Tempted by Midnight: A Midnight Breed Novella (1001 Dark Nights)

by Lara Adrian

  Some of her hysteria leaked out of her under his grave stare. She couldn’t hold back the grief, the tears. It all flooded out of her on an ugly, shuddering sob. And then her knees did give out, and she sank back down to the sandy floor of the cave.

  Lazaro’s warm hands were still clasped on her arms as he crouched down in front of her. She couldn’t stop the wracking anguish, no more than she could keep herself from pitching forward into his arms, clinging to him as she wept.

  He held her there, for how long, she didn’t know.

  She only knew that after she didn’t think she could cry anymore, or hurt any worse, he was still holding her. Still keeping her upright when the rest of her world was crumbling all around her.

  “Why?” she murmured into his bulky shoulder. “My God, he knew this. He was so afraid he was going to die soon. Who would do this to him? Why?”

  Lazaro gently pulled her away from him, his ebony brows knit in a tight scowl. “Your father feared for his life?” Confusion flashed across his features, then settled into suspicion. “Damn it. Why didn’t he tell me this? We spoke several times before the meeting. He had plenty of opportunity to say something if he felt he was in danger in any way.”

  Melena shook her head, heartsick. “He didn’t know who he could trust. He’d been having premonitions, sensing some kind of betrayal. He knew he was going to die soon. He didn’t know when, or where the betrayal would come from. He wasn’t sure of anyone anymore.”

  “Not even me,” Lazaro replied. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t he cancel the damned meeting? He could have made any excuse.”

  “I told him the same thing. But it was too important to him. And he didn’t know what would happen tonight. Neither one of us knew.” She thought back on the time she and her father spent with Paolo Turati. She had detected no hidden agendas. No duplicity or harmful intent in any one of them.

  Lazaro was studying her in unreadable silence. “You need to tell me the truth, Melena. Beginning with why your father brought you with him tonight.”

  She gave him a weak nod. There was no more reason for her to keep it from him. Her father was gone. He had nothing left to lose if word of his paranoia became public. Melena no longer needed to protect him. “I’ve been traveling with him everywhere for months now. He can’t bear to go—he couldn’t bear,” she corrected herself quietly, “to go anywhere unless I was there to assure him no one meant him any harm.”

  “How so?”

  “You were right that it wasn’t only my translation skills that brought me here tonight. It was my ability to see people’s auras. I can tell at a glance if someone’s intentions are good or not.”

  “Your Breedmate talent,” Lazaro murmured. There seemed to be a trace of relief in his tone. “So, when you looked at Turati and the others on the yacht tonight?”

  She shook her head. “There was nothing to fear from any of them.”

  “Did your father voice his concerns to any of his colleagues in the GNC?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone outside the Council?”

  “No one,” she replied, certain of it.

  Lazaro grunted, and she could see his gaze go distant as his mind began to churn on the information. She knew he and the Order would not let this attack go unmet, and there was a vengeful part of her that longed to see the guilty tortured to within an inch of their sadistic, cowardly lives.

  “Make them pay, Lazaro.”

  “They will,” he answered solemnly. “Whoever had a hand in this, they will be found. There will be justice.”

  Her tears started up again, but they were quieter now, filled with more rage and resolve than bereavement. She hadn’t been prepared for Lazaro’s tender touch. She held her breath as he caught her chin on the edge of his fingertips and lifted her gaze to his. He stroked her cheek, his thumb sweeping away the wet trail of her tears.

  She could sense his tenderness went deeper than mere concern.

  She could see the evidence of that truth in the crackling sparks of amber that were lighting in the deep sapphire of his irises. She could see it in his dermaglyphs, which surged with dark colors across every muscled inch of his torso and arms, the intriguing swirls and arcs of the glyphs’ pattern changing hues before her eyes.

  And if all of that weren’t enough, she could see his intent in his aura, which formed a smoldering glow around him now, confirming the astonishing fact.

  Lazaro Archer wanted her.

