If Melena opened her eyes now, she’d see him fully transformed to the bloodthirsty, otherworldly being he truly was.
If she opened her pretty, bright green eyes, she would know that his desire for her didn’t stop at just her blood. He didn’t want to think what kind of base creature he was that he could feel lust and hunger for a bruised, bloodied woman who’d just lost her father and nearly her own life too.
The truth was, he’d felt these same urges back on the yacht too. He hadn’t wanted to admit it then either.
For all he knew, she could belong to another Breed male. Hell, she could already be blood-bonded to someone, a thought that should’ve relieved him rather than put a rankle in his brow. It would be pointless to let himself wonder, then or now. He wasn’t about to act on either of his unwanted needs. Least of all with a woman bearing the Breedmate mark.
Since Ellie’s death, he’d found other women to service him when required. Humans who understood the limits of his interest. More importantly, humans he could feed from without the shackle of a blood bond.
Instead here he was, shackled to the rescue and safekeeping of a woman he didn’t fully trust and had no right to desire.
On a rough curse, ignoring the pounding demands of his veins, he stripped off his ragged black combat shirt and hunkered down in the sand alongside Melena. She moaned softly as he wrapped his arms around her. Her raspy sigh as she instinctively settled into his heat was an added torment he sure as hell didn’t need.
Jaw clamped tight, pulse hammering with thinly bridled hunger, Lazaro gathered Melena to his na**d chest to give her body the warmth it needed.
CHAPTER 4
She woke from an endless, cold nightmare, a scream lodged in her throat. She couldn’t force out any sound, and when she dragged in a sudden gasp of air, her lungs felt shredded in her breast.
No, not her lungs.
Her heart.
All at once, the details flew back at her. The explosion. The fire and debris. The cold, black water.
Her father...
No, he couldn’t be gone. Her kind and decent father—that strong Breed male—could not have been wiped from existence tonight.
Betrayed, murdered. Just as he’d feared.
Her father was dead.
Some rational part of her knew there was no other possibility, but accepting it hurt too much.
She tried to move and found herself trapped in a cocoon of warmth. Thick arms encircled her. Arms covered in Breed dermaglpyhs. The elaborate pattern of skin markings could only belong to one man.
“You’re all right, Melena.” Lazaro’s deep voice rumbled against her ear. “Lie still. You need rest.”
She felt him breathing, felt his large body’s heat all around her. And God, she needed that heat and reassurance. Every particle of her being wanted to burrow deeper and just close her eyes and sleep. Try to forget...
But her father was out there in the dark. Left behind in the frigid water, while she was safe and protected in the shelter of Lazaro’s arms.
She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings as best she could in the lightless space around them. She smelled the sea and wet rock. Felt soft sand beneath her.
“Where are we?” Her words came out like a croak. She swallowed past the salt and soot, attempted to extricate herself from the comfort she couldn’t enjoy. She ached all over. Could barely summon strength to move her limbs.
“I brought you to Anzio. We’re in a cave at Nero’s villa ruins.”
She had no idea where that was, only that it had to be a good long distance away from the yacht. “How long have we been here?”
“A few hours.”
An irrational panic crushed down on her. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? We should be out there, searching for them!”
His answering curse vibrated against her spine. “Melena—”
“I have to get up. We have to go back for him, Lazaro. For all of them.”
On a burst of adrenaline, she managed to slip out of his loose embrace. She sat up, registering dimly that her clothing was damp and ruined, torn open in more places than it was held together.
And Lazaro was only half-dressed. Just his black pants, clinging to him in tatters as well. No shirt on his bare, glyph-covered chest and muscled arms. There were numerous bruises on his torso and shoulders. When he sat up too, she noted that a healing gash in his thigh had bled through the material of his pants.
“There’s no reason to go back, Melena. There’s no chance of survivors.”
She didn’t want to hear him confirm the terror churning inside her. “No. You’re wrong!” She made a clumsy falter to her feet. Lazaro stood with her, catching her by the arms before her sluggish legs could buckle beneath her. She didn’t have the strength to break out of his hold again. “You have to be wrong. I have to go back and find him. My father—”
Lazaro shook his head. His handsome face was grim with sympathy and something darker. “I’m sorry, Melena. The missile strike was a direct hit. There was nothing left.”
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.