by Lara Adrian
She hoped her promise wasn’t an empty one.
The only thing standing between her vow to return to her son and the unknown that waited for her back at the vineyard was the hulking wall of menace who loomed in silence now at the door.
Chiara released Pietro and allowed herself to be folded into the warm embrace of Bella’s arms.
“He’ll be just fine, sorella. And so will you. Scythe will see to that.”
Chiara nodded, steeling herself for one final glance at her son. Ettore nodded to her in reassurance as Pietro went back to his picture book, innocently unaware of the adult concern that vibrated in the room.
She inhaled sharply, rallying herself for what lay ahead. She could do this. For her son’s future and her own, she could face anything.
Even Scythe.
“All right,” she murmured, moving toward the door. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of her child. And not in front of her emotionless guardian. “Let’s go, then.”
His fathomless, onyx eyes drilled into hers and, for a second, she caught a glimpse of a pain so stark, so deep, it sent a chill through her. But before she could think on it for too long, it was gone, leaving a shuttered, blank expression in its place.
“Right,” he said tonelessly, motioning her into the hallway. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can both go back to our lives.”
Chapter 3
It was long past midnight by the time Scythe pulled into the vineyard's twisting driveway at the base of Mount Vulture. After several hours behind the wheel, he was twitchy with the need for freedom. He’d elected to take Chiara’s Fiat instead of his SUV in the hopes of avoiding notice on the road, a decision he’d regretted more and more with each passing mile. At six-foot-six, his head grazed the ceiling of the tiny vehicle and he had to spread his legs wide in order to accommodate the steering wheel between them.
He felt like a bear trapped in a chicken coop.
Even worse than the discomfort of his cramped muscles was the distraction of Chiara’s close proximity in the tight quarters of the car. He could smell the citrusy freshness of her skin and hair, could feel the warmth of her body seated beside him. He could hear the shallow rhythm of her breathing as the silence stretched out between them, could almost feel frantic beating of her heart like a vibration in his own veins.
She stirred other parts of him too. For a Hunter who’d been ruthlessly trained to deny his own wants and needs in favor of duty and self-control, his road trip with Chiara had been a startling reminder of the fact that beneath it all, he was still, ultimately, a flesh-and-blood male. A male who couldn’t ignore the soft, beautiful female confined in the small space along with him, no matter how hard he tried.
Even now, his cock rested heavily between his thighs, a throbbing, heated reminder of just how long he’d gone without slaking that other hunger. Under his clothing, the Breed dermaglyphs that tracked all over his skin felt tingly and alive, no doubt infusing with all of the deep, changeable colors of his desire. He swallowed on an arid throat and his tongue grazed over the tips of his emerging fangs.
Damn, this wasn’t good.
Although he wanted to blame his awareness of Chiara on simple, unchecked lust, the truth was he couldn’t recall the last time his body had challenged his iron-hewn will.
Then again, yes he could.
It was only six weeks ago. Back in Matera, when he’d first laid eyes on Chiara Genova.
“Fuck.”
She glanced at him, frowning. He didn’t have to wonder if she saw the flecks of amber glowing in the blackness of his irises. Her swift intake of breath told him so.
Hopefully she’d assume the sparks were due to irritation, rather than desire. Both emotions were riding him in equal measure, after all.
“Something wrong, Scythe?”
“Yeah. If this winds up taking longer than a couple of days, we're going to need to talk about another mode of transportation.”
“You're the one who suggested we take my car,” she reminded him.
There was a note to her voice he hadn't heard before and he swiveled a questioning look at her. In the thin light of the dashboard, he saw that her lips were twitching. With a start, he realized that she was struggling not to laugh at him. He had only thought about how uncomfortable it was, but he had to imagine he looked as ridiculous as he felt.
He scowled at her, but his heart wasn't in it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a giggle slipping past her lips. “I really shouldn’t laugh. It’s just... I’m sorry, it’s really not funny. It’s just that you’re so big and this car is so small. You look like you’re driving a dollhouse car. I don’t know how you’ve managed to make this whole trip without getting a nasty Charlie horse in your thigh.”
Jesus Christ.
Didn’t she realize? A Charlie horse was the least of his discomforts.
He stared at her as she struggled to keep the humor out of her expression. Tried and failed, that is. Another laugh burst out of her. She waved her hand in front of her face as if in apology, but it was no use. Her laughter filled the car, and as prickly and on edge as he felt, he took a strange comfort in the sound.
It was as if a valve had been opened and all of the weight of what had happened—the grim reality of why they both were seated in this vehicle together in the first place—released with each soft giggle that rolled off Chiara’s tongue.
“Are you finished?” he asked, feeling less impatient than his gruff voice suggested.
Deep down, though, he was relieved. Hearing about her harrowing ordeal had him on the razor's edge, too, and filled with a fury that he couldn't justify, but couldn't deny. Her distress at leaving Pietro was almost palpable, and if his discomfort behind the wheel of her miniature vehicle made her forget about all of that for even an instant, he should be thankful.
