Tempted by Midnight

Turati chuckled, his aged eyes twinkling as he drank in the sight of Melena Walsh. The pair immediately began a light, effusive chat about Italy and its numerous areas of superiority over all things French. Lazaro didn’t want to be impressed with the young woman, but he couldn’t deny her language skills—or her charm. Paolo Turati was no pushover and it had taken her less than a minute to have the old goat eating out of the palm of her soft white hand.

Still, this wasn’t a social call.

There was real business to be done tonight.

Lazaro cleared his throat in effort to break up the uninvited distraction. “Your offer to translate is appreciated, Miss Walsh—”

“Melena, please,” she interjected.

“But it won’t be necessary,” Lazaro finished. “As this meeting is confidential and a matter of global security as well, all interpretation will be handled personally by me. I trust you understand.”

She glanced at her father, an anxious flick of her eyes.

“I’ll be more comfortable knowing Mel is nearby,” Walsh replied. “As you say, Lazaro, there is much at stake in the world, and I would hate for my clumsy words to convey anything less than what I truly mean. Likewise, before I leave tonight, I would like to be sure that I’ve understood everything Paolo intends me to know.”

“You don’t trust that I am capable of assuring you of both those things?”

“Melena’s come all this way to assist me, Lazaro.”

“And she’s welcome to wait on board in one of the other salons until the meeting is finished.” Lazaro met his old friend’s gaze, tried to decipher some of the apprehension he saw in the Breed male’s eyes. “If you don’t like my decision, take it up with Lucan Thorne when you return to the States.”

Turati was frowning now, lost by the rapid back-and-forth in English. “Something is wrong?” he asked, directing his question to Lazaro in Italian, even though he could hardly tear his gaze away from Melena. “Tell me what is going on.”

“Miss Walsh will join us after the meeting concludes,” Lazaro informed him. “She was unaware of the sensitive nature of this arrangement and has agreed that I should provide the necessary translation assistance as planned.”

Melena glanced down, and Turati’s face pinched into a deeper frown. He stepped toward her, his mouth pursing under his silent contemplation. When she looked up at him, the old man grinned, hooking a thumb in Lazaro’s direction. “Shall we ask him to join us after the meeting instead?” he whispered in Italian. “I would much rather listen to your voice for the next few hours than his, my dear.”

She smiled but started to shake her head. “Thank you, Mr. Turati, but I cannot—”

“You can, and I insist that you do. You and your father are both my guests here tonight. I’ll banish neither of you from our meeting.” Turati slanted a sly glance at Lazaro. “I won’t banish you either. Come, let’s go inside now.”

Lazaro sent the motor boat away with a dismissing wave as he waited for the Walshes, Turati, and the two pairs of bodyguards to head back up to the yacht’s main salon. Then, with a low curse and a vague, but troubled, niggling in his veins, he fell in behind them.

CHAPTER 2

The meeting was going far better than they could have hoped. Especially considering Melena had nearly been banned from the room before it even started.

Her father and Paolo Turati had talked without interruption for a couple of hours—serious conversations ranging from cultural misconceptions among the Breed and mankind, to the volatile political climate that existed between the two races. They’d discussed their hopes for a better future and confessed their shared worries about what that future might look like if the mistrust that festered on either side of Breed/human relations were allowed to continue.

Or worse, if it were encouraged to spread—something the failed terror act at the GNC peace summit in Washington, D.C., two weeks ago had seemed orchestrated to do.

The two men hadn’t solved the world’s many problems in the space of two hours, but they did seem to be forming a genuine respect and fondness for each other. With the heavier subjects behind them, Melena happily translated as they moved on to trading anecdotes from recent travels they’d both enjoyed and talk of their children. Mundane, comfortable conversations peppered with easy smiles, even bouts of laughter.

If her father had reservations about his trip overseas for this covert audience, those concerns seemed all but evaporated now. And he had been more than apprehensive, Melena had to admit. He’d been on the verge of paranoia in the days leading up to this meeting.

He worried that betrayal awaited him around every corner—not so much groundless panic, but a hunch he couldn’t shake. Born with limited precognitive ability, her father’s hunches, good or bad, all too often proved to be fact.

Every Breed vampire was gifted with a preternatural talent unique to himself. The same held true for Breedmates like Melena, women who bore the teardrop-and-crescent-moon mark and had the rare genetic makeup that allowed them to blood-bond with one of the Breed in an eternal union and bear his young.

It was Melena’s specific extrasensory ability that brought her along with her father tonight, more so than her translation skills. She’d needed to see Paolo Turati in person in order to assure her father of the human’s intentions. And she’d been satisfied in that regard. Signor Turati was a good man, one who could be trusted at his word.

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