by Lara Adrian
“Don’t let my scars fool you. I earned every one of them. Dragos may have shackled my body, but he never broke my will.”
She said nothing, merely continued to stare at his neck, and at the bared wedge of his chest that peeked out from the unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.
Even worse, she reached up without warning and touched the ruined skin at the base of his throat. The unexpected brush of her fingertips took him completely aback. So much so, he lost all capacity for words or motion.
Locked in place where he stood, he stared wildly, helplessly, as she traced the ropy welt from one side of his neck to the other. He sucked in a sharp breath at her touch, holding stock-still as she traced the patchwork of scars. She continued her journey all the way around to the back, until her fingers brushed the long hair at his nape.
Her delicate exploration of him sent a shaft of white-hot need arcing through him so strongly, it made his hunger to feed the night before pale in comparison. His fangs punched from his gums. His dermaglyphs writhed, heating beneath his clothing, his arousal intensifying with each passing second.
Her attention—and the swift physical reaction it stoked in him—was too much to bear. He wheeled back on a low, harsh curse.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She blinked as if suddenly shaken from an impulse she’d had no ability to control. Her hand cradled against her chest, she took a step away from him. Then another. “Scythe, forgive me. I—”
“Forget it,” he snarled, although the gravel in his voice had less to do with anger than with the hard pound of blood rushing through his veins. His cock pressed against the zipper of his black jeans, having gone as hard as stone long before she’d been so foolish as to touch him.
He stared down at her, at a loss as to how to proceed. So far, she’d either shocked or defied him at every turn, neither of which he could allow. If he was to keep her safe, he needed to maintain a strict control.
Running roughshod over her hadn’t worked, and God knew he had no idea how to navigate around other people. He was accustomed to working alone, being alone. Concerning himself with another person’s feelings and emotions—especially a woman’s—wasn’t anything he’d needed to practice in years.
Not since Mayrene.
The thought of her sent a shaft of pain through him and he steeled himself against it, blocking the weakness of his emotion as he’d been so expertly trained to do. Thinking of the other time he’d tried, and failed, to protect someone would do him no good here.
He wasn’t going to fail Chiara.
He would die before he had to live through another loss like that.
Scythe raked his hand over his scalp on a low curse. “Sunrise will be here soon. Go to bed, Chiara. I’ll secure the premises and begin my watch.”
She nodded, still backing away from him as if she’d just been burned.
He kept his gaze locked on the wall so as not to stare at the gentle sway of her hips as she finally turned around and left the kitchen. His cock was still throbbing from the touch of her fingers on his skin, and the last thing he needed was more reason to regret pushing her away.
He clutched the car keys in his hand and headed back outside, his mood getting blacker by the moment.
To think he’d considered Pietro to be the bigger distraction to his mission. He’d been so concerned about a child’s presence wreaking havoc on his mental state that he’d completely underestimated how thoroughly Chiara might distract him. Even now, she was out of sight, but he felt her presence burrowing deeper and deeper into his senses.
Stalking out to the vehicle, Scythe grabbed his gear and set about preparing for his task at hand. As relieved as he was to know that Chiara was safe and sound under his watch now, a part of him yearned for her attacker to make his move—and soon.
Because the faster he could finish this assignment, the faster he could move on and try to put Chiara Genova out of his mind.
His plan for the remainder of the night entailed constructing a strong defense. Then it would end with a call to the Order in Rome to ensure that they were working on a plan for the offense as well.
And when this ordeal was all over? Brethren or not, Scythe was going to tell Trygg to do him a favor and lose his fucking number.
Chapter 4
Chiara swiped a hand over her sweaty forehead and looked up into the late afternoon sky with a sigh of relief. The faint pulling sensation in her lower back was almost welcome. It meant that she'd done a hard day's work, and just maybe she'd get some sleep tonight.
She’d needed the physical outlet and time in the sun so badly. Thankfully, Scythe hadn’t fought her too hard on it, if only because the daylight was a guaranteed protection against any Breed with designs on harming her.
Nevertheless, she’d felt Scythe’s constant gaze on her from inside the villa all day—courtesy of the network of hidden motion sensors he’d placed all around the property while she’d slept last night. Or tried to sleep, at any rate.
She thought back to the night before and winced, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.
Oh, my God.
What kind of lunatic just started touching a man like she had last night? Especially a man she hardly knew.
But something had taken hold of her as they’d faced off in her kitchen, and it wasn't until she’d noticed the glyphs at the top of his chest changing color that she realized she had acted on her impulse to touch him. The intense curiosity—and, yes, the irresistible desire—to explore all those hard edges and battle scars had overwhelmed all of her good sense. To say nothing of her propriety.
Not that Scythe seemed to be the kind of male who knew anything about that.
How had he come to be the man he was? Rude. Arrogant, for sure. But wounded and dark too. As much as he had tried to convince her otherwise, there was an integrity about him. A sense of honor that she doubted he let many people see. She had witnessed it in the way he'd treated Pietro back in Matera, then again in Rome last night.
