Fleeting glances. Brief touches. Shared laughter. Then, later, after he’d fought his attraction for as long as he could, there had been a kiss, a few stolen embraces. Followed by heated caresses that had left both of them in flames.
But she was an innocent, just eighteen years old to his twenty-five.
Even worse, she was the Breedmate sister of his closest friend.
The last thing he should be doing was sitting beside her in the starlight, staring at her throat and wishing he was a better man. One with honor enough to lie and say he wasn’t out of his mind with desire for her.
“What do you want, Ettore?”
“You.”
He took her down beneath him on the blanket and unwrapped her as reverently as a precious gift. Each breathless moment was seared into his senses, from her soft moans as he kissed and licked and sucked every tempting inch of her…to her shuddering cries as he entered her virgin body and introduced her to an even deeper pleasure as the sea of shooting stars skated overhead.
Savage groaned at the uninvited recollection and the need it stoked in him even now.
By the time they reached the ancient hillside town of Matera, his body was rife with desire, his cock so hard it was a wonder he’d been able to drive.
His palm still burned from the sweet kiss she’d placed there.
His veins throbbed with hunger for her—a hunger that was startlingly more intense than simple desire. If he’d imagined that their years apart would cool his feelings for her, that tender kiss to the center of his hand had obliterated all hope of that.
Holy hell, he was in trouble here.
He should be thinking about his duty to the Order—and about the mission status that was uncertain at best—yet his mind was wrapped around Arabella Genova.
So was his heart. Although to be fair, that part of him had been hers for a lot longer than his life had been pledged to the Order.
How many times had he considered defying the wishes of her father and brother to go back and beg for her forgiveness and take her away with him forever? How many human blood Hosts had he drunk from, wishing it was Bella’s vein that was nourishing him instead, her Breedmate blood ensuring that she would always be his?
Now, all he had were regrets.
He only hoped he could somehow get the chance to make things right. But first he needed to make sure she was safe.
“This way,” he told the women, after leaving the old truck in a church parking lot as Trygg had instructed.
Carrying Chiara’s bag so she could focus on her child, Savage placed his hand at the small of Bella’s back and brought them to a flight of well-worn stone steps on the other side of the church. The stairs descended away from the quaint hotels and restaurants near Matera’s city center, into the thickly settled community of limestone dwellings that appeared to grow out of the walls of the broad ravine.
Waning blue moonlight and the golden glow of random lanterns and street lamps illuminated the uneven trail Trygg had given them to follow. At the predawn hour, there were no tourists on the tangled network of stone paths and meandering steps of the sassi. The ravine was quiet, nothing but the sound of their footsteps on the dusty old cobbles and the occasional jangle of a sheep’s bell from the flock starting to awaken on a grassy flat across the way.
Savage followed the path to the left, as he’d been told, which took them toward what appeared to be the low-rent section of the Paleolithic-era neighborhood. White limestone residences with the occasional flower box in their window or potted plant outside the door gave way to an unlit stretch of cobbles lined with rustic domiciles in various states of neglect, most with weeds and cactus sprouting out of their cracked and crumbling walls.
“Stay close,” Savage advised the women as he led them deeper into the settlement. “We should almost be there now.”
A few minutes later, just as Trygg had described, his brother waited up ahead on the walkway. At least, Savage hoped the immense, black-haired Breed male was Scythe.
As they approached, Savage walking protectively in front of Bella and Chiara, the other male lifted his head and swung a glance in their direction. Long ebony hair hung several inches past his shoulders, and a trimmed black beard outlined the grave set of his mouth. The male’s eyes, as dark as jet, narrowed on Savage across the distance.
Yep. Definitely Scythe.
Savage nodded to him in greeting. Scythe’s face remained expressionless within his curtain of dark hair. Dressed in a black leather trench coat that covered more black clothing beneath it, the male looked every bit a cold-blooded killer.
Which was saying something, coming from Savage, a warrior whose stock-in-trade was dealing death.
At Savage’s back, he heard Bella suck in a shallow gasp.
“It’s all right,” he told her, touching her arm in reassurance. “This is who we’re supposed to meet.”
Without introduction, Scythe turned and started walking away. Apparently, he was as people-friendly as his brother. So long as the male was trustworthy and his safe house was secure, Savage would give the lack of social skills a pass.
“Let’s go,” he said, pausing to press a kiss to Bella’s forehead. “We’ll be safe here, I promise.”
They followed Scythe to one of the last cave houses on the path, a squatty residence devoid of windows and accessible through a door that was reinforced with an iron grate. Savage wasn’t expecting much as the other Breed male opened the door and let them inside, but it turned out the place only appeared forbidding and neglected from the outside. They stepped into a comfortable, if minimalist, dwelling with hand-hewn furnishings, arched stone ceilings, and warm, rug-covered floors.
Once they were inside, Scythe motioned for them to follow him farther into the place. More rooms were burrowed out of the rock of the ravine, connected by snaking tunnels large enough for both Breed males to walk through at their full height.