  No sooner had the thought entered her mind than he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. Her breath was already shaky and thin, but as his mouth pressed against hers, her lungs dried up on a slow moan. The kiss was tender, careful, no doubt meant to console or soothe her.

  It did both, but it also inflamed her.

  Heat raced through her at the feel of his mouth on hers. She didn’t want to feel it—not now, not when her heart was breaking over the loss of her father and fear still held her in a firm grasp.

  But Lazaro’s arms were stronger than any of that. His gentling, but arousing, kiss made her melt against him with a desire she could hardly reconcile.

  And he broke away much too soon for her liking.

  His Breed pupils had narrowed to the thinnest vertical slits. And when he ground out a vivid curse, the tips of his fangs gleamed white and razor-sharp.

  “Fuck.” He let go of her. “That shouldn’t have happened. I apologize.”

  “Don’t,” she murmured, her voice a raspy whisper. Desire was singing through her veins—uninvited, maybe, but too powerful to be denied. “I didn’t mind, Lazaro. I...liked it.”

  “Christ, don’t say that.” He blew out a harsh breath, then drew back from her as though she had scorched him too, and not in the good way he’d ignited her. “You do not want to say that to me, Melena. For the good of both of us.”

  He got to his feet in abrupt, stony silence. As he stood, she noticed that the gash in his thigh was still bleeding. While he’d been looking after her these past few hours, he’d neglected his own injuries. He seemed oblivious to it, walking over to examine a comm unit that lay on a nearby rock. He shook the device, swearing as water dripped out of it.

  “That wound on your leg needs attention, Lazaro.” He was Breed, Gen One besides. She knew his body would heal itself, but even a vampire needed help sometimes. “You need to feed soon.”

  “Is that an invitation, Miss Walsh?” The comm unit clutched in his fist, he snarled down at her, baring his teeth and fangs. God, they were huge. Terrifying, and he damned well knew it. His aura seethed as menacingly as the rest of him. When she shrank back a little where she sat, he gave a dark chuckle. “No, I didn’t think so. Smart girl. Do us both a favor and don’t concern yourself with what I need.”

  His anger confused her, almost as much as his unexpected tenderness of a moment ago. And the fact that he wanted to push her away when he was the only reason she was alive right now kind of pissed her off too. She stood up, refusing to be cowed by his bluster.

  “Why shouldn’t I be concerned? You just saved my life—for the second time, in fact. So, forgive me if that makes me care about you just a little bit.”

  When he scoffed and took a long stride away from her, she followed after him. When she put her hand on his shoulder, he rounded on her with a hiss. “Just because you’re alive, doesn’t mean you’re safe with me. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m some kind of hero.”

  He didn’t give her the opportunity to reply. On a furious glower, he pivoted to stalk toward the mouth of the cave. “Stay put. I’m going to see about sending a signal and getting us out of here.”

  Melena watched him prowl out into the darkness, his kiss still warming her lips and his harsh words ringing in her ears.

  Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m some kind of hero.

  Didn’t he know? She’d been thinking of him that way for most of her life.

  CHAPTER 5

  One of Lazaro’s comrades showed up less than an hour later to r
etrieve them in a big black SUV. Melena had hardly been introduced to the Breed warrior who drove them—a towering male with a mass of loose golden curls and a dimpled, quicksilver smile that instantly softened his strong, square-cut jaw. She thought he’d said his name was Savage, but in her opinion, he looked more like a fallen angel. If fallen angels wore combat patrol gear and bristled with blades and heavy firearms.

  The warrior seemed already aware of who she was and how she’d come to be in his Order commander’s company, although he didn’t so much as try to ask. It was obvious from Lazaro’s menacing silence during the ride to wherever they were heading that conversation with her was neither welcomed nor encouraged.

  Where they’d been heading was Rome.

  More specifically, the Order’s command center in that city.

  Melena tried not to gape when she realized that’s where Lazaro had brought her. Neither the late-night sight of the illuminated Colosseum nor Pantheon had inspired more than a lingering look as they passed the monuments, but when the SUV approached a gated, secured mansion compound nestled in the heart of the sprawling city, Melena couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter in her seat and draw in her breath.

