by Lara Adrian
“You seem a little better now.”
He nodded, head slumped down toward his chest. “The rage subsides … eventually. If I don’t black out first, it does eventually pass.”
It didn’t take much to see him as he had been when he stumbled into his quarters a short while ago. He’d been almost mindless, his limbs hardly working as he struggled with each difficult step. He’d been barely coherent, a shuddering bulk of muscle and bone and unfocused fury.
“What brings it on, Rio?”
He shrugged. “Little things. Nothing at all. I can never know.”
“Is that kind of rage just part of being what you are? Do all of the Breed have to go through that kind of torment?”
“No.” He scoffed under his breath. “No, this problem is mine alone. My head’s not screwed on right anymore. It hasn’t been right since last summer.”
“Was it an accident?” she asked gently. “Is that what happened to you?”
“It was a mistake,” he said, a brittle edge to his voice. “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”
Dylan looked at the terrible damage his body had weathered. His face and neck bore serious scars, but his left shoulder and half of his muscled torso looked like it had been through hell and back. Her heart clenched tightly in her chest when she thought about the kind of pain he must have endured, both in the event that injured him and in what had to have been many long months of recovery.
He sat there so rigidly, so solitary and unreachable even though he was less than an arm’s length away from her on the edge of the big bed. He seemed so alone to her. Alone and adrift.
“I’m sorry, Rio,” she said, and before she could stop herself, she put her hand over the top of his where it rested on his thigh.
He flinched as though she’d put hot coals on his skin.
But he didn’t move away.
He stared down at her fingers, which rested lightly across his, pale white over buttery olive. When he looked over at her, it was with a stark wildness in his eyes. She wondered how long it had been since he’d been touched with any kind of tenderness.
How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to be touched?
Dylan smoothed her fingers over the top of his hand, studying the incredible size and strength of him. His skin was so warm, so much coiled power in him even when he seemed determined to hold himself perfectly still.
“I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, Rio. I mean that.”
His jaw was clamped so hard it made a tendon twitch in his face. Dylan set the cold compress down on the bed next to her, hardly aware that she was moving because her senses were so fixed on Rio and the electricity that seemed to be pooling where their hands connected.
She heard a low rumble gathering from within him, something between a growl and a moan. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and for a second—one fast, fleeting heartbeat—she wondered if he was going to kiss her.
She knew she should draw back. Move her hand away from his. Anything but sit there unable to breathe as she waited and wondered—wished so desperately—that he would lean in and brush his lips against hers.
She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to him now. She moved her free hand up toward his face, and felt a sudden blast of cold air coming at her, pushing at her like a physical wall.
“I don’t want your pity,” Rio snarled in a voice she didn’t recognize as his own. The rolling Spanish accent was there as always, but the syllables were harsh, the timbre not quite human, reminding her of just how little she understood about him or his kind. He pulled his hand out from under hers and stood up from the bed. “That cut of yours is still bleeding. You need attention I can’t give you.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Dylan replied, feeling like an idiot for putting herself out there like that with him. She grabbed the damp washcloth and dabbed at her cheek. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”
There was no sense talking since it was obvious he wasn’t listening to her anyway. She watched him walk past the broken glass of the shattered mirror, into the living room outside. He picked up the cordless telephone and dialed a short sequence of numbers.
“Dante? Hey. No, nothing wrong. But I, ah … is Tess there? I need to ask a favor of her.”
Rio paced like a caged animal in the short minutes it took for his rescue to arrive. He stayed out of the bedroom, confining himself to a small space of real estate near the main entry of his quarters. As far away from Dylan as he could get without actually bolting out of the damn apartment and waiting outside.
Madre de Dios.
He’d nearly kissed her.
Still wanted to, and the admission—even to himself—was like a sucker punch to the gut. Kissing Dylan Alexander was a guaranteed way to turn a bad situation into something catastrophic. Because Rio knew without a shred of doubt that if he kissed the fiery beauty, it wouldn’t stop there.
Just thinking about feeling the press of her lips on his made his blood quicken in his veins. His glyphs pulsed with the colors of his desire—churning in shades of dark wine and gold. And there was no denying the other evidence of that desire. His cock was as hard as granite, and had been since the instant she so unexpectedly laid her hand atop his.
Holy hell.
He didn’t dare look back into the bedroom for fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feet from doing an about-face march through the closed French doors and right into Dylan’s arms.
Like she would actually have him, he thought viciously.
That pat of his hand had been a sweet gesture, the kind of “there, there” comfort a mother might offer a pouting child. Or worse than that, it might have been the pained sympathy of a charitable angel consoling one of God’s most unfortunate blunders.
Maldecido.
Manos del diablo.
Monstruo.
Yes, he was all those things. And now Dylan had seen how ugly he truly was. To her credit she hadn’t recoiled at all the twisted flesh or his fangs, but then she was made of stronger stuff than that.
But to think she might welcome his touch? That she might get close enough to his ruined face to let him kiss her?