Having her at ease would make his job all the simpler. She would be more amenable to his instructions, more trusting of him. Less likely to question or challenge his commands when her life depended on letting him handle the lethal business he was born and bred to do.
He doused the headlights as he drove the car up the drive, parking beside the villa and killing the engine. “Stay here. I need to check the perimeter of the house and inside. Once it’s clear, I’ll come back for you.”
She shook her head and started to open her mouth, but he held up his hand to silence her.
“You will follow my orders without questions or argument. That was our agreement, remember?”
“I wasn't going to argue,” she replied stiffly, the grin that had been tugging at her lips just a moment before fading away like the sun at dusk. “I was just going to tell you that I had an alarm system installed in the villa a few weeks ago. In order to disarm it, you have to enter the code. Five, seven, seven, eight.”
Right.
He handed her the car keys, making sure not to touch her when he did. If he made physical contact with her after the torturous drive, or while the sweet scent of her still clung to his senses and the bright sound of her laughter was still echoing in his ears, he was liable to lose his mind.
Or worse, give in to the hunger she awakened in him.
Alone in his dark den of solitude, it was easier to ignore the pull of the flesh. Here with a beautiful, unmated female so close, he was playing with fire. And Chiara Genova made him want to burn.
Not good at all.
“Slide over to the driver's side and lock the door when I leave,” he commanded in a brusque voice. “If I'm not back in five minutes, don't come inside. Start the car and drive away as fast as you can. Head straight back to the Order headquarters. Understand?”
“Scythe, if you think I would turn around and leave you here by your—”
“Damn it, woman.” His frustration exploded out of him, motivated chiefly by concern for her. “Just tell me you’ll fucking do what I say.”
She drew back, her cheeks going pale at his sharp reb
uke. “All right, Scythe. I will. I’ll stay until you come for me.”
There was a spark of indignation, even defiance, in her wide brown eyes, but he didn’t have time to test her. Nor did he have the time—or the skills—to try to soothe her. He had a job to do, and the less he had to worry about ruffling her feathers or calming her afterward, the better things would be for both of them.
Regardless of that, he dug deep and called up an image of young Pietro to remind himself of exactly what was at stake here for both of them. Of course, things were tense. It was a life or death situation and she was now separated from her child for the first time. Even Scythe had to admit she was handling it better than he’d expected.
“Five minutes, Chiara. If I don’t return by then, leave and don’t look back.”
He exited the car, sniffing the night air for signs of trouble. So far, his danger antenna was still, and he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Fertile, rich soil, the sharp scent of fermentation, sugary grapes and the luscious sweetness of Chiara's skin permeated his senses and he blocked it out with a muttered oath.
He moved stealthily around the back of the sprawling villa to the door that opened into the kitchen. The locks turned free under the power of his mind, then he opened the door and entered on silent feet. No need for Chiara’s alarm code; he disabled the flashing sensors with a flick of his thoughts as he stepped farther inside the darkened house.
No signs of trouble as he gazed around the kitchen and into the great room. The place was quiet, no one here now and no evidence that anyone had been there in the time since Chiara had left earlier tonight. The sense of malevolence Scythe would have felt if there was a threat of imminent danger inside the villa was notably absent.
Although he trusted his innate ability, he still made a quick sweep of every room and every point of entry. When it came to keeping Chiara safe, he was leaving nothing left to chance.
Each second she was unprotected and out of his sight as he searched the house felt like an hour. He couldn’t deny the relief that washed over him when he returned to the car where she waited and found her sitting there, just as he’d instructed, safe and sound behind the wheel.
“All clear,” he murmured, as he opened the driver’s side door and helped her out.
She met his gaze with a disgruntled glance, then followed him back to the villa in chilly silence. When she reached for the light switch near the kitchen door, Scythe caught her hand and stilled it.
“No lights for now. It’s the middle of the night, and we don’t want this place lit up like a beacon if anyone’s watching. It was risk enough driving up here together at this late hour.”
She nodded, slowly withdrawing her fingers from his loose grasp. The warmth of her skin lingered against his palm, sending heat licking up his arm, through his veins... into the distracting thickness at his groin.
“Go on,” he commanded her curtly. “Get settled and try to rest. I’ll handle things on my end. I need to get the tactical equipment from the car, and I plan to set up some surveillance points around the property before sunrise.”
She nodded, but remained standing in front of him. Too damned close for his peace of mind. “There’s a small guest room down the hall from the master bedroom. I didn’t know to prepare it for you ahead of time, but it’ll only take me a few minutes to—”
“No.” His sharp reply cut her off. “I won’t be sleeping more than a few minutes at a time while I’m on this assignment, and I sure as hell don’t plan to get comfortable in a bed.”
Least of all in one just steps away from hers.
“Fine.” Her lips pressed flat as she stared up at him. “I was only trying to help.”
“Don’t bother,” he snapped. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
Finally, she retreated, moving back a step. He almost breathed a sigh of relief that she was going—but then instead of pivoting away, she crossed her arms over her breasts and advanced on him, pinning him with a glare.
