“Melena. May I have a word with you.” Not a question, not an invitation. A sober demand.
She rose and walked to meet him as the rest of the group fell into easy conversation behind them. Lazaro led her down the hall to another formal parlor. He carefully closed the door, keeping his back to her for longer than she would have liked.
Melena didn’t have to see his impassive face to know he was about to crush her heart when he finally turned around to look at her. His aura was a dark cloud, the shuttered gunmetal gray from before.
Before the first time he’d touched her, kissed her.
Before he’d shown her such incredible passion and tenderness when he made love to her. And when he bit her vein and took her blood into his body, into his soul.
All of those moments seemed to evaporate as she looked at him now. They became nothing under the regretful look in his ageless eyes.
But the moments they had weren’t nothing. He’d felt everything she had. He wanted her. He cared for her. He cared maybe even as much as she did for him. She could see that diamond-bright truth breaking through the muddy resistance of his aura.
Everything they’d shared in Rome had meant something powerful and extraordinary to him too. But it wasn’t enough.
“Why?” she murmured, her throat dry as ash.
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “I told you from the beginning, Melena. I wasn’t looking for this. I don’t have a place for this in my life.”
“For this,” she said. “You mean, for me. For us.”
He gave a somber nod. “For everything you deserve. For everything I can’t give you.”
“I don’t recall asking you for anything, Lazaro. I didn’t even ask for your heart.”
“No, but you have it,” he admitted quietly. “I think you owned a piece of my heart from the night I first dragged you out of that frozen pond in Boston.”
“Then why?” Damn him, but those gentle words hurt all the more when she knew she was about to lose him. “Why are you pulling away from me now? Why are you acting as if I don’t mean anything to you?”
He held her gaze, his own haunted and filled with remorse. “Because it isn’t fair to you, letting you think I could ever be any kind of mate worthy of you.”
She couldn’t help herself. She scoffed brittly. “A shame you didn’t arrive at that realization before you drank my blood.”
“I told you I wasn’t looking for a bond, Melena.” His tone was tender but firm. As resolute as his aura. “I knew I couldn’t give you that promise.”
“No. Because you prefer simple arrangements. No entanglements or complications. No one to tempt you into throwing away twenty years of resolve on a couple of days of passion. Isn’t that what you said?”
He said nothing for a long moment, staring at her grimly. “I’d resisted the temptation for a very long time, Melena. And it was easy. Until I found you.”
Maybe she should have been moved by the confession. Maybe, if he hadn’t been standing there giving her all of his reasons for why he was intent on breaking her heart. Instead, she thought back on everything they’d said to each other in heated anger and passion last night.
It was true, he had tried to resist her. He’d tried to push her away before he lost his damnable restraint. She hadn’t helped, but she wasn’t the one pretending she could walk away from what they had—from what they might be able to build together as a couple.
Lazaro had tried to warn her that he wasn’t a hero come to save the day.
He tried to warn her that she might not be safe in his arms.
And she’d ignored him every time.
Yet for all his rigid honor and long-lived control, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from claiming her.
He’d pierced her vein, swallowed her blood...created a bond that no other woman would ever be able to break for as long as Melena drew breath.
And wasn’t that a convenient benefit of his colossal slip of self-discipline?
“Did you use me, Lazaro?”
His ebony brows crashed together. “Use you? Christ, no. Melena, you can’t possibly think that—”