by Austin, RB
“More blood has been taken than we’d hoped. Lie down. It will help your head as well. And,” his gaze traveled to her arms she’d wrapped across her torso, “keep you warm.”
Emma shook her head and grimaced when the knives returned.
His eyebrows drew together. “I will shut the lights off.”
“No.” She grabbed his arm before he could move. Emma didn’t want to be in the dark anymore. The memories swirling just below the surface would be worse than the pain in her head.
He froze, gaze locked on her hand squeezing his arm.
She snatched her hand back. What was the matter with her? Emma took a couple steps back, this time making sure to spot the corner of the bed. Relief spread. A part of the bed was in between them now. Except the door was way across the room. In the opposite direction from which she moved. Awesome job, Ace.
The room was a half-size bigger than her bedroom and contained a king-sized bed, nightstand table, a dresser, an armchair, and a set of doors, which probably opened to a closet. There were no personal enhancements to the room. Nothing hanging from the walls. No mementos on the dresser top. This was a guest room. Not his room. Relief spread. Although if he wanted to harm her it wouldn’t matter what room she occupied. She didn’t even have to be in a room. The earlier events in the alley confirmed it.
No. Not remembering that right now.
He was staring, had noticed her move away from him, but made no attempts to stop her.
Of course he didn’t. Since she stupidly moved away from the door, not closer to it.
“How long have I been here?” She shivered and tiny beads of sweat pooled on her forehead. Excellent time to get sick.
“Two hours.” His voice low and soft.
The tone was meant to calm, soothe, and crap, it was working. Little shocks of electricity also coursed through her body causing blips in her “he’s dangerous” radar. Emma remembered when his hands felt her head. She’d been pleasantly surprised the trained killer look-alike touched her so gently.
He was tall. She reached the tops of his shoulders and had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the muscles in his arms and shoulders. Emma wouldn’t be able to overpower him. But how fast could he run?
Shoulders back, feet planted, legs spread, indicated he was ready for anything. His body language said he was in charge, but the tilt of his head contradicted the attitude. Black, shoulder length hair covered half of his face. What was he hiding?
Didn’t matter. She shook her head. Ugh, bad move.
Running was out. What was left? Distracting him with her womanly wiles then escape. Ha. The fever must be messing with her brain.
Had she laughed out loud? He looked concerned. The color of his eyes, well eye since she could only see one of them, was unusual. She’d have to mix cyan and green in order to get that exact shade of blue . . . when she did a sketch for the police . . . with her paints.
Suddenly the eye was extremely close. Blinking, she jerked back from the man who was only inches away and banged her head into the wall.
“Ow.” That did not help her head. No wonder he considered her a klutz. Not that she cared what he thought.
The man raised his hand. Froze. Retreated a step. “Are you all right?”
One of her favorite questions. Funny, it didn’t trigger anger or annoyance.
He’d blocked her in between the bed and the wall. Emma could climb over the bed to escape if necessary. And she did have to escape. She’d hate to mess up the quilt, though. The faded burgundy and purple squares looked homemade. Lovely and warm.
Emma! Snap out of it, fool! What was wrong with her? First his eyes, now the quilt. She rubbed her forehead. One aspirin tablet would be okay. Maybe it was dehydration from the alcohol?
He was staring at her like she was a museum piece. The man didn’t fidget or twitch. Didn’t blink from what she’d detected. His chest wasn’t even mov—oh, no there it went. So he was a breathing statue.
Emma licked her lips and cleared her desert-like throat. She’d kill for a glass of water. Stupid alcohol. Stupid sickness.
“When can I leave?”
“Soon, chemda. I promise.”
She paid attention to the movement of his eyes, the gestures of his hands and lips for telltale signs he was lying. He portrayed nothing. The man was either telling the truth or he was a psycho killer. Emma hoped for the former, but kind of suspected it’d be the latter.
“Soon as in a few minutes?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Come. Lie down. I’ll have Jeeves bring you food and drink. You need to counterbalance what’s been taken from you.”
Emma made no move toward the bed. There would be no discussion about what was taken. “Jeeves?”
“Our butler.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “A butler named Jeeves? Are you joking?”
His forehead creased. “No. Why would we joke about his name?”
Emma shook her head then cringed. Knives. Gah. Stop doing that! “Forget it. No big deal.” How about half an aspirin? Exhaustion suddenly plagued her. She leaned back against the wall.
“Come, chemda,” he demanded. “You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
The bed did look inviting. The longer she stood, the more blood fought against gravity to pool in her head. Pump. Pump. Pump. She closed her eyes for a moment. A quick reprieve from the pain then she’d go for the door. Nice, homey quilt be dammed.
She was in the man’s arms. Her eyelids flew open. “Put me down. Put me . . .” The man walked two steps, pulled down the bed covers, somehow still holding onto her and deposited her onto the bed. He left her side and the lights went off.
Total. Complete. Darkness. No!
Alley. Fear.
Small blade. Panic.
Blood. Pain.
Emma shot up. “No. Turn them back on. Please.”
