by Lara Adrian
She needed her family, which was now reduced to just one other person. Her Breed brother, Derek, had been living in Paris for the past year, bouncing between England and France on one business venture or another.
Melena hadn’t seen him since he left, hadn’t even spoken to him for several long weeks. She couldn’t imagine the anguish it would cause him to learn their father had been killed. Before he heard it anywhere else, she wanted to be the one to break the news to him. She wanted to spare him the unnecessary grief of thinking she had died along with everyone else tonight.
“Do you think it would be possible for me to try to reach my brother somehow?” she asked the two warriors. “He’s traveling and I need to let him know—”
“Is there a reason half my team is not where I expect them to be?” Lazaro’s deep, furious growl interrupted the conversation without warning. He stood in the open doorway, looking every bit as ferocious as a Gen One Breed male could. His sapphire eyes were thunderously dark, except for the flashes of amber outrage sparking in their depths. “Out. Both of you. Now.”
Sav and Jehan departed on command.
Leaving Melena to face Lazaro’s rage by herself.
She waited for him to lay into her too, but he didn’t. He merely stared at her, a tendon ticking hard in his jaw. His aura was as stormy as his glower, back to the gunmetal haze that she found so difficult to read.
His animosity seemed clear enough. He didn’t want her in his command center any more than he’d wanted her in his presence on the yacht or at the cave.
And she wanted to be somewhere safe now, even if that meant returning to her father’s empty Darkhaven in the States. “I don’t want to be here,” she murmured. “I need to get in touch with my brother Derek, and I need to go home.”
“Out of the question.” His answer was firm, flat. Unyielding. “I’ve spoken to Lucan Thorne. Before you go anywhere else, he wants me to bring you to the Order’s headquarters in Washington, D.C. He’ll talk with you there, debrief you.”
“I already told you everything I know. What more can I tell him?”
Lazaro didn’t answer. “We leave tomorrow evening, Melena.” He started to go, then pivoted back to her. “In the meantime, I won’t have my team distracted by the fact we have a Breedmate underfoot. I’ll make a place for you in the villa. You’ll stay there until we depart for D.C.”
CHAPTER 6
Melena had been moved out of the command center’s infirmary to the living quarters of the mansion hours ago. Lazaro’s team had gone back to their business as instructed. The morning passed with discussions of Order objectives and priorities. Chief among those priorities being to ensure that reports of the tragic, “accidental” explosion on board Paolo Turati’s yacht didn’t brush up against the truth that it was, in fact, a stealth missile attack.
And while no one yet had stepped forward to publicly claim responsibility, there wasn’t a shred of doubt among the Order’s entire organization that the killings were surely instigated by Opus Nostrum.
Halfway through the afternoon in Rome, the warriors were now dispersed to prepare for their patrols that coming evening, everyone focused on task and ready to carry out their missions.
And yet the female under their roof remained a distraction.
For Lazaro, that is.
He made his way through the corridors in a foul mood. He didn’t want to think about her. He didn’t want to think about his irritation over finding Sav and Jehan chatting her up earlier, making her smile in spite of everything she’d been through. He didn’t want to think about the anger that had shot through him in that moment—the blast of pure male possessiveness that he had no right to feel.
And he sure as hell did not want to give another moment’s thought to the kiss he stole from Melena back in the Anzio cave. He’d had no right to take that liberty either. But was the kiss truly stolen if she didn’t seem to mind that he did it?
She’d told him she enjoyed it, for fuck’s sake.
His blood rushed a bit faster, disturbingly hotter, at just the thought. And a lot of that blood was making a swift run south. It pounded through his veins like liquid fire, settling in his groin when he recalled how soft and inviting her mouth had been under his.
Melena had more than liked his kiss. She’d welcomed it. Wanted more.
Wanted him.
Christ, he couldn’t get away from her fast enough after that kiss. He still couldn’t put enough distance between them for his peace of mind. How he was going to manage the long hours between now and their departure for D.C. tomorrow evening, he had no damned idea.
