Midnight Unbound Page 11

  He slung a crossbow onto his back and slipped two knives into the belt at his waist. A pair of semiautomatic pistols loaded with hollow points bristled in their holsters at his hips. Armed to the fangs and hungry for the fight, he sped out of the wine cellar, then up to the cupola window of the villa, which afforded the best vantage point of the outlying grounds.

  Under the blue glow of twilight, half a dozen Breed males prowled in from multiple directions. He wasn’t surprised to see that Chiara’s assailant had returned with reinforcements. But he hadn’t been expecting this.

  These feral looking beasts were Rogues, every one of them.

  As they stole toward the house, another group emerged from the shadows of the vineyard to encroach on the villa.

  Son of a bitch. Scythe’s vision bled amber in the second it took for him to assess the incoming threat. His fangs ripped from his gums, battle rage seething into his bloodstream when he imagined what this small army of blood-addicted animals would do if any one of them got their hands on Chiara.

  And then there was the male at the center of it all.

  Scythe looked for him among the beasts who swarmed the property, but didn’t see him. The prickling of his senses told him the bastard was out there somewhere. He would get the bastard. He would end him painfully and permanently. Even if he had to rip through a dozen feral Rogues to do it.

  Silently, he lifted the cupola window and climbed out onto the roof. A pair of roosting doves exploded into the sky, flapping their wings in an effort to escape the apex predator in their midst.

  Below him on the ground, the pack of Rogues swept in from the vineyard and the lawn, preparing to surround the house. One of them had already reached the back porch.

  Scythe dropped down behind the male, as silent as a cat. Before the other vampire even realized he had a problem, Scythe slashed a titanium dagger across the Rogue’s throat. The shriek that rang out was short-lived, like its owner, but explosive.

  The animal cry rent the night, and suddenly the ground began to rumble with the sound of Rogues charging in from all directions.

  Chapter 13

  A jolt of pain lanced her so brutally, Chiara looked down at her midsection, expecting to find her stomach sliced wide open. Her heart pounded frantically, sweat drenching the back of her neck. She felt another strike bite into her biceps, then a bruising blow to the center of her spine.

  But it wasn’t her pain.

  Not her injuries... His.

  She rested her forehead against the wall of the panic room, her hand over her mouth to stifle her choked cry. “Scythe!”

  It had been unbearable enough to stay behind knowing he was walking headlong into danger, maybe even death. Her only comfort had been the fact that he wasn’t afraid. He was confident, determined. Hellbent on coming back to her.

  But this?

  Feeling his pain the midst of that battle was an anguish she couldn’t endure. Not knowing what he was up against out there was the worst kind of torture. Not being with him when the only thing holding her back was his worry for her safety was an agreement she couldn’t keep.

  She wasn’t trapped in the panic room; she could free herself anytime using the combination lock on the inside.

  She had barely let the thought take root in her mind before she was slipping out to the wine cellar on the other side. The sounds of combat and violence outside the villa flew at her like wraiths now that she was out of the sealed chamber.

  Dear God, it sounded like war.

  One that had the man she loved—her mate—caught in the center of it.

  Every fiber of her being railed against that knowledge. Hiding was worse agony than risking her life. She had spent a lifetime cowering in fear and intimidation. No more. The meek, powerless woman she had been before and after Sal no longer existed.

  She was Scythe’s now. He was hers. She had to help him if she could.

  Carefully, she retrieved the automatic rifle she had watched him stow on one of the wine racks. It wasn’t her first time handling a large weapon. After Vito Massioni had nearly killed Pietro in Matera, she had taken it upon herself to learn a bit about self-defense, including how to shoot a firearm. Hitting the side of an unmoving barn was hardly preparation for the savagery she knew she would find outside the villa, but she had to try.

  For Scythe—for the future she prayed they might have together—she was willing to do and risk anything.

  Holding on to their bond like a lifeline as well as a guide, she hurried out of the wine cellar and into the main area of the villa. All of the lights were out, everything cloaked in darkness. Everything except the flashes of gunfire exploding like fireworks on the back lawn of the house.

  Oh, God.

  Scythe.

  She could feel that he was alive, but he was hurting. He was injured, but he was full of battle rage so sharp and violent, she felt it erupting within her too.

  She wanted to unload her weapon into the fray.

  She wanted to kill and punish and destroy.

  Scythe’s emotions, twining with her own.

  She wasn’t sure whose were the most ferocious.

  On a guttural cry, she ran outside to the porch, the automatic rifle raised and poised to shoot. But she couldn’t squeeze off a single shot. She stopped on the porch as surely as if she’d hit an invisible wall—blinded by the bright pops of light amid the inky darkness outside.

  Each one seared her retinas, momentarily blinding her. She stood there, shaking with violence and nowhere for it to go. She was useless to Scythe when any errant bullet she fired could very likely hit him instead of the countless Rogues besieging him from all sides.

  The rage inside her began to twist like a tempest. The strange hum she’d felt in the core of her being—in her marrow—now swelled into something bigger. Something too powerful for her to contain.

  The hum became a whine, then a howl... then a scream.