Not fucking likely. And he thanked God for that, because it saved him from seeing her disgust. It saved him from doing something really stupid, like forgetting for even one second that she was in the compound—in his private quarters—only until he corrected the mistake he’d made in letting her get close to that cave. The sooner he could do that and get her gone, the better.
A staccato rap sounded on the door.
Rio pulled it open with a growl of self-directed frustration.
“You sounded like shit, so I thought I’d come along with Tess and take a look at you for myself.” Dante’s mouth quirked into that cocky grin of his as he stood at the threshold with his gorgeous Breedmate close at his side. “You gonna let us in, man?”
“Yeah.” Rio backed off to give the couple space to enter.
Dante’s mate looked prettier than ever. Her long honey-brown waves were pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her wise aquamarine eyes were soft, even when looking Rio full in the face.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, and without hesitation she strode over to him and went up on her toes to give him a quick embrace and a kiss on his cheek. “Dante and I both have been so worried about you these past months, Rio.”
“No need,” he replied, but he couldn’t deny that the concern warmed him.
Tess and Dante had only been together since late autumn of last year; she’d come into the Order’s compound with an extraordinary gift for healing and restoring life with her tender hands. Tess’s touch held amazing power, but not even she had been able to fix all that was wrong with Rio. He was too far gone by the time Tess arrived. His scars were permanent, both inside and out, though not for lack of trying on Tess’s part.
Dante put his arm around his Breedmate in a move that was both protective and reverent, and it was then that Rio noticed th
e gentle swell of her belly underneath the pale rose tee-shirt and khaki pants she wore. She caught his downward glance and smiled as beatific as the Madonna herself.
“I’m just out of my first trimester,” she said, turning all of that glowing love on Dante now. “Someone’s making it his new mission in life to spoil me rotten.”
Dante chuckled. “I aim to please.”
“Congratulations,” Rio murmured, genuinely happy for the pair.
It wasn’t common for warriors and their mates to raise a family within the Order. Practically unheard of, in fact. Breed males who looked to devote their lives to combat typically weren’t the home-and-hearth types. But then Dante never had been one to color within the lines.
“Where is Dylan?” Tess asked.
Rio gestured toward the closed French doors across the room. “I made an ass of myself in there with her. I had a meltdown and I … ah, damn, I shattered a mirror. Some of the flying glass cut her cheek.”
“You’re still experiencing the blackouts?” Tess asked, frowning. “The headaches too?”
He shrugged, not wanting to discuss his own numerous problems. “I’m okay. Just … do what you can to take care of her, all right?”
“I will.” Tess took a small black medical bag from Dante’s hands. At Rio’s questioning look, she said, “Since I’ve been expecting, my healing abilities have dimmed. I understand it’s normal for pregnancy to draw a Breedmate’s energy inward. It should come back once the baby is born. Until then, I’ll have to rely on good old-fashioned medicine.”
Rio cast a look over his shoulder at the bedroom. He couldn’t see Dylan, but he figured she was in there needing to see someone kind and gentle. Someone who could patch her up and talk to her like a normal person. Reassure her that she was safe, among people she could trust. Especially after the spectacular display of raging psychotic-turned-lecherous freak he’d put on for her in there.
“It’s okay,” Tess said. “I’ll take care of her.”
Dante cuffed Rio in the biceps. “Come on. There’s still an hour or so before dawn. You look like you could use some fresh air, my man.”
CHAPTER
Seventeen
Dylan was crouched on the floor near the foot of the bed, picking up broken glass, when the French doors opened softly into the bedroom.
“Dylan?”
It was a female voice, the one she’d heard talking quietly with Rio and another man in the other room a minute ago. Dylan looked up and felt the instant warmth of a caring bright teal gaze light on her.
The beautiful young woman smiled. “Hi. I’m Tess.”
“Hi.” Dylan set a glass shard off to the side and bent to retrieve another.
“Rio asked me to come in and see if you were all right.” Tess carried a small black leather bag as she came into the room. “Are you okay?”
Dylan nodded. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Rio feels really awful about this. He’s been having … problems for some time now. Ever since the warehouse explosion last summer. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Oh, God. So that explained the burns and shrapnel scars. An explosion did all of that damage? He really had been through hell and back.
Tess went on. “Because of his brain trauma from the blast, he blacks out from time to time. On top of that, he also has severe headaches, mood swings … well, I think you saw for yourself, it’s no picnic. He didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I promise you that.”
“I’m fine,” Dylan said, not about to worry over the scratch on her cheek. “I tried to tell him it was no big deal. The cut’s not bleeding anymore.”
“That’s a relief,” Tess said as she set the medical satchel down on the bureau. “I’m glad to see it’s not as bad as Rio feared. The way he described it to me on the phone, I thought we were looking at half a dozen stitches at least. A little antiseptic and a bandage ought to do the trick.” She walked over to where Dylan had been collecting pieces of the shattered mirror. “Here—let me help you with this.”
As she approached, Dylan noticed that Tess’s palm rested lightly on the little swell of her stomach. She was pregnant. Not that far along from the looks of it, but she beamed with an inner radiance that left no doubt whatsoever.
