Holy hell, he was in trouble here.
He should be thinking about his duty to the Order—and about the mission status that was uncertain at best—yet his mind was wrapped around Arabella Genova.
So was his heart. Although to be fair, that part of him had been hers for a lot longer than his life had been pledged to the Order.
How many times had he considered defying the wishes of her father and brother to go back and beg for her forgiveness and take her away with him forever? How many human blood Hosts had he drunk from, wishing it was Bella’s vein that was nourishing him instead, her Breedmate blood ensuring that she would always be his?
Now, all he had were regrets.
He only hoped he could somehow get the chance to make things right. But first he needed to make sure she was safe.
“This way,” he told the women, after leaving the old truck in a church parking lot as Trygg had instructed.
Carrying Chiara’s bag so she could focus on her child, Savage placed his hand at the small of Bella’s back and brought them to a flight of well-worn stone steps on the other side of the church. The stairs descended away from the quaint hotels and restaurants near Matera’s city center, into the thickly settled community of limestone dwellings that appeared to grow out of the walls of the broad ravine.
Waning blue moonlight and the golden glow of random lanterns and street lamps illuminated the uneven trail Trygg had given them to follow. At the predawn hour, there were no tourists on the tangled network of stone paths and meandering steps of the sassi. The ravine was quiet, nothing but the sound of their footsteps on the dusty old cobbles and the occasional jangle of a sheep’s bell from the flock starting to awaken on a grassy flat across the way.
Savage followed the path to the left, as he’d been told, which took them toward what appeared to be the low-rent section of the Paleolithic-era neighborhood. White limestone residences with the occasional flower box in their window or potted plant outside the door gave way to an unlit stretch of cobbles lined with rustic domiciles in various states of neglect, most with weeds and cactus sprouting out of their cracked and crumbling walls.
“Stay close,” Savage advised the women as he led them deeper into the settlement. “We should almost be there now.”
A few minutes later, just as Trygg had described, his brother waited up ahead on the walkway. At least, Savage hoped the immense, black-haired Breed male was Scythe.
As they approached, Savage walking protectively in front of Bella and Chiara, the other male lifted his head and swung a glance in their direction. Long ebony hair hung several inches past his shoulders, and a trimmed black beard outlined the grave set of his mouth. The male’s eyes, as dark as jet, narrowed on Savage across the distance.
Yep. Definitely Scythe.
Savage nodded to him in greeting. Scythe’s face remained expressionless within his curtain of dark hair. Dressed in a black leather trench coat that covered more black clothing beneath it, the male looked every bit a cold-blooded killer.
Which was saying something, coming from Savage, a warrior whose stock-in-trade was dealing death.
At Savage’s back, he heard Bella suck in a shallow gasp.
“It’s all right,” he told her, touching her arm in reassurance. “This is who we’re supposed to meet.”
Without introduction, Scythe turned and started walking away. Apparently, he was as people-friendly as his brother. So long as the male was trustworthy and his safe house was secure, Savage would give the lack of social skills a pass.
“Let’s go,” he said, pausing to press a kiss to Bella’s forehead. “We’ll be safe here, I promise.”
They followed Scythe to one of the last cave houses on the path, a squatty residence devoid of windows and accessible through a door that was reinforced with an iron grate. Savage wasn’t expecting much as the other Breed male opened the door and let them inside, but it turned out the place only appeared forbidding and neglected from the outside. They stepped into a comfortable, if minimalist, dwelling with hand-hewn furnishings, arched stone ceilings, and warm, rug-covered floors.
Once they were inside, Scythe motioned for them to follow him farther into the place. More rooms were burrowed out of the rock of the ravine, connected by snaking tunnels large enough for both Breed males to walk through at their full height.
“I don’t generally have guests,” Scythe announced, sounding none too pleased. His voice was low and dark, almost a snarl as he strode ahead of them, his words echoing off the walls. “There is a small bed in the chamber to your right, and a larger one in the room at the end of this corridor. Make use of them as you wish.”