“I don’t generally have guests,” Scythe announced, sounding none too pleased. His voice was low and dark, almost a snarl as he strode ahead of them, his words echoing off the walls. “There is a small bed in the chamber to your right, and a larger one in the room at the end of this corridor. Make use of them as you wish.”
Savage glanced at Bella. “You and Chiara take the beds. I don’t need to sleep.”
It was true enough. As Breed, he didn’t require a lot of rest, but he doubted his thoughts would give him much peace anyway. To say nothing of his body, which was still thrumming with want of Bella.
She looked as if she meant to protest his sacrifice, but her sister-in-law was teetering on her feet and Pietro hadn’t lifted his head since they left the truck. “I’ll go help them settle in.”
Savage remained in the passage as the women departed for the room. When he glanced at Scythe, he found the male watching Chiara through narrowed eyes. A dark scowl creased his brow.
“Trygg didn’t say anything about a child being in danger.”
“He didn’t?” Savage frowned. “I’m sure I mentioned the boy when I spoke with him.”
Scythe grunted. “Yeah. I’m sure you did too.”
The cryptic response intrigued him. “Is it a problem?”
Scythe didn’t answer, which told Savage far more than any words ever could. “If you or the females need anything, let me know.”
Okay, conversation over apparently. Savage held out his hand to the other male. “Thank you. I owe you for this, and I won’t forget it.”
Scythe stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment. At first, Savage didn’t understand why. Then he saw it—the severed stump at the end of the other male’s right wrist where there had once been a hand.
And there was something else unusual about Scythe that he’d missed until now as well.
Around his dermaglyph-covered neck was a circle of mangled, vicious looking scars. By the severity of them, Savage had to guess that the Breed male had nearly lost his head at some point in his life too.
Since Bre
ed genetics could heal all but the most catastrophic of injuries, Scythe must have been starving for blood or already half-dead from some other cause at the time this wound was inflicted.
Scythe shrugged. “We’d been raised to think we were invincible. It made many of us reckless. Not many survived after we got our first taste of freedom.”
“Freedom from what?”
“From our collars.”
The newsflash took Savage completely by surprise. He gaped at the obviously lethal, clearly antisocial Breed male. “Are you telling me that you were born a Hunter?”
Looking at him now, it made sense. As far as assassins and stealth operatives went, they didn’t come any deadlier than the Hunters—first generation Breed males who’d been bred off the same Ancient sire and raised to be merciless killers by the Order’s chief adversary. To keep his scattered army of perfect assassins obedient, Dragos had outfitted each of them with an ultraviolet collar that discouraged defiance or escape. Punishment was instant and final.
Dragos’s secret program had been in operation for decades before he was taken out by Lucan and his warriors twenty years ago. As for the Hunters themselves, they were all but legend among the Breed now, with only a handful known to exist.
Evidently, Savage was looking at one of them.
He met Scythe’s shark-black stare in question. “Trygg said you were his brother.”
“He is. As are the others.”
“Others?”
Scythe acknowledged with a curt nod. “The other lost boys. The dozens of young Hunters who escaped their collars when Dragos was killed.”
Chapter 8
Ettore and their intimidating host were just parting ways as Bella stepped out of the bedroom where Chiara was resting with Pietro. She hesitated until the immense black-haired male had walked off before she approached.
Ettore glanced her way, a look of lingering astonishment in his eyes.
“Is everything all right with your friend?” she asked.
He grunted, raking a hand through his loose blond waves. “I wouldn’t exactly call Scythe a friend just yet, but yeah, we’re good.”
Bella registered the name with an inward shudder. It was certainly a fitting moniker for the curt, menacing-looking Breed male. “If Scythe’s glower is anything to go by, he doesn’t seem happy to be saddled with houseguests.”
“Are you kidding? That is his happy face.” Ettore’s grin flashed, revealing the twin dimples that had never failed to charm her. “How are Chiara and Pietro?”
“Exhausted. They’re already asleep.”
“You should be too,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone of tender concern. His hand rested warmly on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in the other bedroom.”
It all seemed so surreal, being in this strange place, feeling safe despite the fact that she was on the run from an evil man and his network of criminal associates.
Ettore did that for her. She had always felt safe when she was with him. The guns and blades bristling from the belt that circled his waist had nothing to do with how protected he made her feel. It was him, the man, who had always been able to put her at ease.
As much as he aroused her.
Her skin still felt too warm, too tight, as they paused together at the chamber’s open doorway. Everything they’d said in the truck, the stolen caresses they’d shared in those brief moments of semiprivacy earlier tonight, now hung between them like a wound that needed tending.
Ettore seemed to feel the same awareness that she did. The heat radiating from him was palpable, his touch at the small of her back light, yet searing. She wanted to feel his hands on her everywhere, not just in comfort or reassurance, but in passion.
He cursed as his eyes met hers, his hazel irises dark but glittering with flecks of amber. “For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. I’m hanging by a thread here.”
“I am too.” She couldn’t resist reaching up to him, letting her hands skim the firm muscles of his chest. “I’ve been hanging by a thread since you showed up at our vineyard with my brother all those years ago, Ettore.”
