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.”
Savage glanced at Bella. “You and Chiara take the beds. I don’t need to sleep.”
It was true enough. As Breed, he didn’t require a lot of rest, but he doubted his thoughts would give him much peace anyway. To say nothing of his body, which was still thrumming with want of Bella.
She looked as if she meant to protest his sacrifice, but her sister-in-law was teetering on her feet and Pietro hadn’t lifted his head since they left the truck. “I’ll go help them settle in.”
Savage remained in the passage as the women departed for the room. When he glanced at Scythe, he found the male watching Chiara through narrowed eyes. A dark scowl creased his brow.
“Trygg didn’t say anything about a child being in danger.”
“He didn’t?” Savage frowned. “I’m sure I mentioned the boy when I spoke with him.”
Scythe grunted. “Yeah. I’m sure you did too.”
The cryptic response intrigued him. “Is it a problem?”
Scythe didn’t answer, which told Savage far more than any words ever could. “If you or the females need anything, let me know.”
Okay, conversation over apparently. Savage held out his hand to the other male. “Thank you. I owe you for this, and I won’t forget it.”
Scythe stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment. At first, Savage didn’t understand why. Then he saw it—the severed stump at the end of the other male’s right wrist where there had once been a hand.
And there was something else unusual about Scythe that he’d missed until now as well.
Around his dermaglyph-covered neck was a circle of mangled, vicious looking scars. By the severity of them, Savage had to guess that the Breed male had nearly lost his head at some point in his life too.
Since Breed genetics could heal all but the most catastrophic of injuries, Scythe must have been starving for blood or already half-dead from some other cause at the time this wound was inflicted.
Scythe shrugged. “We’d been raised to think we were invincible. It made many of us reckless. Not many survived after we got our first taste of freedom.”
“Freedom from what?”
“From our collars.”
The newsflash took Savage completely by surprise. He gaped at the obviously lethal, clearly antisocial Breed male. “Are you telling me that you were born a Hunter?”
Looking at him now, it made sense. As far as assassins and stealth operatives went, they didn’t come any deadlier than the Hunters—first generation Breed males who’d been bred off the same Ancient sire and raised to be merciless killers by the Order’s chief adversary. To keep his scattered army of perfect assassins obedient, Dragos had outfitted each of them with an ultraviolet collar that discouraged defiance or escape. Punishment was instant and final.
Dragos’s secret program had been in operation for decades before he was taken out by Lucan and his warriors twenty years ago. As for the Hunters themselves, they were all but legend among the Breed now, with only a handful known to exist.
Evidently, Savage was looking at one of them.
He met Scythe’s shark-black stare in question. “Trygg said you were his brother.”
“He is. As are the others.”
“Others?”
Scythe acknowledged with a curt nod. “The other lost boys. The dozens of young Hunters who escaped their collars when Dragos was killed.”
Chapter 8
Ettore and their intimidating host were just parting ways as Bella stepped out of the bedroom where Chiara was resting with Pietro. She hesitated until the immense black-haired male had walked off before she approached.
Ettore glanced her way, a look of lingering astonishment in his eyes.
“Is everything all right with your friend?” she asked.
He grunted, raking a hand through his loose blond waves. “I wouldn’t exactly call Scythe a friend just yet, but yeah, we’re good.”
Bella registered the name with an inward shudder. It was certainly a fitting moniker for the curt, menacing-looking Breed male. “If Scythe’s glower is anything to go by, he doesn’t seem happy to be saddled with houseguests.”
“Are you kidding? That is his happy face.” Ettore’s grin flashed, revealing the twin dimples that had never failed to charm her. “How are Chiara and Pietro?”
“Exhausted. They’re already asleep.”
“You should be too,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone of tender concern. His hand rested warmly on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in the other bedroom.”
It all seemed so surreal, being in this strange place, feeling safe despite the fact that she was on the run from an evil man and his network of criminal associates.