by Alisa Woods
Jerry dropped his voice even as he leaned in, nearly trapping her against the door. “I didn’t say anything to Daxon about your pet theory being full of holes. How he’s wasting his money on this fool’s chase.”
“But it’s not…” She stopped because he leaned in too close, a wolfish look on his face as he stared at her lips, licking his own.
“I could have, you know,” he whispered again in an oily voice that had every nerve ending in Tajael’s body screaming to sink a blade into him. The Wrath was so intense, a haze was forming in front of his eyes, a dull ringing hollow in his ears, making Jerry’s words swim through the air to reach him. “I could have sabotaged your whole little fantasy, this little dream of yours… but I didn’t. You owe me for that.”
“I don’t… I don’t owe you…” Charlotte was scared. The fear in her voice cut through the haze in Tajael’s mind like an angel blade through demon spirit.
“I can make this easier for you or so much harder.” Jerry’s words kept coming, thick and oily and heavy with ill-intent. “Daxon’s not there most of the time. You want this to work? All you have to do is open those pretty little legs and lay back and enjoy it.”
“No.” It was a whisper, but it was filled with such horror and fear, that it electrified Tajael. The haze parted. He saw Jerry slide a hand up to Charlotte’s face, grabbing it hard so she couldn’t move away—he had her trapped against the door.
“I’ll tell you when you can say no.” Then he surged his body against hers, pawing at her with his open mouth.
It took everything Tajael had not to bodily throw the man across the room. Instead, he twisted, opened an interdimensional door, and reappeared in the hallway just outside Charlotte’s door. He heard her muffled cries and thuds against the door, but some act of control he didn’t know he possessed kept his Wrath at bay long enough to decloak and conjure clothes that a human male living in Seattle might wear. Then he slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking it clear off the hinges and sending both Charlotte and Jerry flying into the room. Tajael winked again through space, just in time to snatch Charlotte from crashing into the floor. He let Jerry tumble halfway across the room as he set Charlotte on her feet.
But her eyes were wild with fear. She struck out at him and screamed and stumbled away, running for the kitchen. He could see her hands shake—violently so—but she managed to find a large knife, which she wielded in front of her, defensively, as she backed up against the refrigerator.
“Stay away! Stay away from me!” Her voice rose into pure panic. If she were an angeling, Tajael felt sure it would burst out at angelsong level.
“Fear not,” Tajael said. “I mean you no harm.” But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how wrong they were for the situation. He was posing as a human; yet he was speaking Truth—he was here to help, not hurt—and somehow that reached her.
The knife wavered. She pointed it at Jerry instead, who was still picking himself up off the floor. “What the fuck—” He stared at the broken door, now lying flat in the middle of the room. His gaze slowly rose to Tajael. “Who the fuck are you?”
Tajael met his gaze and stepped toward him. Jerry’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. Tajael easily towered over the man, and his angel nature made his body even stronger than the apparent musculature that was intimidating the man. Good.
He took several more steps toward Jerry.
The man cowered, putting up his hands. “Hey, whatever. I don’t care who you are—”
“You should,” Tajael said.
Jerry’s eyes went even wider.
“I’m Charlotte’s neighbor,” Tajael said, spinning the story as he spoke. “And I don’t think she wants you here.”
“Hey, you’ve got this all wrong,” Jerry said, straightening from his cowering pose. “She was leading me on, man. She wanted…” But the words died with the Wrath Tajael knew was gathering on his face.
Tajael turned to give a slow nod to Charlotte, who was still in a defensive pose with the knife. Then he gave a hard look to Jerry. “Her blade says otherwise.”
Jerry visibly swallowed. “All right. Fine. I’ll… I’ll just be on my way, then.” He tried to step around Tajael, gingerly avoiding the scraps of wood that had flown from the destroyed doorjamb.
Tajael waited until the man was close—then he reached out and grabbed Jerry by the shirt, lifting him off the ground and dragging him up close so Jerry could see the Wrath still simmering in Tajael’s eyes. Jerry yelped and sputtered and grabbed at Tajael’s hand, but his mortal strength was useless. A small warning went off in Tajael’s head about the show of strength, but he warranted it necessary to impress his words upon Jerry.
“You will not touch her again.” Tajael had to restrain the angelsong that wanted to burst out. Battering the man’s eardrums would be satisfying, but it would surely mark him as unnatural. Inhuman. “If you threaten her in any way, anywhere, you will answer to me.”
Jerry was frantically nodding and attempting to speak, but fear had paralyzed his tongue and chattered his teeth. Tajael set him on his feet, and the man nearly fell to the ground. Then he scuttled out the door. Tajael had to fight for a long moment not to go after him, to rein in the Wrath threatening to send him to shadow. It took a long stretch of probably too many seconds before he finally turned to Charlotte.
She was staring at him with wide eyes, knife still out. “Are you… are you like… Special Forces or something?” Her whole body was shaking.
She meant some kind of warrior, but he was Protector Class, not Warrior Class. A distinction that meant nothing, given he was pretending at being human. But he was her Guardian, and while she couldn’t know his true nature, the Truth was she was safe with him.
