“No.” She shook her head, warmed by the kind offer. Darion was as gentlemanly as he was attractive. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. My brother won’t be expecting me, and I don’t imagine it will be easy for him when I walk in the door and he sees that I’m alive. I’d rather do this on my own.”
“Okay.” Darion frowned, but gave her a nod. The dark-haired Breed male’s aura was golden and kind, steadfast with the strength of a born leader. “But I’m gonna wait here until you’ve gone inside.”
She reached over to touch his large hand. “Thank you.”
Melena climbed out of the vehicle and headed up the walkway toward the front door. It was unlocked, the soft light in the vestibule a warm, welcoming beacon. She stepped inside and pivoted to wave good-bye to Darion. As the black SUV rolled away, she took a steeling breath and closed the door behind her.
She was home.
She was back on safe, familiar ground. And yet, as she walked quietly through the house, she felt like a stranger to the place. Like a ghost drifting through a life that no longer quite fit anymore.
She drifted past the front rooms and grand central staircase, unsure if she should call to Derek or wait and let him adjust to seeing her once she found him.
She didn’t have long to wonder. She heard her brother talking farther down the hallway. In her father’s study. Derek was on a call with someone, the low rumble of his voice drawing Melena with a relief and a comfort she definitely needed right now.
“Yes, sir, the shipment is en route and everything is in order. That’s right, I saw to it personally.”
Melena paused at the open doorway. Derek stood with his back to her, dressed in loose sweatpants, his brown hair still wet from a recent shower. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and although the sight of her Breed brother’s glyphs were no surprise to her, something did make her breath catch abruptly in her throat.
Derek now sported a number of tattoos on his broad back and shoulders. Unusual-looking stars, crossed swords, some kind of black beetle—a scarab, she realized, confused by the body art that hadn’t been there the last time she saw her brother. He must have gotten the tattoos after he’d moved overseas a year ago.
“It should be in your hands tomorrow, Mr. Rior—” Derek’s voice dried up.
He realized he wasn’t alone now. Disconnecting the call without a word of excuse, he smoothly slipped the phone into his pants pocket.
When he pivoted around, his face was slack with shock...with stark disbelief.
“Melena. My God.” He frowned, gave a vague shake of his head. But he didn’t rush over to embrace her. He didn’t react the way she would have expected at all from a sibling who loved her, worried for her. “I don’t understand. The news reports said there were no survivors. I thought you were...”
“Dead,” she replied, only understanding in that instant why her brother seemed less than relieved to see her.
He hadn’t expected to see her again at all.
His sickening aura told the truth. It hovered around him, oily with corruption. Foul with deceit.
“It was you, Derek.” She could hardly form the words, could hardly reconcile what her senses were telling her. “You were the faceless, hidden betrayer he feared. Oh, my God...it was you who arranged for our father’s death.”
* * * *
Lazaro boarded the Order’s private jet in a hellish mood.
He hadn’t expected the conversation to go well with Melena, but damn if he anticipated the kind of pain that had lodged itself in his chest from the moment she stormed away from him. That ache was still there, cold and gnawing, creating a vacuum behind his sternum that he didn’t imagine would ever be filled.
She was gone.
He’d made certain of that—for her, he wanted to reassure himself. But Melena’s words still echoed in his mind. Her condemning, all-too-accurate accusation.
He was a coward.
As the jet began to taxi toward the runway, Lazaro couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he was walking away from the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time.
And why?
Because of exactly what Melena said. He was afraid. Afraid to his marrow that he might let himself fall in love with her and risk cutting his heart open again should anything happen to her.
The truth was, he was already falling. Letting her go cut him open, and as he rubbed at the empty ache in his chest, he realized only then what a f**king idiot he was.
Pushing Melena away had been the most cowardly act of his long life.
He’d lived more than a thousand years. He had loved a woman deeply, fearlessly, for several centuries before he lost her. He knew what real love felt like. He knew himself well enough to understand that time, for him, was immaterial. Time could last forever, or it could be gone in the blink of an eye.
He loved Melena. And whether it had happened in a matter of days, or over the span of a hundred years, it was all the same to him. He wanted her beside him. Starting right now, if she would have it in her heart to forgive him.
On a snarl, he punched the call button next to his seat.
“Yes, sir?”
“Turn it around.”
The pilot went silent for a moment. “Sir, we’re next on the runway to taxi and—”
“Turn this goddamned plane around. Now.” On second thought, he couldn’t wait that long. He unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. “Never mind. I’m getting off right here.”
“But, sir—”
He unlocked the hatch and leapt down from the fuselage onto the dark tarmac. Then he was running. Heading for the Order fleet vehicle he’d parked in the private hangar when he’d arrived.