Midnight Untamed(2)

What the fuck?

Savage hadn’t realized there was a female in the mansion. Not that he felt much sympathy for anyone who associated with a thug like Massioni. And not that it should stop him from pushing the button on the detonator. But still…

His thumb froze, hovering over the trigger.

“Unidentified female on the premises,” he murmured into his mic. “Stand by, base.”

“Standing by,” Trygg said. Then he made a low, appreciative noise that might as well have been a wolf-whistle, coming from the eternally inscrutable warrior.

Yeah, the female was hot. Savage barely contained his own primal growl at the sight of all those slender curves poured into a column of scarlet silk. He’d long avoided blondes—for personal reasons of his own—but everything male in him responded to the sight of this one like flame to gasoline.

He stared through the lenses, watching as every head in the room turned to look at her as she approached Massioni. As soon as she was close enough, the vampire’s beefy arm snaked out to hook her around the waist, pulling her roughly against him as his buddies grinned and chuckled.

More than one of the Breed males gathered in the room wore an expression of unabashed lust as their boss crudely cupped the young woman’s breast in front of them all.

A jab of disgust spiked through Savage’s blood at Massioni’s manhandling of the woman.

“There was no mention of a female in the intel,” Trygg said.

“No, there wasn’t.” Savage’s reply was clipped, irritation combined with this unwanted element of surprise. “The report out of D.C. specifically stated that Massioni is unmated, so who the fuck is she?”

“Collateral damage,” Trygg replied evenly. “Pop the charges and get the hell out of there.”

Savage nodded, knowing that was sound advice.

But his thumb didn’t move on the detonator.

Something was starting to bother him about the woman the longer he stared at her. Something that gnawed at the perimeter of his memory.

“I need a closer look.”

Without waiting for confirmation from his comrade, he set the detonator down in the soft grass, then tightened the focus on his binoculars. Not on Massioni or his men, but on her. The gorgeous blonde whose heart-shaped face and pixie features seemed strangely, distantly familiar somehow.

Which was impossible, considering this female was clearly Massioni’s plaything.

The face that teased at the frayed edges of Savage’s mind—and his heart—had no place here. Not with criminals and killers like the ones assembled inside the villa that was wired to blow on his command.

Holy shit.

It couldn’t be her.

Trygg’s voice sounded in his ear. “You got problems over there?”

Savage couldn’t answer that. Not when his veins were filling with adrenaline and a sick feeling of apprehension was starting to take up space behind his sternum.

He brought the woman in closer, his eyes burning from the intensity of his unblinking stare. She was still caught within the cage of Massioni’s thick arm, smiling indulgently as the Breed male showed her off like some kind of prize to his leering friends. Showing her off as if the bastard owned her.

Fuck. Don’t let that be her.

“Status,” Trygg demanded now. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. I think the woman is…” He drew in a breath, hoping like hell he was wrong. “Christ, I think I know her.”

Trygg’s curse scraped across the earpiece. “Bad fucking time for a reunion   with one of your many conquests, man. And if the bitch belongs to our target, you don’t know her now.”

No, he didn’t.

Not anymore.

Hell, not for a very long time.

As Savage watched, Massioni finally released the woman from his possessive hold. He said something to his colleagues, a remark that made them all chuckle. Then Massioni gestured at her dismissively. Her placid smile still in place, the beautiful blonde pivoted away from the men.

It wasn’t until she turned around that Savage’s suspicion was confirmed.

The proof was there on the back of her left shoulder—the scarlet mark of a Breedmate. Only the rarest of women bore the unique birthmark signifying they were something more than mortal.

The small teardrop-and-crescent-moon symbol rode this female’s shoulder in the precise spot that Savage dreaded it would.

“Son of a bitch. I don’t believe this.”

It was her.

After all this time—nearly a decade.

Arabella Genova.

Savage snarled as Massioni playfully smacked her ass, sending her on her way. Unfazed, she glided out of the room as elegantly as she’d entered a few moments ago, Savage following her progress with the field glasses held in a grip so tight they should have shattered.