Before his shaky resolve could break completely.
CHAPTER 8
True to his word, he didn’t return.
She had showered and dressed, even eaten a fresh meal that Jehan had brought up to her sometime after Lazaro had gone. That was hours ago, according to the old grandfather clock in the hallway. It was well into the evening before she’d finally given up waiting, wondering...God, pitifully hoping, that he would come back and at least talk to her after the incredible passion they’d shared.
Her psychic gift prevented her from sulking over doubts about Lazaro’s intentions. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her tonight. He’d left because he wanted her too much.
But that didn’t change the fact that he was quite obviously avoiding her.
She’d since begun pacing the residential suites in the clothing he bought for her, feeling like a prisoner in a beautiful, unlocked cage. Although she had the entire fourth floor to explore, decency kept her from snooping too avidly through Lazaro’s home. Not that she’d find anything very personal in his quarters, she’d realized fairly quickly.
Each room was consummately appointed with elegant furnishings and a variety of fine things. Sophisticated pieces, tasteful antiques, a wealth of heirloom Oriental rugs—the kind of things she might expect someone who’d lived as long as him would appreciate.
But there was nothing personal in Lazaro’s home. Nothing modern.
There were no photographs on the bureaus or sofa tables or walls. No mementoes scattered about in any of the meticulously kept rooms. There was nothing to remind him of the past century, let alone the past twenty years.
He lived here in a carefully curated, elegant isolation.
Her conversation with Jehan and Savage came back to her now. The fact that Lazaro had never fully gotten over the deaths of his mate and family. That he blamed himself for not being able to save them. And so he’d joined the Order and exiled himself to this place.
If he hadn’t found room in his heart for anything or anyone in the past two decades, how could she hope he might let her in after just a couple of days?
She had half a mind to confront him about the way he was living his life. Maybe it wasn’t her place to call him on it. Maybe she’d be better off leaving well enough alone and simply wait to return home to the States, where she had her own life to manage.
A life that no longer included her father, she thought, swamped with a fresh wave of grief to think that Lazaro’s entry into her life came at the loss of someone else she loved. But even before losing her father last night, even before the loss of her dear mother years before, Melena realized that her life was missing something vital.
She had a life that, if she were truly being honest with herself, wasn’t so much different from the cage Lazaro had built around himself here in Rome.
She had a nice apartment of her own at her father’s Darkhaven in Baltimore. She had friends. She had lovers when she wanted them. She had colleagues at her father’s office and in the GNC. She had her Breed brother, Derek. She had a full life and plenty of companionship whenever she needed it.
And yet, deep down, she was so lonely.
She saw that same emptiness in Lazaro. Maybe he saw it in her too. Maybe that’s why when their gazes had locked in the midst of their release tonight, the connection had felt so real. So nakedly, startlingly real.
How could he expect her to ignore that as if it hadn’t happened?
She couldn’t.
And she wouldn’t, not without a fight.
Whatever was building so swiftly—powerfully—between them had a chance of growing into something extraordinary. She felt that with a certainty in her bones, in her blood. And she knew she wasn’t alone in that feeling.
So, like it or not, Lazaro Archer was simply going to have to talk to her. He might be accustomed to blustering and bossing his way around everyone else in his life, but she wouldn’t stand for it.
Steeling herself for a battle she wasn’t sure she could win, Melena left the suite on the fourth floor and headed downstairs to the mansion’s main level. It was quiet down there, so she continued on, toward the connected command center of the estate.
She didn’t get far.
From out of nowhere, a massive wall of muscle materialized to block her path.
It wasn’t Lazaro. Not Savage or Jehan either.
She looked up and found herself gaping into the cold, hard face of the one warrior she hadn’t yet met. His shaved head and jagged scar made him look even more lethal than the dark stare he held her in now.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t seem inclined to make even the remotest effort to put her at ease.