He had denied that he had any kindness in him last night, but she had seen him treat her son gently. He’d been kind to her before too.
Before she’d started pawing him like a lovesick fool.
God, what he must think of her.
She hitched the shovel off her shoulder and plunged it into the soft earth with a groan. Of all the times she wished she’d had the Breed power to wipe her own memory, it was now.
Once she'd gone to bed last night, things hadn't been much better. She was alone, separated from Scythe by two doors and a long, sweeping hallway, but his presence was everywhere, leaving no corner of her home, life, or mind untouched. And when she finally drifted off to sleep, even her dreams had betrayed her.
She'd woken up hot and aching and full of longing she hadn't felt since... well, ever.
She swallowed hard as her nipples peaked beneath her thin cotton shirt. This was all some hard-wired, primal response to how starkly different Scythe was than her deceased husband.
Sal had been handsome and charming, but he'd also been mentally weak and ineffectual. A coward who cared for himself more than he had ever cared for others. Her foolish, blind love for him had nearly cost both her own life and the life of their son. It stood to reason that she would instinctively be attracted to someone who was the exact opposite of him.
And there was no one more opposite from charming, oily Sal than forbidding, prickly Scythe.
She squeezed her eyes closed and allowed herself to picture him one more time. The hard, unforgiving lines of his face, only more sculpted by the black beard he kept trimmed close to his square-cut jaw. That firm but slightly full mouth. His massive body, so capable and strong... lethally so.
A shudder went through her, though not from fear. She groaned in frustration, yet unable to purge the image of Scythe from her thoughts. Nor from her overheated senses.
Enough. This soil wasn't going to turn itself.
For the next hour, until the sun started to dip low in the sky, she tended
her fields, grateful for the solitude and the distraction of good, hard work. She worked until every muscle screamed in protest and until her skin was damp with a sheen of sweat, despite the chill in the air.
She'd left the house early that morning, after finally persuading Scythe that she would be safe in the vineyard and needed the physical outlet. He had seemed happy enough to avoid her, busying himself with monitoring his video sensors inside and around the rambling house and fielding calls from Trygg and the Order in Rome.
Now, the sky was changing from blush to dusty purple, and she knew she was going to have to face him soon. There was no chance he'd let her work out here alone once it got dark, no matter how many silent alarms he’d set nor how strong his unique ability to sense danger was.
She had just placed her shovel down and was beginning to pack up her water bottle and supplies when Scythe’s low voice sounded from behind her.
“It's getting late.”
Her heart pounded as she turned to face him. He stood with his hand on one hip, the other arm hanging loosely at his side. He wore a black T-shirt that bared his dermaglyph-covered arms and stretched tight across the wall of muscle that was his chest. Faded jeans rode his hips and long legs, hinting at iron-hewn thighs and a distractingly large bulge at his groin.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she imagined tracing every line. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she so physically deprived after her dead mate’s betrayal that she should lose all sense when it came to this male?
Three years in an empty bed hadn’t seemed so long until she was standing in front of Scythe.
“It will be dark soon. You shouldn’t be out here.”
She got to her feet, brushing dirt from her work pants. “I-I was just coming in anyway.”
He inclined his head, then shot a glance around the vineyard, taking in the rows of vibrant, twisting vines and plump grapes. She had weeded several rows today, the turned earth rich and loose now, the color of dark coffee grounds.
“How long have you been doing this by yourself?”
She shrugged. “After Sal was killed and Bella was taken away by Vito Massioni, it was hard to keep a steady crew around here. Most of the workers fled that same night. It’s one thing for humans to know they live among vampires, but still another to have them witness the kind of violence that Massioni delivered and expect them not to run far and forever away. I had a handful of loyal employees, but after Massioni sent his thugs here six weeks ago, even they left and never returned.”
Scythe grunted, his expression pensive. “It’s not sustainable, you know. You’ll need help if you mean to keep the vineyard going.”
She tucked her gloves into her pocket, bristling at his assessment, even if she knew in her heart that he was right. “I’ll manage. I always have.”
“Hard life for you here. And for your boy.”
“True, but I don’t mind working hard. Sometimes I feel like this land saved me. After Sal was gone, it was the only thing I had left besides Pietro. I keep this place going for my son.” She let go of a quiet laugh. “And for my own sanity.”
Scythe’s stare seemed to bore into her as she spoke. She hadn’t intended to bare her soul to him, no more than he probably cared to hear about her past mistakes.
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m rambling. Must be all the sun I had today.”
“It takes a strong woman to survive everything you did and come out the other side. Your son is very lucky to have a mother like you.”
His words rocked her back on her heels and she met his gaze.
She was gaping, but she couldn’t help it. “Was that a compliment?”
She had to struggle to keep a light tone, because if she thought too hard about how deeply she needed to hear reassurance like that, she might crumble.
Yes, definitely too much sun.
It was impacting her vision, too, making her imagine that the odd light in his obsidian gaze might be something tender, something close to admiration.
“It was a compliment, Chiara. One you certainly have earned.”
