She had a life that, if she were truly being honest with herself, wasn’t so much different from the cage Lazaro had built around himself here in Rome.
She had a nice apartment of her own at her father’s Darkhaven in Baltimore. She had friends. She had lovers when she wanted them. She had colleagues at her father’s office and in the GNC. She had her Breed brother, Derek. She had a full life and plenty of companionship whenever she needed it.
And yet, deep down, she was so lonely.
She saw that same emptiness in Lazaro. Maybe he saw it in her too. Maybe that’s why when their gazes had locked in the midst of their release tonight, the connection had felt so real. So nakedly, startlingly real.
How could he expect her to ignore that as if it hadn’t happened?
She couldn’t.
And she wouldn’t, not without a fight.
Whatever was building so swiftly—powerfully—between them had a chance of growing into something extraordinary. She felt that with a certainty in her bones, in her blood. And she knew she wasn’t alone in that feeling.
So, like it or not, Lazaro Archer was simply going to have to talk to her. He might be accustomed to blustering and bossing his way around everyone else in his life, but she wouldn’t stand for it.
Steeling herself for a battle she wasn’t sure she could win, Melena left the suite on the fourth floor and headed downstairs to the mansion’s main level. It was quiet down there, so she continued on, toward the connected command center of the estate.
She didn’t get far.
From out of nowhere, a massive wall of muscle materialized to block her path.
It wasn’t Lazaro. Not Savage or Jehan either.
She looked up and found herself gaping into the cold, hard face of the one warrior she hadn’t yet met. His shaved head and jagged scar made him look even more lethal than the dark stare he held her in now.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t seem inclined to make even the remotest effort to put her at ease.
Melena lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m looking for Lazaro.”
“He’s not here.” God, that voice was coarse gravel. “And you shouldn’t be down here either, female.”
As he spoke, Savage and Jehan came out of a nearby chamber in the corridor. Sav hissed. “Trygg, for f**k’s sake. Go easy on her. Save the venom for tonight’s patrol.”
When the scarred vampire didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgment, Jehan stepped forward, placing himself between Melena and the warrior who bristled with a feral darkness.
Jehan squared off against his comrade, gently guiding Melena behind him. “I’m only going to say it once. Back. The. Fuck. Down.”
The one called Trygg had an aura that verged on feral. The menacing haze sent a shiver up Melena’s spine. She saw pain there too, buried deep, but it was a dangerous pain, as sharp as razorblades.
For a long moment, Trygg didn’t move. Neither did Jehan. It wasn’t clear which warrior would be the first to spill the other’s blood, but there was no mistaking that cool, calm, and cultured Jehan was every bit as lethal as his barely leashed brother-in-arms.
Perhaps more so. Jehan’s aura burned with a steady, unyielding resolve. He would be unstoppable in all things he set out to do. Honorable to his last breath.
Trygg seemed to know this about his teammate. He seemed to respect it. With a slow exhale, the terrifying Breed male let his shoulders relax a degree. His jaw pulsed, but he did as his comrades demanded, easing back on his heels with a quiet rumble in his throat.
Then he turned and walked away, stalking down the far length of the corridor.
“You okay?” Sav asked.
Melena nodded. “Is his problem just me, or does he despise all women?”
Sav gave her a sardonic look. “It’s not just you. And it’s a long, ugly story. If you have a week or five to spare, maybe I’d tell you.”
No, she didn’t have that kind of time. And the fact that tomorrow Lazaro would be taking her back to the States put a pang of regret in her breast. She wanted to stay a bit longer with Savage and Jehan.
She wanted to get to know them: Savage and his easy charm and gorgeous smile. Jehan, with his intriguing past and enigmatic personality. She wanted to know what obligation awaited him in Morocco, and why was he trying to outrun it. Against her own sense of logic or self-preservation, Melena also wanted to stay long enough to understand what had inspired Trygg’s terrifying animosity toward women.
And Lazaro...
Would there ever be enough time in this life to unravel all of his torment and secrets and dark, hidden thoughts? Would he even allow her that, if by some miracle they did have more time? All those rooms of his upstairs, missing memories...she wanted to help him fill them back up again.
She wanted to be the one to save him this time.
“Come on,” Sav said. “You really shouldn’t be down here in the operations compound. Lazaro will have our balls if—”
The warrior’s words cut short as a gust of cold, dark air seemed to blow in from the far end of the corridor. He was there. Melena waited to hear Lazaro growl his fury at the men, or demand to know what she was doing back in the Order’s domain after he prohibited her from distracting his team.
But he didn’t growl or demand anything. He just stared at her in silence, his sapphire gaze trained on her alone.
Intense. Penetrating. Focused on her with searingly sensual regard.
She trembled a little under that potent gaze, not from anything resembling fear. Seeing him there, looking at her as though no one and nothing else existed but the two of them, it was all she could do to keep from launching herself at him from down the corridor and flying into his arms.