But Walsh saw the maneuver coming.
Instead of letting himself catch up to Lazaro, he hung a hard right and gunned it for an upcoming exit.
An exit that was under construction, littered with barrels and an obstacle course of concrete barriers.
Walsh was going too fast, too frantically.
Lazaro stomped on his brake and was whipping around to give chase again when the SUV clipped one of the barriers and went airborne, rolling into a hard crash.
All the breath seemed to suck out of Lazaro’s lungs in that instant. The entire world seemed to stop breathing. Dust went up in the darkness, the haze illuminated by the beams of passing vehicles on the road.
Then, a spark of flame.
“No,” Lazaro moaned, his blood screaming for Melena. “Goddamn it, no!”
He threw his vehicle in park on the shoulder and hit the ground running.
Even with his preternatural speed, he’d barely gotten within arm’s reach of the wreck before the ruptured gas tank ignited. A blinding wall of flames shot skyward, heat blasting his face.
“Melena, no!”
* * * *
She couldn’t breathe.
Heat all around her. Splitting pain in her skull, ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes and saw a churning, thickening cloud of gray smoke. And flames.
Oh, God. Fire everywhere.
Melena tried to move, but her arms wouldn’t work. Her wrists were tied. She remembered now, awareness coming back to her. Derek had bound her. He’d driven away with her.
He and his Opus Nostrum comrades were going to kill her.
“No,” she gasped, choking on smoke and heat. “Oh, my God...no!”
She started kicking, screaming, trying frantically to get free of the restraints. She couldn’t loosen them. And something was crushing her in the back of the SUV. She looked up and saw the floor. Beneath her, the roof of her father’s GNC vehicle.
The smoke was rolling in front of her eyes, burning them. She couldn’t keep her lids open. Hurt to see, to breathe...
“Melena.” The deep voice penetrated the fire and sooty air that surrounded her. She wanted to reach for it—for him—but she was trapped, unable to move. “Melena, I’m going to get you out of here, sweetheart. You stay with me, damn it!”
There was a great, groaning howl as the vehicle rocked where it had fallen. A gust of cool air, followed by a rush of hot, intensifying flame.
“I’m coming in to get you,” Lazaro said.
She couldn’t see him, but she felt him climbing inside the inferno. Crawling all the way to the back, where she lay broken and half-conscious.
And then she felt his strong hands make contact with her.
“Ah, Christ,” he hissed, and she knew what he saw couldn’t be good.
Another metallic roar filled the air, then the crushing weight that had pinned her down was lifted. Tenderly, Lazaro took hold of her. Started pulling her free of the wreckage.
“I’ve got you now, Melena. I’ve got you.”
She didn’t let the first sob go until she felt the warmth of his chest against her cheek. She buried her face in that comforting strength, breathed in the scent of him even as her throat screamed with pain from the smoke that choked her lungs.
And then he scooped her up in his arms and he was running. Away from the smoke. Away from the heat and the fire and the horror.
Cool night air enveloped her, filled her nose as she braved a cleansing breath. And circled around her were Lazaro’s strong arms, holding her close, keeping her safe—carrying her away from certain death.
He set her down in the crisp, moist grass, while behind them came a jarring roll of thunder as a plume of fire and smoke shot up into the moonlit sky. Horns blared out on the highway. Tires screeched as traffic came to a halt at the scene of the accident.
But all Melena knew was the haggard, terrified face of the man she loved, staring down at her as he held her in a careful embrace. He tore off the lamp cord that bound her wrists and tossed it aside on a vicious snarl. When he reached down to smooth a hank of limp hair from her face, his fingers trembled.
Melena tried to speak but couldn’t push sound through her lips. Her body ached everywhere, some of the pains searing, others a dull, relentless throb.
Lazaro’s dark eyes were sober in his handsome face. His beautiful, sensual mouth was a flattened, grim line. “You’re going to be all right, you hear me? I’m not letting you go.”
She wanted to argue that he already had. That her heart was still breaking from the thought of him pushing her out of his life. Out of his heart.
He stared down at her, misery swimming in his gaze. “I’m not going to lose you, Melena.”
On a curse, he brought his wrist up to his mouth and bit into his own flesh. No hesitation. No asking for permission before he put the punctures to her parted lips. “Drink.”
