question, Zael. What the hell are you doing in London? For that matter, what the hell are you doing in this club?”
“Looking for you.”
Well, that certainly got her attention. She went silent, her lips slack. The frown that seemed permanently creased into her forehead now faltered, though only for a moment.
“Looking for me.” She sounded surprised, her words guarded. “Whatever for?”
He knew he could play it smooth with her right now, use his charm and her physical, if slightly inebriated, reaction to him to his ultimate advantage. He had to admit, it was tempting.
Despite the fact that she was still dressed for a day in the office, from her sensible heels to the careful updo that corralled her thick mane of sable waves, Brynne had obviously come to this strobe-lit meat market in Cheapside tonight for a reason. Until he saw her shoot down every male who approached her, Zael had wondered if she was there with the intent that she wouldn’t be going home alone.
And why that idea should bother him so much, he didn’t want to examine.
Personally, he’d be up for the challenge himself, but seducing the prickly daywalker wasn’t the reason he was in London. All right, not the sole reason, anyway. He’d actually come out of concern.
He kept his voice low, even though the din in the club assured no one else would overhear. “I heard what happened last night here in London, Brynne.”
“Good news certainly travels fast,” she said dryly. She gave him a mistrusting look. “I wasn’t aware the Order had cleared you for that kind of information, Atlantean.”
“What good is an alliance if it’s crippled by secrets?” At Brynne’s grim nod of acknowledgment, Zael said, “I don’t imagine your colleagues at JUSTIS were pleased to find out you were working in secret with the Order.”
She groaned. “Your intuitive skills astound.”
When she raised her empty glass in plea to the bartender to come back and refill it, Zael gently caught her wrist and brought her hand back down. She looked too shocked to protest the physical contact, even as he covered her fingers with his on the bar. It took her a moment before she withdrew from his loose grasp.