The small table lamp by the side of the bed popped on. Panting, she pushed the memories from her mind. Focused on the lamp’s soft glow. It didn’t cause nearly the same pain to her throbbing head.
The man stood next to the bed. The urge to take his hand to help dispel the rest of the images she struggled with rode hard.
She grimaced. Not the way to act toward a kidnapper, Emma. It was idiotic and an excellent way to get killed. Remember, never let your guard down. This was a situation to absolutely adhere to the code. Just because he hadn’t harmed her yet didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on it.
He lifted the receiver from the phone by the side of the bed and spoke quietly into it. She blinked, and he was sitting in a chair by the bed. Was that there before?
She couldn’t read his expression. Well, it wasn’t menacing. “What’s a chemda?” Emma finally asked. The silence was unnerving. The memories not too far away.
“It means precious.”
Emma furrowed her brows. “Why are you calling me that?’
He smiled and her heart skipped a beat. Oh no. Making him smile was an extremely bad idea. “I don’t know your name.”
She deliberated for a moment, then, “Emma.”
Shit. He was smiling again. “Nice to meet you Emma. I’m Cade.”
Wow. Kidnappers didn’t dish out personal information unless they planned to never let their victims go. She swallowed. Maybe he was lying. Yeah, that idea was better.
Now she had a description and a false name to give the police. “What language were you speaking?”
“Our father’s tongue.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Those other guys downstairs are related to you?” They didn’t look related. On the same football team, yes. Joined by blood, no.
“We’re brothers.”
Maybe they had different mothers? “You k
now there’s no reason to keep me here. I only fainted.” Twice. “No big deal. A little bump on the head. I’m much better. I’ll call a cab. No one needs to bother driving me home.” And learning where she lived.
Cade didn’t respond.
“Please.”
He leaned forward. “You’re safe here. No one will harm you. I promise.”
She sighed. “Why can’t I go?”
There was a soft knock at the door. Cade was there, opening it. Seesh, he moved fast.
An older gentleman wearing a tux carried a silver tray into the room. At Cade’s motions, Jeeves?, set the tray down on the nightstand table. Emma tried to catch his eye, find some way to signal for help. But after depositing the tray, his gaze stayed on the floor.
He circled to Cade, bending at the waist. “Is there anything else you require, adohn?”
Bowing? She was still in Oregon, right? A shiver raked her body and she pulled the covers to her chin.
“No, thank you.”
The older man left as quietly as he came, shutting the door behind him. Cade walked to the bed. No, not a walk. He stalked. The way his gaze traveled over her quilt-covered body made her stomach flip-flop, and not in fear.
“Moron,” she muttered to herself.
“What?”
Warmth rushed into her cheeks. “Nothing. Hey, what’s the matter with your face?” Cade stopped in mid-stride, body stiffening. His gaze dropped to the floor. The words just popped out. Emma immediately regretted the tactless statement.
And she worked with children.
Well, no. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That was rude.”
Not meeting her eyes, he continued across the floor and stopped in front of the tray. “I didn’t know what you liked, so there’s a little bit of everything. An apple or an orange. A ham sandwich. Salad. Soup, looks like clam chowder. Carrots. Crackers if you’re feeling sick. When Lucas,” he paused. “When you faint you feel a little ill. A glass of water. Hot tea. I had small pox as a child. There are scars on my face.”
Emma swung her gaze from the abundant tray that appeared too full for the frail-looking Jeeves to carry. “What?”
He cleared his throat, eyes still on the tray. “Scars. From small pox”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve grown used to them. Foll—people normally get upset so I keep my hair down.”
Emma studied him; he appeared to be telling the truth. “You don’t have to hide them from me,” she said quietly. “I’ve been around scars for most of my life.” Although all of hers were on the inside.
Cade stared at the nheqeba. Her quiet words filled him with a strange emotion he couldn’t name. He frowned.
Someone else should watch over her, prevent her from escaping until the memory wipe. Why was he sitting next to the bed, calling Jeeves to bring food, concerned over her pain and blood loss, holding himself back from leaning in to inhale her scent?
Emma was a job for Jeeves or his wife Martha, or even Lucas or Gabriel. A growl threatened to erupt and he spun to get himself under control. Anger burned in his chest at the thought of any one of his brothers in this room alone with her.
He didn’t mind her questions even though no one except Gabriel had spoken to him like that in centuries. Her pain made him anxious. When was the time he last worried? Decades? A century ago? All these emotions running through his body were strange. Feelings didn’t rule him. He was calm, cool, collected. Leader of the Sept One Behns. A fighter who faced a group of Fallen without flinching.
Cade should get Martha to watch over her. This wasn’t right. He shifted back, then stilled. Of course she wasn’t reaching for him.
Emma inspected the tray then finally selected the apple. After rearranging the covers until they were underneath her chin, she began to eat. He’d call Martha in a moment.