  The stately white brick mansion with its elegant, carved marble detailing and old bronze fixtures looked as timeless as the city around it. But it didn’t take long to understand that the structure’s antiquity ended at the street. This was a modern fortress, beautiful and sturdy and impenetrable. Inside the massive gates, motion sensors followed the SUV’s progress toward an underground parking garage around back.

  Once they got out of the vehicle, Lazaro sternly instructed her to follow him. The warrior who drove them lingered behind, leaving her alone to his commander’s dubious care.

  Lazaro took her not into the living quarters of the compound, but to another wing of the estate that seemed to be where the warriors conducted Order business. She heard two male voices in one of the rooms they passed along the corridor, but her escort didn’t slow his pace at all.

  Actually, it didn’t seem that he could get rid of her fast enough for his liking.

  A few minutes later, Melena found herself abandoned to a vaguely medical-seeming room. The small space contained the hard bed she sat upon, and next to it a single chair. Glass-fronted cupboards mounted to the wall opposite her appeared to house bandages and other field dressing supplies.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, feeling awkward and unwanted in Lazaro’s domain. At some point, she dozed, still exhausted from her ordeal and the raw grief that clung to her. A couple of times, she’d glanced toward the window in the infirmary room door and saw one of the warriors stride past. The gorgeous blond who brought her there had smiled through the glass as he walked by. Another Breed male, a mean-looking warrior with a shaved head and a jagged facial scar that made him more suited to the name “Savage” than his friendly comrade, spared her only the briefest, disinterested glance.

  But it was a different warrior altogether who finally came into the room. Hulking and immense, he had a mane of shoulder-length brown waves and skin the color of sun-kissed golden sand. Arresting sky-blue eyes scrutinized her from within his ruggedly handsome, exotic face. “Melena. How are you feeling?” As big and imposing as the Breed male was, he somehow moved with the easy, feline grace of a jungle cat as he approached. His voice was rich and deep and cultured. “I am Jehan.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her manners on automatic pilot.

  “Commander Archer sent me to see if your injuries need tending. I must apologize that we’re not equipped for treating wounds outside of the Breed, but I can get you medicine for your pain. There are ointments I can prepare to make the contusions heal faster.”

  Melena shook her head. “Thank you, but no.” Compared to the pain of her grief and fear following the attack, and the lingering exhaustion from what she suspected had been hypothermia back in the cave, her assortment of cuts and bruises were a minor issue. “I’m okay.”

  He eyed her skeptically, folding his glyph-covered muscled arms over his chest. “You’ve endured quite an ordeal. You’re certain there is nothing you need?”

  Melena gave a vague shrug. She wasn’t certain of anything at the moment. Part of her wanted to bolt for the door and find the fastest way out of this nightmare, back home to Maryland. Another part of her just wanted to crawl under the covers of the bed and scream.

  “I know this can’t be easy,” Jehan said, genuine concern in his low voice. “And I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Although she was well-versed in multiple languages, she couldn’t quite place his unusual accent. His name was old French, if she wasn’t mistaken, but the formal way he carried himself and the way he spoke had her curious. “Where are you from, Jehan?”

  “All around,” he answered cryptically. “But it’s Morocco you hear in my voice. My father’s homeland.”

  That explained it. He had the kind of voice that made her imagine moonlit desert plains and the spicy fragrance of incense and woodsmoke. “Your mother wasn’t Moroccan, though?”

  “Born and raised in Paris,” he confirmed, his sensual mouth curving at the corners. “She and my father met in France. After they were mated, he brought her back with him to our tribe’s Darkhaven in his country.”

  “Your tribe?”

  Jehan’s dark brows quirked. “A relic of a term.” He shrugged it off, but something mysterious flickered in his mesmerizing gaze. “My father’s Breed line is very old. Its roots go deep into Moroccan soil. Burrowed in almost as stubbornly as the old man’s heels.”

  “What about you?” Melena asked, genuinely curious.

