Tempted by Midnight 12.5 Read online

  he’d gone from looking at her like he

  wanted to touch her—maybe even kiss

  her—to pinning her in a suspicious

  glare. Maybe he hadn’t been ignoring her

  all evening, but silently assessing her,

  even now.

  Part of her wanted to tell him the

  truth. That she’d been a psychic

  insurance policy, to make certain her

  father wasn’t walking into a trap with

  Turati or his men, regardless of the

  Order’s assurances. Lazaro would be

  furious to hear it, no doubt. That she and

  her father had defied diplomatic

  protocol to insert her into a top secret

  meeting without the knowledge or

  permission of the Order or the GNC?

  She didn’t even want to consider the

  ramifications of that, for her or her

  father.

  And anyway, it wasn’t her place to

  publicly voice her father’s fears or

  suspicions, not even to Lazaro Archer. If

  any of Byron Walsh’s colleagues knew

  how paralyzing his paranoia had become

  lately, he would surely lose his position

  on the Council. Her father lived for his

  work, and Melena would not be the one

  to jeopardize that for him.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she

  murmured, hating that she had to deceive

  Lazaro. “And I really ought to get back

  inside now.”

  “You’re protecting him. From

  what?” Lazaro took hold of her by the

  arms, preventing her from escaping his

  knowing stare or his questions. His large

  hands gripped her firmly, strong fingers

  searing her with the heat of his touch.

  “What is your father trying to hide?”

  “Nothing, I swear—”

  He wasn’t buying it. Anger flashed

  in his eyes. Behind his full upper lip, she

  glimpsed the sharp points of his

  emerging fangs. “Tell me what he’s

  afraid of, Melena. Tell me now, before I

  go in there and haul his ass out here to

  tell me himself.”

  “It’s nothing,” she insisted, finding

  it impossible to break Lazaro’s hold or

  his stare. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He

  had no reason to be afraid tonight.

  Turati’s intentions are good, he means

  no harm to—”

  She wasn’t able to finish what she

  was saying because in that same instant,

  Lazaro tensed. His head snapped up,

  eyes searching the dark sky. Some of the

  blood seemed to drain out of his grim

  face in that fraction of a second.

  “Fuck,” he snarled, his grip

  tightening

  on

  Melena’s

  arms.

  “Goddamnit, no.”

  He lunged into motion, yanking her

  against him protectively. His arms

  wrapped around her. He then tumbled

  her over the railing of the second-level

  deck along with him...

  Just as a screaming object arrowed

  down from the sky.

  It hit the yacht, a direct, dead center

  strike.

  The vessel exploded. On the

  deafening boom of impact, Melena

  crashed into the hard waves with

  Lazaro. Engulfed by the cold, horrified

  by what she was seeing, all the air left

  her lungs on an anguished cry. She tried

  to break away, but Lazaro held her

  close, refusing to let her swim back up

  to find her father.

  Together she and Lazaro sank deep

  into the water, falling down, and down,

  and down...

  Far above them, a hellish ball of

  flame had erupted on the surface. Fiery

  chunks of debris dropped into the sea

  everywhere she looked.

  There was only ruin left up there.

  The yacht and all of its occupants

  obliterated in an instant.

  CHAPTER 3

  By Lazaro’s guess, they had been in

  the water roughly two hours before

  Anzio’s cliff-edged shore was finally

  within sight. Bleeding from shrapnel

  wounds and battered by the long journey,

  he was close to exhaustion—even with

  the preternatural strength and speed of

  Breed genetics at his command.

  Melena was faring far worse. She

  was limp against him, having fallen

  unconscious somewhere around the

  halfway point of their swim. Although

  she wasn’t entirely mortal either, her

  human metabolism could not cope with

  the prolonged exposure in the cold

  seawater.

  In that regard, Lazaro was doubly

  fortunate. Being Breed had given him

  another advantage. The same one that

  had allowed him to pull Melena out of

  the frozen pond twenty-two years ago.

  His ability to withstand extreme

  temperatures had given him the strength

  to search for her under the ice and pull

  her to safety before she drowned.

  He hoped he hadn’t lost her tonight.