  It burst out of her in a gale force, a blast of energy and crippling sound she could not control.

  Windows shattered all around her.

  The headlights and windshield on the black sedan parked in the driveway exploded, sending pellets of glass skyrocketing into the night sky like glittering hail.

  The gunfire ceased.

  Everything seemed to slow down as her power overtook her.

  Everything except for Scythe.

  Only he seemed immune to power that flowed out of her. She saw him now, standing in the center of the battlefield, torn-up and bloodied, a crossbow hanging broken at his back, a long dagger gripped in his hand. His eyes were aglow, burning like lit coals in his skull. As the Rogues shrank back under Chiara’s lengthening cry, several of their dark shapes skulking toward their escape, Scythe let out a bellow that shook the wooden planks beneath Chiara’s feet.

  And then he drew a semiautomatic pistol from somewhere on his body and opened fire on the retreating pack of Rogues, mowing down the entire lot of them with relentless, exacting aim.

  Once she saw that he was okay—that he was alive—Chiara let go of her power and sagged back on her heels. Her breath raced in and out of her lungs. Her heart sped so fast it seemed to want to leap out of her chest.

  She couldn’t utter a word in that second. Whatever it was that had overtaken her sapped her of both her voice and her strength. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, her ears too. She had never felt so drained in her life.

  No, not true.

  She had felt this same odd miasma the night of the attack, after she’d fended off her assailant with Sal’s sword. Had she felt this swell of energy and sound on that night too? Maybe a little. She couldn’t remember the details.

  That awful night had been a blur. Her only concern had been the protection of her innocent son sleeping in the other room.

  Tonight had been a glimpse of a different hell, seeing Scythe nearly overcome by so many Rogues. Fearing she could do nothing to help him. Horrified that he might die.

  But he survived.

/>   Thank God, they both had.

  “Chiara!” His deep voice reached out to her through the darkness. She didn’t realize it was out of fear until she felt the spike of his terror pierce the fog of her clouded senses. “Chiara—look out!”

  A band of iron hooked her around the neck, yanking her off her feet.

  She stumbled backward—into an immense wall of menace and seething madness.

  Something cold jammed up tight against her temple.

  “Stay right where you are,” her attacker snarled at Scythe. “Drop your weapons on the ground—all of them. Take one goddamned step, you crippled fuck, and I’ll paint this porch with the bitch’s brains.”

  Scythe complied in utter silence. After shrugging the crossbow off his back, he placed two pistols and a couple of long daggers in the grass at his feet. Then he stood unmoving, his arms down at his sides. What her captor didn’t seem to understand was that Scythe was no invalid in any sense of the word. He was a Gen One, and a former Hunter besides. Even with one hand, he was more lethal than ten Breed males like this scum who held her now.

  But Scythe was worried for her. His fear for her could cost him.

  “Scythe.” She tried to tell him with her eyes, and with their bond, not to risk himself trying to save her.

  If he felt her warning, he gave no sign.

  Outside, he was the picture of careful surrender. Inside, beyond his concern, he was raging with animosity and the urge to deliver death in the worst way. His fury gave her hope, but it also terrified her. She knew he would only obey her assailant until the first inkling of opportunity presented itself. He would still give up his life if it meant saving hers.

  When he finally spoke, his cool voice belied the tumult of his intentions. “Whatever you think this woman has done to wrong you, you’re mistaken. She’s innocent.”

  “Innocent.” The male holding her practically spat the word. “Tell that to my brother. He’d be alive if not for her.”

  Chiara had to struggle to summon her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are. I never met your brother.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, bitch.” The gun held to the side of her head dug deeper into her temple. “My brother, Luigi, was gunned down by the Order in that driveway out there six weeks ago. All because of you and that whelp of yours. Massioni should’ve killed both of you along with that piece of shit Sal Genova.”

  Luigi.

  That was the name of one of the thugs Vito Massioni used to send out to the villa from time to time. She remembered Luigi now. He and the other Breed male who generally accompanied him on Massioni’s orders used to enjoy intimidating her with innuendos and bullying threats about her little boy.

  She had been glad to find out that Ettore had shot both of the men when he and Bella escaped Massioni and came to the vineyard to take Chiara and Pietro with them to a safe house.

  Scythe’s house, as it had turned out.

  “If the Order killed your brother, take it up with them,” Scythe said, his voice measured and cautious. “Put your blame where it belongs, not with a defenseless female.”

  “Defenseless?” Her captor chuckled. “There’s plenty of fight in this one. I like it when they resist a little. Or a lot.”

  As if to demonstrate, her captor tightened his hold around her neck. She let out a choked gasp, wishing she had some reserves left of her power so she could blast him back to the hole he crawled out from under.

  Scythe’s blood answered her misery with a soothing calm that she felt as tangibly as if he’d touched her. She couldn’t see his face through the darkness that shrouded him, but she felt his love. She felt his promise.

  We’ll come through this.

  Together.

  She nodded faintly, trust in him—in the promise of their love—buoying her.

  “She’s even lovelier up close, don’t you agree?” The gun pressed to her temple now began to slide down the side of her face in an obscene caress. He skimmed it over her breast and down the front of her body. “I don’t usually enjoy sloppy seconds, but I’ll make an exception with her.”