More than likely, he’d be spending that stretch of time with a constant hard-on and a fevered hunger that bordered on madness. He needed to exorcise that hunger, and soon. He was on his way to the weapons room to sweat out some of his aggression with his blades and pistols when one of his men met him in the corridor.
Trygg had been the only one of the unit with sense enough to avoid their pretty, uninvited guest. The bald, menacing looking Breed male carried a long, cream-colored box in his arms. “Package you ordered this morning just arrived.”
Lazaro grunted as he took the box from the most intimidating member of his team.
“You want me to deliver it to her?” Trygg suggested.
“No.” The reply came out too quickly, too forcefully, but there it was. Melena had been through enough of a scare already; she didn’t need a brutal killer like Trygg showing up at her door, even if he did it with an unlikely gift in his hands.
Besides, Lazaro had placed the order for her as something more than just a courtesy. He supposed he’d been hoping it would also serve as some kind of apology. He’d been a warrior for twenty years, but he liked to think there was still some sense of decency in him. Given the way he’d treated Melena so far, she might be hard-pressed to agree.
“I’ll bring it myself,” he told Trygg. The vampire merely stared, his shrewd eyes unblinking, far too knowing. Lazaro tucked the long box under his arm. “There is something you can do. Locate Derek Walsh. Melena said her brother’s been spending his time between Paris and the United Kingdom. When you’ve got a bead on him, let me know.”
Trygg gave a slight nod. “Done.”
Lazaro stalked through the command center to the attached, four-story residential quarters. The Roman villa had ten bedrooms, but Melena had been placed in the largest suite in the estate. It was also the one place where he knew neither of her newest admirers would be tempted to seek her out.
Paused outside the closed door of his private quarters on the top floor, Lazaro noted she’d left the tray of food he’d delivered hours earlier untouched. It didn’t appear she’d even come out to look at it.
He listened for movement on the other side. Hearing nothing, he rapped his knuckles on the carved wooden door. He waited, feeling both awkward and annoyed.
When he knocked again and got no response, he started to get concerned.
He opened the door and peered inside. “Melena?”
His suite spanned the entirety of the villa’s fourth floor. He didn’t see her anywhere, not even in the spacious bedroom. He dropped the box on the end of the king-sized bed, then noticed the door to the en suite bath was cracked open.
Through the thin wedge, he saw her slip into a terry robe, apparently having just stepped out of the tub. He caught an unexpected glimpse of her bare skin—delectable curves, lovely breasts peaked with dusky peach nipples...the hint of dark curls at the V of her creamy thighs.
Ah, damn, she was gorgeous.
Everything male in him responded as swiftly—and as obviously—as everything Breed in him. His pulse jackhammered, the drum filling his ears with a rush of hot need. The tips of his fangs dug into his tongue, and as he stared at her, his gaze grew heated as his pupils thinned with his hunger and his cock thickened with desire.
Until he spotted the bruises that still lingered on her. His own wounds had healed, thanks to his Gen One metabolism, but Mel
ena still carried numerous contusions on her ribs and delicate belly.
“Fuck.” Lazaro’s growled reaction made her look up sharply. Too late to pivot around and leave. Too late to pretend he hadn’t just crept into the room and stood there ogling her in open lust. Or to hope she wouldn’t notice how powerfully she affected him.
Her expression was guarded, wary. She opened the door wider, but he noticed how tightly she now gripped the edges of the robe at her chest. When Lazaro took a step toward her, she slipped out of the bathroom and into the larger space of the bedroom.
With some effort, he curbed the presence of his fangs. His vision was still awash in amber, but he could feel his pupils resuming a less feral state. And as for the state of his arousal, that was a more difficult thing to hide, let alone suppress. But while his body was still thrumming with awareness—and want—of her, his primary interest in that moment was Melena’s well being.