She tried to shake her head. This wasn’t the way she wanted him, coming back to save her when he had been determined to leave her. Whether he did this out of some noble sense of obligation or guilt, or simply under the power of his bond to her, she didn’t want it. Not like this.
She wanted to reject the gift of his blood, of his bond, but the instant the wet, spicy warmth came in contact with her parched tongue, she greedily drank him in.
And oh, it was incredible.
Lazaro’s Gen One blood flowed down her throat like pure light. She felt it strengthening her body, feeding her cells. Mending her injuries.
He tipped his head back on a strangled moan as she swallowed more of his eternal gift, his fangs gleaming, his broad shoulders and immense body silhouetted by the flames he’d walked through to save her.
It was the last thing Melena saw before a bone-deep exhaustion rose up to claim her.
CHAPTER 13
He had lived for more than a thousand years, long enough that few things still held the power to amaze him. The sight of Melena finally opening her eyes to look at him, after lying in bed unconscious for two days, was one of those rare pleasures for Lazaro Archer.
The worst of her injuries had healed. Her burns were gone. She was alive, and he’d never seen anything more welcome in all his life.
He smiled at her and gently stroked his thumb over the back of her hand as he held it. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice thready.
“Still in D.C. I brought you here after the accident. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could ask you something.”
“My brother,” she murmured.
Lazaro shook his head. “I’m sorry, Melena.”
“He was part of Opus Nostrum,” she said quietly. “He arranged for the attack on Turati and my father to prove something to his superiors. He was trying to win their recognition. And he was afraid if I ever saw him again, I’d know all of his secrets.”
Lazaro and the Order had already surmised that Derek Walsh likely had ties to Opus, but hearing Melena confirm it made his blood seethe with renewed rage. “If he’d survived the accident the other night, I swear, I would’ve killed the bastard myself.”
“He seemed so different. He’d only been away for a year, but he wasn’t my brother anymore. And he had strange tattoos I’ve never seen before. Symbols of some kind, and a black scarab on his back.”
“A scarab?” Lazaro thought back to conversations he’d had with Lucan and the other warriors. Reports out of London about human bodies in the morgue bearing the same kind of unusual tattoo.
“Does it mean something?” she asked, worry creasing her brow.
“It might,” Lazaro said, seeing no reason to shield her from his world. But he would bring her into that part of his life slowly, after they returned to Rome. If she would be willing, that is. “We need to talk about what’s happening with us, Melena. About our bond.”
She turned her head on the pillow, looking away from him. “You shouldn’t have done it. You didn’t need to come back to save me.”
“Yes, Melena, I did.” He reached out, catching her chin on the tips of his fingers. He brought her gaze back to him. “Do you think I could’ve left, knowing that you were in danger? I feel you in my blood now.”
“I’m not your obligation, Lazaro. I won’t be your burden or a regret you’ll carry around forever.”
“No, you won’t,” he agreed solemnly. “But will you be my mate?”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then slowly, she shook her head. “No. No, I can’t do that. You’re only saying it because your honor compels you to.”
He swore a harsh curse. “Melena, listen to me. See me. I know you can read my intent, so open your eyes and hear me out. I love you. I want you in my life, by my side. Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“What about everything you said before? You didn’t want another mate under your protection. You didn’t want that responsibility ever again.”
He blew out a bitter laugh. “And as you so accurately pointed out for me, I was being a coward and an idiot.”
“I don’t think I said you were an idiot,” she murmured, looking up at him from under her long lashes.
“Well, I was. And as soon as I realized that, I came after you.”
“Because you were worried about me. You knew I was in danger and your blood wouldn’t let you stay away without trying to help me.”
“No, Melena. Because I love you.” He stroked her cheek. “And because I realized the only thing worse than loving you and dreading that I might know the pain of losing you in the future, was the idea of losing you now. Before we’ve even begun to know what we can have together.”
He leaned over her on the bed and kissed her tenderly, deeply, with all the love in his ageless heart. “I love you, Melena.”
“And I love you,” she whispered. She held his gaze, her own so open-hearted and trusting, it took all of his control to keep from crushing her in a fierce embrace. “You’ve saved my life three times now. If I’m going to be your mate, that means you’re going to have to let me save you sometimes too.”
“Oh, love,” he murmured. “Don’t you know? You already have.”