  The nose of the gun drifted lower, toward her sex. Scythe growled, the first betrayal of his fury.

  Her assailant’s answering laughter was coarse with twisted glee. “Careful, now. You don’t want to test me. I’ll do whatever I want with her. She’s all mine.”

  Chiara felt something flip inside Scythe. Her bond to him went electric. And then, just like that, he was airborne, leaping forward in one blinding motion. Her body listened to their bond, telling her instantly what to do. Perfectly in sync with him, as if it were a dance they had choreographed and practiced a thousand times, Chiara let her knees give way, dropping to the floor like a stone.

  Scythe crashed into her captor, his right arm flat across the male’s throat, driving him backward, into the wall. He had the gun stripped from his opponent’s hand before Chiara realized it.

  “You’re wrong, you son of a bitch.” Scythe jammed the pistol between the male’s bulging eyes. He pulled the trigger and two shots slammed home. “She’s mine.”

  Chapter 14

  Scythe held Chiara against him under the warm spray of the shower. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d carried her away from the carnage outside and into the house. He only knew that he never wanted to let her go again.

  After tonight, nothing was ever going to separate them.

  “It’s over,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got you now, angel.”

  And she had him... forever, if he had anything to say about it.

  They were one. Her strong heartbeat confirmed his resolve, pounding in perfect cadence with his. Her blood was a bright force within him, so robust it took his breath away.

  They had fortified their bond in the moments following tonight’s attack. His wounds had been severe, but already he was healing, thanks to Chiara. His diminutive mate had saved him with her blood not once, but twice.

  She had saved them both with the astonishing power of her Breedmate gift.

  He was still marveling at the awesome energy she’d wielded at the height of the battle. The ferocity of it had been a revelation, not only to him, but to her. It was dimmed now, returned to the soothing vibration he’d felt humming along his senses ever since he’d taken his first taste of her blood.

  She tipped her head up to look at him, her arms wrapped around him. “I was so scared, Scythe.”

  He brought his hand up to stroke her cheek. “You were miraculous. My miracle.”

  “I had no idea that power was inside me. The night Luigi’s brother first broke into the villa, I remember screaming at him as I fended him off with Sal’s sword. I remember feeling dazed and drained afterward, but I didn’t know why. I thought it was an adrenaline crash. I thought I had been lucky that I was able to drive him away.”

  Scythe grunted, having more understanding now. “You were lucky. But you were also stronger than you knew.”

  “Your blood has made me stronger,” she said, brushing her lips over his chest. “Your love has made me stronger, Scythe.”

  On a humbled groan, he cupped her beautiful face in his palm and drew her toward him for his kiss. As battered as he was from the fight, it was nothing compared to the devotion he felt for his woman. Nor was it any match for the desire he felt for her.

  Bringing her close, he deepened the joining of their mouths, need coiling within him. He felt hers inside him, too, and his body quickened with hunger.

  He might have made love to her right then and there, if not for the sudden prickle of awareness that brought his head up with a start.

  Chiara’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “Vehicles coming up the driveway outside.”

  A jolt of alarm shot through her veins and into him via their blood bond. “Not more Rogues?”

  He shook his head, feeling no cause for concern. “No, not them. But we should get dressed. Come
on.”

  By the time they emerged from the villa a moment later, Trygg and Savage were already out of the Order’s black SUV and jogging up onto the porch. Garbed in combat gear and heavy weaponry, the two warriors gaped at Scythe and Chiara, who stood hand-in-hand waiting to greet them.

  “Holy shit,” Savage gasped.

  Trygg ran a hand over his shaved head, then chuckled under his breath—one of the few times Scythe had ever seen his surly brother crack anything close to a smile.

  The two warriors’ gazes swept the moonlit lawn that was still smoking from the dozen Rogues that Scythe had ashed with titanium blades, arrows and bullets.

  Savage blew out a low whistle. “You did all this by yourself?”

  “I had some help,” Scythe said, bringing his extraordinary Breedmate under the shelter of his arm.

  Trygg and Savage exchanged a look.

  “Commander Archer is going to be very interested to hear this story,” Savage said. “Hell, so am I.”

  “Chiara and I will be glad to tell it, but first we need to return to Rome. There’s something more important we need to do there.”

  She glanced up at him, and he felt her joy—her relief—beaming up at him from her warm brown eyes. “We need to see Pietro. I need to see my son.”

  Scythe bent his head to hers, his mouth nestling beside her ear. “Our son, Chiara.”

  She drew back on an inhaled breath, elation radiating in her exquisite face. Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like a woman possessed. Like a woman deeply, madly in love.

  Scythe kissed her back with all the devotion his battered heart could hold.

  His past had been hell. Tonight had been the closest he’d ever come to that place again. But now he knew what heaven was.

  He was holding his own extraordinary piece of it in his arms.

  And he was never letting her go.

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  “Push me higher!”

  Scythe grinned and reached for the swing, gripping the wooden seat and pulling back before letting it fly. Pietro squealed with laughter, and he chuckled right along with him.