  Jehan inclined his head, almost courtly in its tilt. “To my father’s eternal regret, his eldest son’s feet refused to stay put. Despite the shackle of obligation he’s tried to affix to them.”

  As they spoke, the door opened again and the blond warrior came in. He grinned, his hazel eyes bouncing off Jehan for a second before fixing on Melena. “I see Prince Jehan is already trying to dazzle you with his long, boring pedigree.”

  Melena swung a questioning look on the enigmatic warrior. “Prince?”

  Jehan grunted under his breath, but didn’t deny it. “What are you doing here, Sav? You know damned well Lazaro’s orders were that no one enter this room or speak to Melena without his permission.”

  Melena wanted to be offended by the news of that domineering command, but her two visitors were a welcome distraction from everything else going on. Not the least of which being Lazaro Archer’s stinging rejection of her in the cave. A sting that hurt all the worse for his tenderness when he touched her...kissed her.

  “We weren’t properly introduced,” Sav said. “Ettore Roberto Selvaggio.”

  His dimples deepened along with his heart-stopping smile. His Italian accent seemed to deepen as well, the kind of accent that probably ensured he never wanted for female company.

  “Melena Walsh,” she replied. “I thought I heard Lazaro call you Savage.”

  “Lazaro?” he echoed.

  She felt color rise to her cheeks. “Your commander. Mr. Archer. Whatever I should call him,” she muttered. The man who saved her life, awoke an irresistible desire in her, but made her feel as if he might have rather left her behind in Anzio a few hours ago. “I think he despises me.”

  The two Breed males now exchanged a look. Jehan was the first to talk. “Don’t let him scare you. It’s just his way.”

  “Come on, man,” his comrade said. “It goes a bit deeper than that.”

  Melena glanced at them both. “What do you mean?”

  “The way I heard it, Archer’s never been the same since he lost his family back in Boston twenty years ago,” Sav said. “He blames himself, I imagine.”

  “Why would he do that?” She couldn’t begin to guess how Lazaro could hold himself even the least responsible for what happened to his kin. “The Darkhaven was attacked while he wasn’t home. It was razed to the g
round.”

  “Yes,” Jehan agreed soberly. “And now imagine you have the incredible gift of walking into even the most extreme temperature and emerging wholly unscathed. But you’re not there when the attack on your own loved ones takes place.”

  “You have the ability to save some of them—maybe all of them,” Sav added. “Instead, you lose them all in one fell swoop.”

  Melena couldn’t speak. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing as the weight of what she’d just heard settled on her.

  She hadn’t known about Lazaro’s Breed gift. Now it made sense, of course. His ability to search for her for so long in the frozen pond all those years ago. The fact that he’d swum across nearly half of the Tyrrhenian Sea to save her tonight, impervious to the cold, unlike her.

  He’d saved her twice, but had been unable to save the ones he loved. Including his blood-bonded Breedmate.

  “He will not be pleased if he knew we told you,” Jehan warned grimly.

  Sav gave a nod. “Probably want to stake both of us out in the sun. Or worse.” He glanced at Melena. “So, not a word, yeah?”

  “Okay,” she murmured woodenly. But oh, God, her heart ached for Lazaro now.

  “Enough about him,” Sav said, grinning as if he wanted to lighten the grave mood. “You asked about me, if I recall. So, to answer your question, yes. Most people who know me call me Savage.”

  She took his bait, needing to put her sympathy for Lazaro on a higher shelf. He wouldn’t want it anyway. “Why do they call you that? You seem nice enough to me. Are you usually mean or something?”

  “Or something,” he said, the glint in his eye and the playful, seductive hue of his aura providing all the correction she needed.

  Jehan snorted. “He’s a legend in his own mind. Pay no attention to him.”

  Sav barked a laugh. “Envy isn’t a good look for you, Highness.”

  “And you may kiss my royal ass, peasant.”

  Melena found herself smiling with them. She took in their banter and warm, welcoming faces, not realizing until then how much she needed to feel she was among friends.