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FOREVER WICKED
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A Midnight Breed Novella
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Acknowledgments from the Author
Several years ago, my editor at Random House forwarded me an email from a reader who’d just discovered my books and then tore through the entire Midnight Breed series in a matter of a week. Those are my favorite kinds of emails, and what made this one even more special was it came from the wife of a bestselling thriller writer whose books I also happened to love!
What a thrill and an honor it is to now call the lovely Liz Berry a dear friend, and a wonderful colleague. I’m delighted to be part of the 1001 Dark Nights collection with this novella in my Midnight Breed vampire romance series. My thanks to Liz, MJ Rose, Jillian Stein, my fellow authors and friends in this collection, and everyone else working behind the scenes to make the project possible. Can’t wait to do it again next year!
Heartfelt thanks, as always, to my family, friends, and colleagues, and to my readers. None of my books would be possible without all of you!
With love,
Lara Adrian
About Lara Adrian
LARA ADRIAN is the New York Times and #1 internationally best-selling author of the Midnight Breed vampire romance series, with nearly 4 million books in print and digital worldwide and translations licensed to more than 20 countries. Her books regularly appear in the top spots of all the major bestseller lists including the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Indiebound, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, etc.
Lara Adrian's debut title, Kiss of Midnight, was named Borders Books bestselling debut romance of 2007. Later that year, her third title, Midnight Awakening, was named one of Amazon.com's Top Ten Romances of the Year. Reviewers have called Lara's books “addictively readable” (Chicago Tribune), “extraordinary” (Fresh Fiction), and “one of the best vampire series on the market” (Romantic Times).
With an ancestry stretching back to the Mayflower and the court of King Henry VIII, Lara Adrian lives with her husband in New England, surrounded by centuries-old graveyards, hip urban comforts, and the endless inspiration of the broody Atlantic Ocean.
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A TOUCH OF MIDNIGHT
By Lara Adrian
Chapter 1
Boston University
October, 1974
Savannah Dupree turned the silver urn in her gloved hands, studying its intricate engravings through the bruise-colored tarnish that dulled the 200-year-old work of art. The floral motif tooled into the polished silver was indicative of the Rococo style of the early and mid-1700s, yet the design was conservative, much less ornate than most of the examples shown in the reference materials lying open on the study lab table in front of her.
Removing one of the soft white cotton curator’s gloves meant to protect the urn from skin oils during handling, Savannah reached for one of the books. She flipped through several pages of photographed art objects, drinking vessels, serving dishes and snuff boxes from Italy, England and France, comparing their more elaborate styles to that of the urn she was trying to catalogue. She and the three other freshman Art History students seated in the university’s archive room with her had been hand-picked by Professor Keaton to earn extra credit in his class by helping to log and analyze a recent estate donation of Colonial furnishings and artifacts.
She wasn’t blind to the fact that the single professor had selected only female students for his after-hours extra credit projec
t. Savannah’s roommate, Rachel, had been ecstatic to have been chosen. Then again, the girl had been campaigning for Keaton’s attention since the first week of class. And she’d definitely gotten noticed. Savannah glanced toward the professor’s office next door, where the dark-haired man now stood at the window, talking on the phone, yet staring with blatant interest at pretty, red-haired Rachel in her tight, low-cut sweater and micro-miniskirt.
“Isn’t he a fox?” she whispered to Savannah, a row of thin metal bangle bracelets clinking musically as Rachel reached up to hook her loose hair behind her ear. “He could be Burt Reynolds’ brother, don’t you think?”
Savannah frowned, skeptical. She glanced over at the lean man with the shoulder-length hair and overgrown moustache, and the mushroom-brown corduroy suit and open-necked satin shirt. A zodiac sign pendant glinted from within a thick nest of exposed chest hair. Fashionable or not, the look didn’t do a thing for Savannah. “Sorry, Rach. I’m not seeing it. Unless Burt Reynolds has a brother in the porno business. Plus, he’s too old for you. He must be close to forty, for crying out loud.”
“Shut up! I think he’s cute.” Rachel giggled, crossing her arms under her breasts and tossing her head in a move that had Professor Keaton leaning closer to the glass, practically on the verge of drooling. “I’m gonna go see if he wants to check my work. Maybe he’ll ask me to stay after school and clean his erasers or something.”