Midnight Unbound(8)

“He’ll be just fine, sorella. And so will you. Scythe will see to that.”

Chiara nodded, steeling herself for one final glance at her son. Ettore nodded to her in reassurance as Pietro went back to his picture book, innocently unaware of the adult concern that vibrated in the room.

She inhaled sharply, rallying herself for what lay ahead. She could do this. For her son’s future and her own, she could face anything.

Even Scythe.

“All right,” she murmured, moving toward the door. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of her child. And not in front of her emotionless guardian. “Let’s go, then.”

His fathomless, onyx eyes drilled into hers and, for a second, she caught a glimpse of a pain so stark, so deep, it sent a chill through her. But before she could think on it for too long, it was gone, leaving a shuttered, blank expression in its place.

“Right,” he said tonelessly, motioning her into the hallway. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can both go back to our lives.”





Chapter 3




It was long past midnight by the time Scythe pulled into the vineyard's twisting driveway at the base of Mount Vulture. After several hours behind the wheel, he was twitchy with the need for freedom. He’d elected to take Chiara’s Fiat instead of his SUV in the hopes of avoiding notice on the road, a decision he’d regretted more and more with each passing mile. At six-foot-six, his head grazed the ceiling of the tiny vehicle and he had to spread his legs wide in order to accommodate the steering wheel between them.

He felt like a bear trapped in a chicken coop.

Even worse than the discomfort of his cramped muscles was the distraction of Chiara’s close proximity in the tight quarters of the car. He could smell the citrusy freshness of her skin and hair, could feel the warmth of her body seated beside him. He could hear the shallow rhythm of her breathing as the silence stretched out between them, could almost feel frantic beating of her heart like a vibration in his own veins.

She stirred other parts of him too. For a Hunter who’d been ruthlessly trained to deny his own wants and needs in favor of duty and self-control, his road trip with Chiara had been a startling reminder of the fact that beneath it all, he was still, ultimately, a flesh-and-blood male. A male who couldn’t ignore the soft, beautiful female confined in the small space along with him, no matter how hard he tried.

Even now, his cock rested heavily between his thighs, a throbbing, heated reminder of just how long he’d gone without slaking that other hunger. Under his clothing, the Breed dermaglyphs that tracked all over his skin felt tingly and alive, no doubt infusing with all of the deep, changeable colors of his desire. He swallowed on an arid throat and his tongue grazed over the tips of his emerging fangs.

Damn, this wasn’t good.

Although he wanted to blame his awareness of Chiara on simple, unchecked lust, the truth was he couldn’t recall the last time his body had challenged his iron-hewn will.

Then again, yes he could.

It was only six weeks ago. Back in Matera, when he’d first laid eyes on Chiara Genova.

“Fuck.”

She glanced at him, frowning. He didn’t have to wonder if she saw the flecks of amber glowing in the blackness of his irises. Her swift intake of breath told him so.

Hopefully she’d assume the sparks were due to irritation, rather than desire. Both emotions were riding him in equal measure, after all.

“Something wrong, Scythe?”

“Yeah. If this winds up taking longer than a couple of days, we're going to need to talk about another mode of transportation.”

“You're the one who suggested we take my car,” she reminded him.

There was a note to her voice he hadn't heard before and he swiveled a questioning look at her. In the thin light of the dashboard, he saw that her lips were twitching. With a start, he realized that she was struggling not to laugh at him. He had only thought about how uncomfortable it was, but he had to imagine he looked as ridiculous as he felt.

He scowled at her, but his heart wasn't in it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a giggle slipping past her lips. “I really shouldn’t laugh. It’s just... I’m sorry, it’s really not funny. It’s just that you’re so big and this car is so small. You look like you’re driving a dollhouse car. I don’t know how you’ve managed to make this whole trip without getting a nasty Charlie horse in your thigh.”

Jesus Christ.

Didn’t she realize? A Charlie horse was the least of his discomforts.

He stared at her as she struggled to keep the humor out of her expression. Tried and failed, that is. Another laugh burst out of her. She waved her hand in front of her face as if in apology, but it was no use. Her laughter filled the car, and as prickly and on edge as he felt, he took a strange comfort in the sound.