“Jehan was supposed to look after your injuries when you arrived,” he muttered angrily. “He’s skilled with ointments and herbs. He should’ve given you something to help you heal.”
“I told Jehan I was fine. And I am...or at least, I can try to be, once you and the Order allow me to go home.”
Lazaro ignored the pointed complaint, even if it had merit. “I see you didn’t eat anything either.”
“What do you care?” she tossed back, her fine auburn brows pinched together.
“I care, Melena. For now, you’re under my watch. It’s my responsibility to ensure that you’re comfortable and healthy. That you’re fed and clothed.” He gestured toward the boutique box on the bed. “I arranged for some things to be sent here for you from one of the local shops.”
She cast a sidelong glance toward his gift, then back toward the bathroom where her ruined skirt and blouse lay in rags on the tile floor. Warily, she drifted over to the bed and lifted the lid off the box. She glanced inside, then one by one, pulled out the skirt and pants, then the blouse and sweater he selected for her.
“I didn’t know what you’d prefer,” he murmured.
She lifted the charcoal gray, fine-gauge sweater first, then the pair of black slacks. The understated classics of the collection, which didn’t surprise him. She glanced at the two pairs of shoes he’d purchased as well, taking out the elegant Italian flats. “These are all in my sizes. Perfectly in my sizes.” She slanted him a guarded look. “I wouldn’t think you’d paid attention long enough to notice.”
“I noticed.” Lazaro slowly approached her near the bed. “I should be focused on a thousand other things right now. Instead, here I am. Noticing everything about you, Melena.”
If she had flinched at all when he came to stand beside her, Lazaro would have somehow found the strength of will to leave her in peace.
If she had resisted even a little when he lifted her chin on his fingertips and drew her gaze up to his—if she had looked into his transformed Breed eyes with anything close to fear or uncertainty—he would have forced himself to let go of her and refrain from ever touching her again.
But Melena did none of those things.
And when he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, this time, not even he or his iron will could pretend the desire that arced between them was anything either of them would be able to deny.
He kissed her, hard and hungry. Any illusions he might have had for taking things slowly with her, or giving her a chance to get away before he pounced, were all but obliterated once their lips and tongues had come together.
A fresh surge of molten need scorched through his veins, and all at once it didn’t matter to him that getting involved with Melena Walsh was the last thing he needed to be doing.
He wanted her.
She wanted him—he knew that even in the cave.
And the fact was, he’d already let himself get involved, whether or not they allowed this undeniable, if untimely, desire for each other to flare any further out of control.
Melena awakened a need in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A new kind of need, something white-hot and irresistible. She had done in less than a day what no other woman before her had managed to do in two decades.
She made him feel alive again.
Lazaro growled and took her mouth in a deeper kiss. She moaned, reaching up to burrow her fingers into the short hair at his nape. Her soft curves felt like heaven against him, even through the barrier of their clothing. Her mouth tasted warm and sweet. Her body arched into his, pliant, consenting.
Welcoming.
Hot with need.
He smoothed his hand down her throat, breaking their kiss as his thumb grazed over the Breedmate mark nestled in the hollow between her collarbones. He lifted his head to look at it—to remind himself of what she was and why he could not allow himself anything more than this desire they shared.
“I should ask you if there is someone else,” he uttered thickly. He dragged his smoldering gaze back up to hers. “I should ask, but right now I don’t think I’ll give a damn if you say there is.”
“No.” She gave a faint shake of her head, her breast rising and falling with each rapid pant of her breath. “There’s no one. Not for more than a year. And even then, I never wanted anyone like this...”
He registered that sweet confession with a growl that vibrated deep in his chest.
He kissed her again, gathering her face in his hands while his mouth moved intensely, hungrily, over hers. Being Gen One, his appetites were stronger than most. With Melena all but undressed and willing in his arms, those appetites were on the verge of owning him. It was only the dim knowledge of her lingering injuries that kept him in check.
And she wasn’t helping in that regard.
