Midnight Untamed (Midnight Breed 14.5)

Her gaze was tender on him. “You’re a good man, Ettore.”

“I want to be,” he said. “For you. And that means making sure you’re as far out of Massioni’s reach as possible. At least until I can finish him for good.”

Savage seethed with the urge to fix his fuck-up personally and painfully with the bastard. There was a time when he would have.

Before Bella reentered his life, he’d thought nothing of charging into the fray of a dangerous situation to take out a target. He’d never had a death wish, but as a warrior pledged in service to the Order, his life had been expendable if it meant the difference between success or failure of one of his missions.

All that had changed now. Bella and he were bonded. Now, if he were injured—if he were killed—she would feel his anguish as if it were her own.

She would suffer everything he did, just as he would endure her every pain or fear.

So, no matter how viciously he wanted to make Vito Massioni pay for every hour of every year he’d held Bella prisoner for his own gain, Savage had to exercise caution. He had to be sure he didn’t fail—with her or with the Order.

She rested her head against his chest, where the heavy pound of his heartbeat throbbed. “I’m scared, Ettore.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m not going to let him get you. I’m not going to let him get Chiara or her son either.”

“I know you won’t. But I’m scared for you.” She drew in a shallow, ragged breath. “If I ever lose you again—”

“You won’t.” Guiding her gaze up to his, Savage urged her to see the resolve in his eyes. She had to feel it in her blood now, through the bond that would join them forever. He slid his hand around her nape and brought her to him for an unrushed kiss that ensured she felt all of the love and promise that he held for her in his heart.

He could have kissed her for hours, and he swore to himself that he would, once he made sure she and her family were safely returned to Rome.

Sensing they were no longer alone, Savage turned his head and found Scythe standing there. Christ, the male might be immense and formidable, but he moved like a wraith.

He held out his left hand, a vehicle starter in his palm.

“What’s this?” Savage asked, pivoting to face the former Hunter. The key fob was for a Range Rover—a new one, by the look of it. Scythe handed it to him.

“The truck you arrived in might get you where you’re going, but this will be better.”

“I left that vehicle half a mile away at the church. How the hell did you know what we were driving?”

Scythe didn’t answer, and Savage figured there was a lot about the reclusive male and his methods that would remain a mystery. Instead of pressing him, Savage slipped the welcome gift into his pocket.

“Thank you.”

Scythe gave him a faint nod.

“We’re ready!” Chiara called from behind them. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

The petite brunette had her son’s little hand grasped in hers as she approached from the other end of the corridor. As they drew closer, Savage felt a cold shift in the air. He didn’t realize what it was until he looked at Scythe and saw that the male had gone utterly still. His onyx eyes were stark, almost haunted, beneath the harsh slashes of his black brows.

Chiara must have felt the chill too. She glanced up nervously at Scythe, practically tugging dark-haired Pietro along when the boy’s steps began to slow in front of the big Gen One.

But the child didn’t seem to have any fear for the sinister-looking male. His feet halted in front of Scythe, his little head tilting up to stare in unabashed awe. “How’d you hurt your hand?”

Chiara and Bella both sucked in their breath. Hell, even Savage felt a jolt of unease as Scythe’s hard gaze slowly descended to look at the boy. When he spoke, the male’s deep voice was as unreadable as his stoic face.

“I tried to help someone a long time ago.”

By the male’s grave tone, Savage assumed his hand wasn’t the only thing Scythe lost.

d to feel her shock. Her terror.

His hands shook as he pulled her away from him so he could see her face. Her gaze was still riveted on the water, her mind still caught in the hideous vision.

“Sweetheart, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”