“Something like that,” he said, holding his hands wide, offering up again that he truly meant her no harm. He tried giving her a small smile. It felt impossibly good to be finally speaking to her, face-to-face. It was a terrible risk, exposing himself like this, but technically still within the rules for Guarding… and he doubted Markos would relieve him of this duty, regardless. The risk was far more in the pull he felt toward her. The desire to comfort her. The need to touch her… “I’ve been Guarding people for a long time. I have a sense about these things. About men like that one.” All Truth, so she should hear the ring of it. “You seemed like you could use some help.” She slowly lowered the knife. He smiled more and gestured to the door lying face down on the floor. “Sorry about the door.”
She laughed a little then captured her mouth with her hand to stop it.
It made his heart sing.
Holy angels of light… what was he doing?
Chapter Four
Holy crap, she’d just been saved by a Greek god.
Charlotte’s logical mind knew that wasn’t right—she didn’t believe in gods, little “g” or big “G”—but a living embodiment of every ancient Greek statue of a very masculine god stood before her. His bright ice-blue eyes were earnest and intelligent and… kind was the only other word she could muster. Like he cared deeply about things, and at the moment, the thing he cared most about was her. Enough to break down her damn door to stop Jerry from—
And that’s where her mind stalled out. Sputtered out all thought, almost reflexively—she knew it was a defensive move, her brain sheltering her from the painful memories of what her ex did to her, repeatedly, but she forced herself to name it. Rape. Craig had raped her. Not just once, but an endless series, that somehow were always her fault, and that sometimes came with fists that knocked her nearly unconscious through part of it. Sometimes, that was actually better…. if “better” was a word you could even apply to the horror. And now Jerry—fucking Jerry—would have done the same thing to her. Or tried to.
She looked at the knife in her hand, and it twitched so badly she almost dropped it on her own foot. She would have killed him. She could see it now. Somehow, someway, she would have made her way to the kitchen and found the knife and k
illed Jerry. Either before or after or during… she didn’t know, but she could picture it so vividly… then a full-body shudder made her hand convulse again.
She slowly put the knife back in the drawer.
The Greek god was at her side, suddenly. She’d almost forgotten he was there, but strangely, he didn’t frighten her. Even with his super-muscular body—the t-shirt did nothing to hide his broad, well-muscled chest—she felt utterly safe in his towering presence. In spite of the fact that he basically busted down the door. And she vaguely remembered him touching her, just for a moment, but only to help her up from the floor.
And then she’d freaked.
“You’re in shock,” he said gently. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
She nodded. Or at least, she thought she did. A haze in her mind made everything fuzzy around the edges. She tried to shuffle toward the couch, but her legs weren’t working right. She stumbled, but before she could even catch herself by gripping the counter, the Greek god had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her across the room.
She just stared up at him, her mouth hanging open. His arms were like iron bands, covered in skin softer than a baby’s. His gaze was fixed on her couch, and before she could work words out of her mouth, he had set her down on it—propped in the corner so she could sit, then he retreated to the far end of the couch.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, but it was so epically inadequate, she just shut her mouth—so it wouldn’t hang open, and it wouldn’t clumsily say anything more.
The intensity of his gaze was pure concern, and he seemed to be breathing heavily… although him carrying her across the room couldn’t possibly have winded him. That man was made of muscle.
He dropped his gaze from her and scrubbed a hand through his short, almost white-blond hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that—”
“No, it’s okay,” she gushed out. Holy shit, he just saved her life, and he was worried about carrying her across the room? There was no question in her mind that he’d saved two people today—her from Jerry and his fucking idea that he could just rape her if he wanted like she was a thing he could simply take and use.
Just like Craig. She shuddered, uncontrollably. Again.
But her rescuer also saved Jerry from being stabbed to death at some point. Because that would have happened. She was sure of it, even now, with how close to the edge she was. With how unsteady she felt. How close to breaking for good…
On top of all that, this ridiculously gorgeous man at the end of her couch probably saved her work as well—because she’d have either been a traumatized wreck or in jail.
Or both.
How do you thank someone for something like that?
“Are you really my neighbor?” What? Fuck, she should have kept her mouth shut. What was wrong with her?
He frowned, and it looked wrong on him. Like something that beautiful should never be sad. “I live very close. Two doors down. I’m around all the time. I… work at home.” He seemed to struggle with this like maybe he was shy about his personal life. Why was she even prying like this?
“I… thank you for…” She gestured to the broken down door, but her hand was shaking again, so she stopped. She pulled in a deep breath, and that helped. A little. “Thank you for stopping him.” She couldn’t manage more than that at the moment, but when she had her wits again, she needed to find a real way to thank this man. Wait… “What’s your name?”
“Tajael.” Then he winced like he hadn’t meant to tell her. Like it had just slipped out.
