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business tycoon Reginald Crowe, one of the wealthiest men on the planet, addressed the couples by name and proceeded to hawk discounted stays at his collection of luxury resorts. Crowe’s face was everywhere this year, in press releases and interview programs, on entertainment blogs and news sites . . . anywhere there was a webcam or a broadcast crew willing to hear him talk about his newly unveiled technology grant—the biggest science award of its kind. It probably irritated him to no end that neither that story nor the announcement that Crowe was helping to champion the upcoming Global Nations Council summit enjoyed the same depth of coverage as the ones concerning the billionaire’s recent divorce from Mrs. Crowe the sixth.

“Come on,” she said, stepping off the curb to avoid the wait at the light.

She led her team across the street, heading up the block toward Asylum, a local watering hole that in recent years had become an unofficial neutral ground for its mix of vampire and human clientele. Another squad from the Order was meeting them tonight. Mira hadn’t been much in the mood to socialize—least of all in this city, on this night—but the teams deserved to celebrate. They’d worked hard together for the past five months on a joint mission—black ops stuff, the kind of covert, specialized assignments that had become the Order’s stock-in-trade over the past two decades.

Thanks to the combined effort of Mira’s squad and the one she spotted at a back table as she entered Asylum, the GNC had one less international militant group to contend with. It was a victory that couldn’t have come at a better time: Just a week from now, government leaders, dignitaries, and VIPs from all over the world, representing Breed and humankind alike, were scheduled to gather in Washington, D.C., in a much-publicized show of peace and solidarity. All of the Order elders would be in attendance, including Mira’s adoptive parents, Nikolai and Renata.

Back home in Montreal, the mated pair were still waiting for her to confirm whether she’d be going with them too. Although neither had said anything, she knew their invitation was given in the hope that she might expand her social circle, maybe meet someone she might consider bonding with someday. It was also their well-meaning but none-too-subtle attempt to take her off the battlefield, even for a little while.

She must have been scowling when she arrived at the table with her team, because as she sat down, the captain of the other squad narrowed a concerned look on her.

“You all right?” Nathan’s voice was level and unreadable beneath the thump of music and the din of noise rising up from Asylum’s bar and dance floor. His greenish blue eyes were steady and unblinking beneath the military-short cut of his jet-black hair. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up for this.”

Not sure she’d be able to handle being back in Boston. Especially on the anniversary of Kellan’s death.

She caught his meaning, even though he didn’t specifically say the words. He knew her too well, had been one of her dearest friends for almost as long as Kellan had. Longer, now that Kellan had been gone eight years. Nathan had been there that night too. He’d been right next to Mira, holding her back from the flames and falling debris when the riverfront warehouse exploded into the dark sky. And he’d been standing at her infirmary bedside days later, when she woke up and learned there’d been no trace left of Kellan or the human rebel scum he’d pursued inside the booby-trapped building.

Mira cleared her throat, still tasting ash and smoke all these years later. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” He didn’t believe her, not at all. She looked away from his probing stare and took in the rest of the warriors gathered around the table. “In case I didn’t say it already, nice work, all of you. We kicked some serious ass out there together.”

Torin and Webb nodded in agreement, while Bal shot a crooked grin at the three members of Nathan’s crew. “Captain’s right. Damn good working with you ladies. After all, every skilled surgeon needs someone to mop up the spilled blood and guts or hand him the right tool when he calls for it.”

“I got a tool for you right here,” quipped Elijah, Nathan’s second in command, a brown-haired Breed warrior with cowboy rugged looks, a quicksilver smile, and a slow Texas drawl. “And if you want to talk surgical precision, we’ve got