She waited for him to say something more, something critical of her or her stubborn refusal to leave the vineyard after the ordeal with Massioni had ended six weeks ago.
But he didn’t.
Scythe’s compliment was just that. The praise warmed her even more. It made her realize how accustomed she’d become to Sal’s disapproval, to the control he exerted over her in everything she did, and how long she had gone without hearing a simple word of support or encouragement.
Chiara swallowed. “Thank you, Scythe.”
He shrugged. “No need for thanks. I only speak the truth.”
“Well, I appreciate it. More than you know.”
Whether it was the fresh air and sun, Scythe’s kindness, or a combination of them all, she found herself admitting something she hadn’t acknowledged to anyone before, not even Bella. “There was a time that I felt such crushing guilt over Sal. I mean, how could I not have seen him for what he was? How could I not have known what kind of man he was before I was bound to him as his mate?” She toed a loose clump of dirt and shrugged. “I still struggle with that, with respecting myself. For three years, I’ve walked around wondering if my instincts are broken or if I'm just blind. But then, when I see Pietro, I remember that I had to be with Sal—no matter what he did or the kind of male he turned out to be. I wouldn’t change a thing, because then I wouldn’t have that perfect little boy. That probably sounds very stupid to you.”
“No.” His jaw flexed as he slowly shook his head. “It isn’t stupid to love your child. It isn’t stupid to sacrifice for him. As for the male you took as your mate...”
When his words trailed off, Chiara couldn’t let it go. “Say it.”
“It’s not my place.”
She folded her arms and cocked her head at him. “Look around, Scythe. It’s just you and me and acres of grapevines. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
In the rising dusk, his obsidian irises seemed fathomless, unreadable. Yet deep within the pools of black, embers of orange light flickered. He held her gaze in a way that made her heart flutter in her rib cage and her breath seize in her lungs.
“Sal Genova was a spineless, worthless male. The pain he caused you and your son—the danger he put you both in with his weakness and cowardice—is unthinkable. It’s reprehensible. If I had the chance to bring the bastard back to life only to ash him for pleasure, I would do it.”
Scythe's voice was almost a growl, unearthly and lethal. She realized in that instant exactly how dangerous he was. There was no question he meant every word he spoke. And in spite of the fact that those words were bloodthirsty and full of banked rage—in spite of the fact that she could feel menace radiating off his immense body—she felt nothing but a warm sense of relief.
In truth, she felt more than relief.
The heat moved through her like a caress, gathering in the center of her. Scythe would kill for her. That’s what he’d come here to do as her protector for the Order, but this admission held far more weight than even that humbling commitment.
She wanted to thank him for what he said, but the air between them had grown intense, vibrating with unspoken awareness. With the attraction that hadn’t faded since last night.
She felt it, and there was no mistaking the fact that he did too.
The embers in his eyes smoldered even brighter now, and along the muscles of his bared arms, his glyphs pulsed and churned with darkening colors. Indigo, wine, and burnished gold. All the shades of Breed desire.
He parted his lips to let a curse slip off his tongue, and she glimpsed the diamond-bright tips of his fangs.
“Scythe,” she whispered, unsure what she wanted to say to him. She reached for him, but he stepped back.
“Inside, Chiara.” The command was a rasp, all gravel and gruff impatience. “We’ve lingered out here longer than we should.”
Chapter 5
She was going
to be the death of him.
Of all the trials he’d endured, all the torture and the battles that could have—should have—taken him down any number of times, this diminutive female was going to be the one to vanquish him if he wasn’t careful.
The thought might have amused him if he wasn't in so much agony. Even now as he watched her bustle around the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in a loose, peach-colored sweater and soft cream leggings, his fangs throbbed in his gums. Ever since he'd seen her out there, working the land, bent over the dirt, beads of sweat glistening on her face and throat, his cock had been hard and aching.
The realization that he was facing another night with her only yards away and nothing but a few paces and a couple of panels of flimsy wood between them made his temples pound and his blood thrum with need.
He should have avoided her after they had come inside, but part of him needed to be reassured that he could handle being around her without losing his focus. He needed her to know that, too, especially considering how poorly he’d been able to hide his physical reaction to her thus far.
She’d have to be blind or completely naïve to miss how powerfully she affected him. And Chiara was neither of those things.
She was intelligent and observant. He was learning that she was also astonishingly capable and independent, considering how admirably she managed not only her own life and her son’s, but the life of the vineyard. Yet she was also soft and gentle, sheltered in ways Scythe didn’t think it wise to imagine. The combination was a potent one, particularly when her doe-eyed, dark-haired beauty was temptation enough on its own.
“I spoke to Pietro after I got out of the shower,” she said, her voice bright as she plated her meal at the stove. “He couldn’t sound happier. Apparently, Bella made him a cape and he's been wearing it constantly, pretending to be a superhero.”
She smiled wistfully as she carried her dinner to the table and sat down across from Scythe. “I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t understand what’s going on. I am glad, but I just . . .” She shrugged. “It’s been the two of us for so long, it doesn’t feel right not having him here with me.” She let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe I’m the one who needs the distraction more than him.”