“Is that your real name?” It was odd. Nothing she’d heard before. But if he was in the business of guarding people, then maybe he didn’t want his real name out there. “Don’t worry,” she added quickly. “I won’t tell anyone.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and holy shit—she thought he was beautiful when he was serious. That smile was like the clouds parting and a ray of golden sunshine raining down. It dazzled her mind and scrambled her thoughts.
“It’s all right,” the man—Tajael—said. “The people I guard are the ones who need to be kept safe, not me. My name is no secret.”
The way he spoke… so odd, just like his name. Her curiosity was roused, but it would be terribly rude to ask. Where are you from? What kind of name is Tajael? Why do you talk like you’ve stepped out of an ancient tale about warriors and battles? She struggled for something innocuous to say, but she was lost in a sea of scrambled thoughts and reactions. And most shockingly of all, it wasn’t just her curiosity that was aroused—strange flushes were running up and down her body. Could be panic, or shock, or leftover adrenaline… but damn there was something incredibly sexy about the way the man just sat on her couch, alert but calm, totally confident yet not at all arrogant or leering. His eyes were glued to her face, studying her with great concern.
Maybe he was making sure she wasn’t going to pass out or something. “I’m okay,” she said, but it was a total lie, and he wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
His small bit of smile vanished. “Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are dilated. Your hands are still shaking, and I can hear your heart racing.”
What? “You can?” Somehow the intriguing possibility that this sexy man could hear her heartbeat from the other end of the couch overruled everything else.
He squeezed his eyes shut, just briefly, like once again, he hadn’t meant to say out loud quite what he did. “It was a figure of speech.” He hesitated. “What I mean is that you’re definitely not okay, and I’m hesitant to leave you in this state. Especially with a broken door. Do you have a physician you can call? Or can I take you somewhere for medical attention?” He had that awkward look again like he wasn’t sure the right words to use. His pale skin and strange accent… maybe he was Norwegian or Swedish or from one of those Scandinavian countries where they grew gorgeous tall blond men, but English was his second language? Somehow that didn’t fit.
“No, I’m really… Okay, I’m not fine. But I will be. Eventually. I just need...” Damn, she really didn’t have any alcohol in the apartment, and now would be an excellent time for a very large glass of wine. She had been very careful about not self-medicating after the divorce. Alcoholism was a thing that ran in her family, plus when she lost her mom—well, that was a drunk driver with three times the legal limit in his blood. And with Craig… for a while, her nightly bottle of wine was all that kept her going. She stopped as soon as she realized how bad it was, but still. She knew the stats—she was at risk.
“You need rest and perhaps a meal.” He spoke more authoritatively now, like taking care of her this way was more in his wheelhouse.
“Yeah. You’re right. Rest first, though.” If she ate anything right now, it would come right back up.
His gaze flicked to the door lying on the floor and the empty doorway where it once stood. Then his attentive eyes came right back to hers. “I have some tools in my apartment. I should be able to repair the door.”
“Oh, no, you’ve already done so much—”
“I insist.” And the way he said it was so familiar… just like Daxon, earlier, saying she needed more security. Only he thought the threat was from the streets, not her colleague a few cubicles down. Tajael at least understood where the real danger lay.
Besides, she was suddenly weary down to her bones and in no shape to argue. “Okay. Fine. Just, whenever you can do it is great. No rush.”
“I’ll take care of it immediately.” He ventured a small smile. “I do personal security, remember? This is very insecure. It… bothers me.”
That wrenched the tiniest of laughs out of her. “Okay, well, if it helps with your security OCD, by all means…” She vaguely waved at the mess of a door. Whatever he did would be great, but it would just be a patchwork for now. She’d have to contact the landlord or something to fix it for real. Ugh, what a mess. Even the thought of that made her shoulders sag, and her eyelids droop. Sleep sounded like an awesome option at the momen
t.
Tajael was suddenly looming over her. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just… tired.”
“Do you need me to carry you to bed?” Then he suddenly looked stricken at that, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Again. Why was he so twitchy about things he said to her?
“No, no.” She waved him off. “I can get there on my own.” But as she struggled up from the couch, it was clear her legs were on some kind of strike. Tajael held her elbow—gently, but with that same raw power she felt before—and that was just the support she needed.
She managed to stand. Walking appeared a different challenge. She leaned on him, and he accepted it with a slight touch at the small of her back for more balance. With his help, she shuffled toward the bedroom.
“This is totally embarrassing,” she mumbled. “Normally, I’m stronger than this.” Those strange flushes were running around her body again, centered especially where he touched her.
“I know.”
She peered up at him.
“I mean, I can tell,” he said, awkward again. “A woman like you has an inner strength. A solid goodness that carries you through the difficulties that life brings.”
She just gaped at him. How could he know anything like that about her? But more importantly… what kind of man says those things? The flushes were virtually setting her body on fire now. “You just met me,” she managed to mumble as they shuffled into her bedroom.
She was weak. This man was escorting her to her bed. He was incredibly strong, and if he had a mind to, he could do anything he liked to her. Hurt her in ways she was sure she wouldn’t survive. Instead, he pulled back the comforter on her bed and gently helped her into it.
And told her she was strong. And good.
