On a curse, he brought his wrist up to his mouth and bit into his own flesh. No hesitation. No asking for permission before he put the punctures to her parted lips. “Drink.”
She tried to shake her head. This wasn’t the way she wanted him, coming back to save her when he had been determined to leave her. Whether he did this out of some noble sense of obligation or guilt, or simply under the power of his bond to her, she didn’t want it. Not like this.
She wanted to reject the gift of his blood, of his bond, but the instant the wet, spicy warmth came in contact with her parched tongue, she greedily drank him in.
And oh, it was incredible.
Lazaro’s Gen One blood flowed down her throat like pure light. She felt it strengthening her body, feeding her cells. Mending her injuries.
He tipped his head back on a strangled moan as she swallowed more of his eternal gift, his fangs gleaming, his broad shoulders and immense body silhouetted by the flames he’d walked through to save her.
It was the last thing Melena saw before a bone-deep exhaustion rose up to claim her.
CHAPTER 13
He had lived for more than a thousand years, long enough that few things still held the power to amaze him. The sight of Melena finally opening her eyes to look at him, after lying in bed unconscious for two days, was one of those rare pleasures for Lazaro Archer.
The worst of her injuries had healed. Her burns were gone. She was alive, and he’d never seen anything more welcome in all his life.
He smiled at her and gently stroked his thumb over the back of her hand as he held it. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice thready.
“Still in D.C. I brought you here after the accident. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could ask you something.”
“My brother,” she murmured.
Lazaro shook his head. “I’m sorry, Melena.”
“He was part of Opus Nostrum,” she said quietly. “He arranged for the attack on Turati and my father to prove something to his superiors. He was trying to win their recognition. And he was afraid if I ever saw him again, I’d know all of his secrets.”
Lazaro and the Order had already surmised that Derek Walsh likely had ties to Opus, but hearing Melena confirm it made his blood seethe with renewed rage. “If he’d survived the accident the other night, I swear, I would’ve killed the bastard myself.”
“He seemed so different. He’d only been away for a year, but he wasn’t my brother anymore. And he had strange tattoos I’ve never seen before. Symbols of some kind, and a black scarab on his back.”
“A scarab?” Lazaro thought back to conversations he’d had with Lucan and the other warriors. Reports out of London about human bodies in the morgue bearing the same kind of unusual tattoo.
“Does it mean something?” she asked, worry creasing her brow.
“It might,” Lazaro said, seeing no reason to shield her from his world. But he would bring her into that part of his life slowly, after they returned to Rome. If she would be willing, that is. “We need to talk about what’s happening with us, Melena. About our bond.”
She turned her head on the pillow, looking away from him. “You shouldn’t have done it. You didn’t need to come back to save me.”
“Yes, Melena, I did.” He reached out, catching her chin on the tips of his fingers. He brought her gaze back to him. “Do you think I could’ve left, knowing that you were in danger? I feel you in my blood now.”
“I’m not your obligation, Lazaro. I won’t be your burden or a regret you’ll carry around forever.”
“No, you won’t,” he agreed solemnly. “But will you be my mate?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then slowly, she shook her head. “No. No, I can’t do that. You’re only saying it because your honor compels you to.”
He swore a harsh curse. “Melena, listen to me. See me. I know you can read my intent, so open your eyes and hear me out. I love you. I want you in my life, by my side. Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“What about everything you said before? You didn’t want another mate under your protection. You didn’t want that responsibility ever again.”
He blew out a bitter laugh. “And as you so accurately pointed out for me, I was being a coward and an idiot.”
“I don’t think I said you were an idiot,” she murmured, looking up at him from under her long lashes.
“Well, I was. And as soon as I realized that, I came after you.”
“Because you were worried about me. You knew I was in danger and your blood wouldn’t let you stay away without trying to help me.”
“No, Melena. Because I love you.” He stroked her cheek. “And because I realized the only thing worse than loving you and dreading that I might know the pain of losing you in the future, was the idea of losing you now. Before we’ve even begun to know what we can have together.”
He leaned over her on the bed and kissed her tenderly, deeply, with all the love in his ageless heart. “I love you, Melena.”
“And I love you,” she whispered. She held his gaze, her own so open-hearted and trusting, it took all of his control to keep from crushing her in a fierce embrace. “You’ve saved my life three times now. If I’m going to be your mate, that means you’re going to have to let me save you sometimes too.”
“Oh, love,” he murmured. “Don’t you know? You already have.”