“Is this how you treat everyone who tries to show you a little kindness? I know I agreed to do what you asked while you’re here, but do you plan to scowl and bark orders at me the whole time?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face in frustration. What had happened to the Chiara he’d met six weeks ago in Matera? While he wouldn’t have described her as meek, he hadn’t seen this kind of fire in her then. That Chiara had seemed so vulnerable. Fragile with fear and uncertainty.
Sure, he had admired her obvious devotion to her son, and he’d seen the kindness that radiated from her. He had appreciated her beauty more than he had a right to—that part of her had been impossible to ignore or to forget in all the time since. How many times had he been tempted to venture out to Potenza just for another glimpse of her? How many times had he woken from fevered dreams where he had Chiara naked in his arms, moaning in pleasure?
Christ, too many to count. But he’d resisted, knowing a delicate female like Chiara would crumble in his ungentle hands like a dried rose petal.
This woman before him, her warm brown eyes flashing, pert breasts heaving with her indignation, was someone else entirely. And damned if he didn’t want this new Chiara even more.
He’d been brought in to protect her, yet all he could think about right now was how sweet she must taste. Not what he’d come here to do.
She took his silence as an opportunity to press further.
“I don’t know why you agreed to watch over me when it’s obvious you’d rather be doing anything else. But like it or not, it appears we’re stuck with each other for the time being.”
“Yes, we are,” he agreed. “So, do us both a favor and try to pretend I’m not here.”
She balked. “You can’t be serious. When’s the last time you looked in a mirror? You’re not exactly easy to miss.”
Neither was she, and he realized the idiocy of his suggestion as soon as he said it. Still, he hoped his gruffness would push her away, if only for his peace of mind. He had numerous things to do yet tonight and arguing with Chiara wasn’t going to get any of them done.
All it was doing was making him twitchy with the need to silence her, even if he had to do it with his own mouth on hers.
“I’m not going to walk around on eggshells in my own home, Scythe. And no matter what you say, I’m not going to forget for a second why you’re here. My life is in your hands. Do you think that means nothing to me?” She expelled a short laugh. “While we’re on the subject, did you actually think I would’ve driven off and left you here to die alone if there had been trouble when we arrived?”
Yes, he had. He’d more than thought it, he’d expected her to follow his instructions to the letter. “I wouldn’t have died, Chiara. I’ve gone up against a dozen Breed males at a time and walked away the only one still breathing. Your stalker won’t be any match for me. Killing is what I was born to do.”
It took her a moment to absorb that. “Well, either way, I wouldn’t have left. What kind of person do you imagine I am?”
He knew she didn’t expect him to answer, so he didn’t voice any of the replies that popped into his mind.
A foolish one.
A stubborn one.
A beautiful one.
A brave one.
“I may not have asked you to play my protector, Scythe, but I am grateful to have you.”
She edged closer, leaving him no option but to hold his ground or back away from her advance. He chose the former, even though every instinct in his body warned him it was a mistake to let her any nearer.
“And I’m grateful for how you sheltered Pietro and me along with Bella and Ettore when we came to you in Matera too. Maybe none of that means anything to you, but it does to me. So you’ll just have to forgive me for trying to be nice or hospitable to you.”
A tendon pulsed in his jaw as he stared down at her. This was dangerous territory, allowing her to think of him as some sort of savior. Dangerous for him, and for her.
Rather than succumb to the urge to touch her, his left hand flexed and fisted at his side, while the stump on his right wrist throbbed in useless stillness.
It wasn’t hard to recall the mistake that had cost him his other hand. He’d let his guard down once, had let emotion cloud his reason and paid a steep price for it. Not only him, but two other people he cared for.
Never again.
That lesson—that awful regret—would stay with him forever.
“I have no need for soft words or tender concern,” he told her, praying she would heed it as the warning he intended. “Don’t expect me to provide those things to you, either. That’s not who I am. Look at me only as a weapon. A deadly one you’d be wise to steer clear of until this whole thing is over.”
She didn’t cower, even though he’d made grown Breed males tremble with less venom than he showed her now. She drew her shoulders more squarely, her eyes narrowed as she slowly shook her head.
“You’re not a weapon, Scythe. You’re flesh and blood. You’re a man.”
“I am a Hunter,” he corrected her. “That’s what I was born. That’s how I live. It’s how, eventually, I expect I will die.”
As he spoke, he watched her gaze flick away from his face, drifting lower. Her eyes paused on the web of scars that ringed his neck where his collar used to be. The ultraviolet-powered tether he’d been forced to wear had ensured he and the rest of his Hunter brethren obeyed their Master without fail.
It had been two decades since the Order’s victory over his creator had freed him and the rest of his Gen One half-brothers from the hellish program, but there were times when Scythe still felt the cold, unbreakable black cuff around his throat.
Times like now, when Chiara’s tender gaze seemed riveted on the scars left behind from his enslavement.
“Dragos did all of this to you?”
Hearing the villain’s name on her tongue made his gut twist. He didn’t want to imagine she knew anything of the horrors Dragos and his followers had perpetrated before the Order had finally wiped the lot of them from the earth. God knew he didn’t want her pity. He would rather walk into full sunlight than face that from her.