Meeting each thrust of his tongue, parting her lips to take him deeper, she stoked his arousal even further. Her body pressed against his, heat igniting everywhere they touched. He couldn’t resist the loosened opening of her robe. His hand slipped inside to feel the softness of her skin. Her pulse banged against his fingertips, strong and certain. Erotic and primal.
Melena groaned in pleasure. Her voice rasped sensually against his mouth. “I like the way you kiss me, Lazaro. I like the way you touch me.”
Holy hell. Her words made fire erupt in his already molten blood.
With fangs filling his mouth and his cock gone hard as granite behind the zipper of his pants, Lazaro moved his hand to cup the buoyant underside of her breast. A hot, pent-up sigh gusted out of her as he caressed her bare skin beneath the slackened robe. Her nipple was pebbled and erect, a temptation he lightly tweaked, then rolled between his fingers. Melena’s grasp at the back of his neck tightened, her fingers curling into his hair as a moan leaked through her parted lips.
Every taut fiber of his being ached with the need to put his mouth on her silken skin, to feel all of her. Taste all of her.
His hands obeyed that need, reaching up to gently ease the robe off Melena’s shoulders. It slipped down her arms, baring her to the waist. She was so lovely. Porcelain skin dusted with a smattering of sweet, peachy freckles and lush, feminine curves that begged to be savored.
The purple contusions and mending cuts on her torso and abdomen drew his eye just as intensely. Rage for whoever did it swirled through him like a fierce tempest. When he thought of how close she’d come to being lost in the explosion along with everyone else, that rage turned murderous and black.
But tenderly, he let his fingers light on a couple of her worst bruises. She flinched a little and some of his fury snarled out of him. “It hurts?”
“Only a bit.” When he drew his hand away, she caught it, placed his palm atop her bare breast. “I don’t want you to stop touching me.”
His cock jerked in response, more than eager for him to oblige her. He filled his hand with her breast, then took her mouth in another deep kiss.
But feeling her, kissing her, only made him ache to explore some more.
His entire Gen One being throbbed with the need to claim, to possess.
He drew the robe off her completely. Let it fall in a pool at her feet. For one indulgent moment, he soaked in the sight of her through his amber-drenched, fevered eyes.
Then he lifted her off her feet and spread her out beneath him on his bed.
CHAPTER 7
Melena sank down onto the soft mattress and watched, wide-eyed and trembling, as Lazaro prowled up the length of her naked body.
It wasn’t fear that gripped her. Nothing even close to fear.
Her every nerve ending had come alive—gone dizzyingly electric—under his careful, caressing touch and the sensual promise of his lips and tongue as he’d tenderly explored her skin.
Now, lying exposed to him completely on the bed while he remained clothed, she wasn’t uncomfortable in the least. And whether that made her a wanton harlot or a daring fool, she didn’t know. Nor did she care in that moment.
She wasn’t nervous or uncertain about anything she was doing with this man.
She wanted more.
He sent the boutique box to the floor with a sweep of his strong arm, making more room for them. She jumped, breath catching at the animalistic power that poured off Lazaro in palpable waves. She’d never felt so much energy and heat focused on her.
In her handful of failed relationships, no other man—Breed or human—had stirred her passion so easily, so masterfully. Difficult to please, more than one lover had called her. And they’d been right. None of them had taken her breath away. None of them had been able to hold her interest, in or out of bed, for more than a few months.
Then again, they weren’t Lazaro Archer.
She’d never been in the presence of a Gen One male with carnal hunger in his eyes.
And Lazaro’s hunger was intense.
His eyes were twin coals, locked on her as he positioned himself above her, braced on his strong fists on either side of her head. His fangs gleamed razor-sharp, enormous and fully extended.
And while his dermaglyphs were obscured by his black shirt and combat pants, she knew they had to be vivid with deep colors—not unlike the pulsating, blood-red aura that radiated from him as his consuming gaze drank in her nakedness from forehead to ankle.