And the hand that cradled the early stages of a growing baby bump had a small birthmark on it. Dylan couldn’t help staring at the scarlet teardrop-and-crescent-moon shape on Tess’s right hand—the very same mark Dylan herself had been born with on the nape of her neck.
“You live here?” Dylan asked. “With … them?”
Tess nodded. “I live with Dante. He’s a warrior of the Order, like Rio and the others who live here at the compound.”
Dylan gestured to the tiny birthmark between Tess’s thumb and forefinger. “You’re his … Breedmate?” she asked, recalling the term Rio had used after he’d seen Dylan’s identical birthmark. “You’re married to one of them?”
“Dante and I were mated last year,” Tess said. “We’re blood-bonded, which connects us in a way that’s even deeper than marriage. I know Rio’s told you a bit about the Breed—how they live, where they come from. After what happened in here with him, I’m sure you have no doubt about what they are.”
Dylan nodded, still incredulous that any of this could actually be true. “Vampires.”
Tess smiled gently. “That’s what I thought too, at first. It’s not that simple to define them. The Breed is a complicated race, living in a complicated world full of enemies. Things can be very dangerous for them, and for those of us who love them. For the few males who’ve pledged themselves to the Order, every night is a risk to their lives.”
“Was it an accident?” Dylan blurted out. “The explosion that injured Rio … was it some kind of terrible accident?”
Something pained moved across the other woman’s expression. She stared at Dylan for a long moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure how much to say. But then she gave a slight shake of her head. “No. It wasn’t an accident. Someone close to Rio betrayed him. The explosion happened during a raid on an old warehouse in the city. Rio and the rest of the Order were ambushed.”
Dylan glanced down and she realized she was staring at the broken picture frame that Rio had hurtled across the room in his fit of rage. She carefully picked it up, flipped it over in her palms. Sweeping away the spiderweb of broken glass over the color snapshot, she stared down at the exotic dark eyes and the smile that didn’t quite reach them.
“Eva,” Tess confirmed. “She was Rio’s Breedmate.”
“But she betrayed him?”
“She did,” Tess said after a long pause. “Eva made a deal with one of the Order’s enemies—a powerful vampire who was also the brother of the Order’s leader, Lucan. For information that would help this vampire kill Lucan, something Eva wanted as much as Lucan’s brother, she was assured of two things. That Rio would live, and that he would be wounded badly enough that he would never be able to fight again.”
“Jesus,” Dylan gasped. “So she got what she wanted?”
“Not exactly. The Order was ambushed, based on information Eva delivered, but the vampire she bargained with had no intention of upholding his part of their deal. He sent in a bomb. The explosion might have killed them all, but ironically, Rio took the biggest hit. And then he had to learn afterward that it was Eva who made it happen.”
Dylan couldn’t speak. She tried to absorb the weight of what it must have been like for him—not only the physical pain of his injuries, but also the emotional hurt of a deception like the one dealt to him.
“I saw her.” Dylan glanced over at Tess and saw her frown deepen, confusion evident in her questioning gaze. Dylan hadn’t known this woman for more than a few minutes, and she wasn’t used to sharing herself with anyone, especially not the secret that made her so different from other people. But something in Tess’s caring eyes let her know that she was safe. She felt an instant affinity that made her trust she was with a friend. “The dead come to me from t
ime to time—well, women do, anyway. Women who are no longer living. Eva came to me a few days ago when I was hiking with friends on a mountain outside Prague.”
“She … came to you,” Tess said cautiously. “How do you mean?”
“I saw her spirit, I guess you’d say. She led me to a hidden cave. I didn’t know it, but Rio was inside. She—Eva—led me there and asked me to save him.”
“My God.” Tess slowly shook her head. “Does he know this?”
Dylan glanced meaningfully at the destruction lying at her feet. “Yeah, he knows. When I told him, that’s when he really lost it.”
Tess’s look was apologetic. “He has a lot of anger where Eva’s concerned.”
“Understandably,” Dylan replied. “Is he okay, Tess? I mean, considering what he’s gone through, is Rio going to be … okay?”
“I hope so. We all hope so.” Tess cocked her head slightly, studying her somehow. “You’re not afraid of him.”
No, she wasn’t. She was curious about him absolutely, and uncertain of his intentions where she was concerned, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Crazy as it was, even after seeing him as he’d been a short while ago in this very room, Dylan wasn’t afraid. In fact, just thinking about Rio did a lot of things to her, none of them scary. “Do you think I should be afraid of him?”
“No,” Tess said without hesitation. “What I mean is, this can’t be easy on you. God knows I didn’t take it very well when I first heard all of this talk of blood and fangs and war.”
Dylan shrugged. “I write for a quasi-tabloid newpaper. Believe me, I’ve heard a lot of bizarre things. I don’t shock easily.”
Tess smiled, but she didn’t hold Dylan’s gaze for long. The words she didn’t say were clear as a bell in those quickly averted eyes: This wasn’t just a bizarre tabloid story. This was real.
“What was in that cave, Tess? It was apparently some kind of crypt—a hibernation chamber, I heard Rio call it. But what the hell was in there? Did something get loose up there on the mountainside?”