His gaze roamed over her features. Beautiful. With a heart-shaped face. High cheekbones. Almond-shaped, golden-brown eyes. Even the white pallor to her skin and the rose flushed cheeks that screamed fever, along with the pain flashing across her face when she moved, didn’t detract from it. Her strength and determination pushed her into exquisite. Irresistible. Definitely, precious. Fear had been evident multiple times, but it didn’t dictate her emotions. She was a fighter, like him. That was . . . sexy.
There was no extra weight on her lithe body. And when his fingers ran through her hair he could imagine it surrounding him as she leaned down to kiss him, her tongue would thrust into his mouth as he pushed into her.
Cade scowled. What the heavens was the matter with him? The nheqeba lay ill in the bed and all he was thinking about was sex. Monster. Not fit for company.
Since the change no female had attracted him this much. Sex was avoided, except for the once a month ritual requirement. Maybe he simply needed to purge her from his system. Gabriel would bed her, drive her home, erase her memory, and delete her from his. But he wasn’t Gabriel. His job was to protect Followers, not bed them.
She’d studied him in length earlier. Did she find him attractive?
He probably didn’t want to know. How did I ever love you? You’re nothing but a filthy murderer. Emma would think no differently than his Sarah.
Cade would learn her thoughts soon enough during the mind sweep. She’d return to her life, where she belonged, and he’d carry on with his.
Emma took the last bite of the apple and leaned over to put the core on the tray. She let go too soon and it fell to the floor.
“I have it . . .” The words died on his lips. With the apple in his hand, he found her face mere inches away. She’d reached for it, too. Her breath brushed across his lips. Cade stopped breathing. His gaze trailed from her eyes to red lips to the pulsing vein in her neck.
With a quick tingle, his fangs began to lengthen. He jerked, covering his mouth.
Her eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
Get out. Get out now.
“Here let me take the apple.” She reached for it and his gaze latched on to the veins in her hand, blue and glorious. The room suddenly filled with noonday sunlight instead of the soft glow of the lamp. Fangs pressed against his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Leave, Caderyn.
He couldn’t move.
Emma reached for the apple, expression wary, gaze never wavering from his. Was she afraid he was going to bite?
Unlucky for her, it was a possibility.
Fingertips brushed against skin as she took the apple. It was the briefest whisper of contact, but the nerve endings on his hand tingled and spread all the way to his toes.
Eyebrows were drawn and her pert mouth puckered. Emma cocked her head to the side. “Are you going to be sick?” She paused. Bit her pretty bottom lip. “Should I call for someone?”
Her concern struck deep, but he didn’t explore it. This close to her, his fangs wouldn’t recede. Cade twisted when she extended her hand again. No. He had to leave here. Now.
Bolting to his feet, the chair banged to the floor. He crossed the room in two strides, moving too fast for her to trace. It couldn’t be helped. The bigger issue was to leave the room without plunging his fangs into her neck.
Emma called after him. Covers pushed back. The bedsprings creaked. Cade yanked the door open and slammed it behind him.
In the hallway her scent no longer filled his nostrils. His hand fell and he leaned against the wall. Why was he so out of control? This wasn’t a typical reaction to a mere Follower.
He breathed deeply. In and out. In and out. Using the skills Tesshu taught him. Still mind. Calm body. No thoughts and movement. Nothing except the breath. A few minutes later his fangs receded. Time to call Martha. Cade pushed off the wall.
The door opened slowly. The nheqeba poked her head out. Spying him, she op
ened the door wider. His eyebrows furrowed, noticing the sheen of sweat on her face and the ragged breathing as if standing was too much. “You need to get back in the room. I will have Martha, Jeeves’ wife, stay with you.”
Emma stepped from the room and leaned against the wall. “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to escape?”
“No.” Not with Sarid’s cameras installed throughout the house and the locks and alarms on all the doors and windows.
Her lips pursed. She opened her mouth.
“Don’t worry,” he said before she could speak. “I’ll still take you home when you’re well. Soon you’ll be able to forget this past day.”
Emma’s forehead wrinkled. Cade forced himself to keep still, to not go to her side. “I’ll send Martha,” This was more of a conviction for himself than her.
She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t need someone to watch over me.”
“You’re ill and may have a concussion.”
“But—”
“I won’t leave you alone in the room.”
Emma stiffened then glared. Actually narrowed her eyes, her cheeks darkening in anger. “Fine,” she replied icily then swiveled and stormed in the room.
Cade stared after her. What the heavens was he doing?
Emma walked back into her room, slash cell. When he’d left the room, her first, well her second, thought was to get the hell out of there while she had the chance. Of course, that backfired with one glance out the door.
Her first thought had been of concern. Concern! What the hell was the matter with her? Why was she a complete and utter moron? Who cares if her kidnapper was sick? The apple must’ve been laced with crack because she was certainly high.
Maybe she did have a concussion? And that was why she wasn’t running away fast enough from him and this completely awful night.
Was she using this as a way to forget her troubles at home? She covered her face with her hands. Staying here meant she didn’t have to think of layoffs or not having enough money to pay rent. Yeah, because getting attacked down an alley—don’t think about the blood, don’t think about it—is certainly a better alternative to getting laid off.