  Lazaro held her close at his side as

  he paddled the last few hundred yards

  with his free arm. As soon as his bare

  feet were able to touch ground, he

  repositioned Melena in both arms and

  ran her toward the empty, moonlit beach.

  The bulky cliffs that lined the shore

  loomed just ahead. Several large caves

  were burrowed into the rock—black,

  yawning mouths that had once been part

  of

  an

  ancient

  Roman

  emperor’s

  crumbled stone villa that was a thousand

  years in ruin. Lazaro carried Melena

  inside one of the caves, past a littering

  of rough rocks and pools of tidal water,

  to a spot where the sand was soft and

  dry underfoot.

  As he set her down, he couldn’t

  help revisiting the night he’d carried a

  lifeless little girl into his Darkhaven in

  Boston. He’d remembered every minute

  of it, despite the indifference he’d

  feigned with Melena earlier on the yacht.

  She had been a seven-year-old child that

  first, and last, time he saw her before

  tonight. Back then, she had been as

  helpless and fragile as a baby bird to his

  mind. He’d rescued her the same way he

  would have done for any innocent child.

  But now...

  Now, Melena Walsh was a grown

  woman. She was as enticing a woman as

  he’d ever seen—even more so, with her

  lovely face and thick red hair, and all of

  her soft, feminine curves that drew his

  eye even as he carefully arranged her

  unresponsive, alarmingly chilled body

  on the sand.

  And as fiercely as he’d wanted to

  save her life in Boston, he wanted to

  save her now.

  Not the least of his reasons being

  his need to know what secret she was

  keeping from him. She’d been on the

  verge of telling him in the seconds
<
br />   before the yacht was blown to pieces. If

  that secret had anything to do with the

  attack tonight, he was going to see that

  Melena answered for it.

  Lazaro felt in his bones that Opus

  Nostrum was behind the brazen act.

  Whoever did it knew just who and

  where to strike. But how did they know?

  Both parties were meticulously screened

  by the Order. Lazaro had personally

  vetted everyone in attendance, right

  down to the last man on the vessel’s

  crew tonight. He’d approved them all.

  Except Melena Walsh.

  He gazed at her in the cave’s

  darkness, his Breed eyes seeing her as

  clearly as if it were midday. She was

  beautiful, stunningly so. She was poised,

  intelligent, erudite. And he’d seen her

  wield her charm without effort over

  Turati and the rest of the men at the

  meeting.

  Lazaro couldn’t deny he’d been

  equally affected. More than affected,

  despite his unwillingness to give it reins.

  A woman like Melena would make a

  deadly asset, if allied with the wrong

  people.

  He didn’t want to think she might

  be his enemy, intentional or otherwise.

  The fact that she’d nearly gotten

  killed tonight along with everyone else

  made it impossible to imagine her

  presence on the yacht could have had

  anything to do with the catastrophe that

  followed.

  She would give him the truth, but

  first he had to make sure she stayed alive

  to do so.

  Lazaro scowled at her sodden,

  bruised condition. Her skirt was

  shredded, her shoes lost like his

  somewhere between the yacht and the

  shore. Her blouse was in tatters, the

  burgundy colored silk dark with

  seawater...and blood. Fortunately, most

  of it was his.

  Her hair drooped lifelessly into her

  face. Lazaro smoothed away some of the

  drenched red tangles, letting out a low

  curse when he saw how white her skin

  was. Her lips were slack, turned an

  alarming shade of blue. She had

  contusions on her forehead and chin.

  Blood from a scalp wound trailed in a

  bright red rivulet down her temple.

  Fuck.

  His vision honed in on that thin

  scarlet ribbon, everything Breed in him

  responding with keen, inhuman interest.

  The fact that she was a Breedmate made

  her blood an exponentially greater

  temptation to one of his kind.

  Melena’s blood carried the subtle

  fragrance of caramel and something

  sweeter still...dark cherries, Lazaro

  decided, his lungs soaking in a deeper

  breath even though it was torment to his

  senses.

  His fangs punched out of his gums,

  throbbing against the firmly closed line

  of his lips. His vision sharpened some

  more, his irises throwing off a rising

  amber glow that bathed her paleness in

  warmer light. His own skin prickled

  with the sudden surge of heat in his

  veins.

  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 naked

  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

  B r e e d 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 c
ould 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