His heart was thundering. His pulse slammed against her palm, hammering like a drum. He searched her gaze for a long moment, his breath rolling in deep, panting gusts.
The curse that boiled out of him was sharp, hissed between his teeth and fangs. “I wasn’t expecting any of this. My first duty is to the Order. I have a mission to carry out. Until I’m certain I’ve completed it, I shouldn’t be thinking about anything else. Not even you. Hell, especially not you.”
“Of course. I understand.” She glanced away, weathering a sting she hadn’t seen coming. “Ettore, I didn’t mean to suggest—”
He took her hand and hauled her against him, silencing her with a kiss. When he drew back from her lips, his gaze had gone molten. “I have no right to be thinking about anything but my duty to the Order. That’s what I keep telling myself, Arabella. But then I look at you and none of those other things matter.”
She swallowed, watching the fire dance in his eyes. His pupils were narrowed to thin black slits, and his fangs surged even larger behind his parted lips. The sight of his transformation sped her pulse, while at her hip, the hard steel of his arousal sent a current of hot need licking through her senses and straight into her core.
“I walked away once,” he snarled. “God help us both, I don’t think I can ever do it again.”
His name was a jagged sigh on her lips as he grasped her face in his palms and covered her mouth with his once more. Kissing her so deeply she could hardly find her breath, he walked her backward into the chamber with him, kicking the door closed behind them with his boot heel.
Something wild had been unleashed in him. She saw it in his eyes, heard it in the rough scrape of his voice. And now all of that unhinged desire was pouring into her through his kiss.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against her mouth. Her moan of confirmation evidently wasn’t enough. “Say it, Arabella. Let me hear it.”
“Yes.” Oh, God. She could hardly hold the desire that chased through her. Every hot sweep of his lips over hers, every carnal thrust of his tongue, inflamed a need in her that was swiftly burning out of control. “Please, Ettore. I need you. I need to feel you inside me.”
His answer was an animalistic, purely possessive snarl. Pressing her down onto the narrow bed, he stripped away her clothing then quickly removed his own. Part of her wanted him to take things slowly—give her time to savor every nuance of the rock-hard, beautifully formed body she still saw so often in her most fevered dreams.
But the desire they had for each other had been denied for too long.
Too much precious time had been stolen from them already.
She was desperate for him. More than anything, she needed to feel his skin against hers and know that this was no dream now. That he was real. That he was hers again.
Always, she amended silently, allowing the wish to live in her heart as he settled himself atop her.
His eyes blazed as he watched her, his hand moving between their bodies to tease and stroke her sex. His fingers slid through her juices, a groan ripping out of him as he cleaved her folds and found the slick entrance to her body.
“You’re already wet for me,” he murmured, a grin tilting the edges of his wicked mouth. “Damn, you’re soft, Bella. So beautiful. So fucking hot.”
She couldn’t bite back her whimper of pleasure, both at his praise and at the intensity of her arousal for him. He teased her sensitive flesh, taking her mouth in another deep, soul-searing kiss. She felt him test her tightness with his fingers, starting with one, then adding another, his thumb working a profane magic on her clit.
There had been no one since him, and the euphoria of being naked with him now, in his arms after so much longing, was too much to bear. Her orgasm rushed up on her unexpectedly, far too wild to hold back. She clutched his shoulders as her cry tore out of her throat. Arching off the mattres
s, she rode the wave to its crest, grinding shamelessly against his hand as the bliss poured over her.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he coaxed her as he continued to pleasure her with his fingers. “I’ve waited too long to see this look on your face again. I swear, Bella, you’ve only gotten more exquisite.”
She caught her lip between her teeth as the aftershocks rippled along her nerve endings, while beneath the pleasure another climax was already beginning to build. “Ettore, please…”
He knew what she needed. Shifting his weight, he positioned himself between her spread thighs. Her body was more than ready for him, slick and hot and open. Yet it was still a shock to feel the impossible thickness of him as he pushed the head of his cock inside her, then thrust to fill her with the hard length of his shaft.
“Bella,” he uttered tightly, “you have to tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“No.” She shook her head, even as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, God…it feels so good. I thought I remembered, but this…”
“I know, baby.” He started to move within her, rocking slowly at first, each stroke taking him deeper, pushing further inside her, until she wasn’t sure where he ended and she began.
“Ah, love,” he murmured. “Your body is so tight around me. So damned perfect. I can’t—”
His words were lost to the feral groan that ripped out of him. Caging her between his forearms, he drove inside her faster, deeper, untamed in his need. His handsome face contorted with the ferocity of his thrusts, his fangs so enormous they filled his mouth.
Bella’s gaze fixed on those diamond-bright points as he crashed against her. She couldn’t get enough either. She wanted all of him. Not just this moment and the wish that it might last. She wanted forever with Ettore Selvaggio.
After just one time together and ten long years in between, he was still the only man she craved.
In her heart—to the depths of her soul—she knew he was the only man she would ever love.
Chapter 9