“Then why do you wear them?”
“Because before…” He looked annoyed for some reason, as if he didn’t want to share with me, or maybe he couldn’t be bothered. “Before I became a Protector, I needed them. I got used to them.”
Before? I figured he’d been born to this sort of lifestyle. He lifted my arm and gently swiped at the blood rolling down my side. Rippling pain pulsed through me with every touch. I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry out. He thought I was some pansy in need of protection; I wasn’t about to prove him right. My body grew hot, sweat beaded across my forehead. I could take this without saying a word, I would.
But there was pain…so much pain. And blood. Oh my God, there was so much blood, the mere smell of it made me dizzy.
“Owen.” My muscles became limp, my lashes drifting toward my cheekbones. I could feel the blood dripping from my side, to my thighs, to the countertop. Drip. Drip. Drip. Life fading from my body.
“Emma, stay with me, just a moment longer.”
His voice was like a rope in a sea of turbulence. He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me upright. “Look at me,” he demanded.
I forced my gaze to his. Our eyes met, held. His strength gave me courage; his warmth swept through my body and instantly the pain faded, receding back into the hell from which it came. Bemused, I blinked my eyes wide; the world was vivid once more. What the heck had happened? I lowered my gaze to Owen’s hand as he stuck the needle through my skin. Although I couldn’t feel the needle pierce my side, I sucked in a sharp breath all the same.
He glanced up. “Don’t move.”
I held completely still, horrified by the sight of my bloody skin being stitched back together, as if he mended a doll.
Owen tightened his arm around my waist, probably worried I’d bolt. “Do you feel anything?”
I shook my head. My body was numb. Owen’s long fingers pulled the needle through my skin, then tucked it back into my side over and over in tiny stitches. Lord, I couldn’t look away, that needle was mesmerizing. Those ugly black strings crisscrossing my side made me look like some sort of Frankenstein. Why didn’t it hurt?
“You were lucky,” he said softly, his breath warm across my neck. “I should’ve gotten there sooner.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, although why I felt the need to placate him, I didn’t fully understand. Heck, I hadn’t had these problems until he’d arrived. Maybe it was his fault.
“You can’t run off anymore.” He tucked the needle back into my skin, continuing his neat row of stitches, as if he’d done this many times before. “They’ve found you. I don’t know how, but somehow they know who you are. Your powers are growing, spreading. They’ll only keep coming now.”
I shivered at the thought. “Why?”
He pulled away from me and swiped at his damp forehead with the back of his hand. It was only then that I noticed he was sweating. He quickly wrapped his arm around my waist again, holding me close to his chest so I couldn’t move.
“They’re demons. They kill other supernatural beings for their energy, their power.” He finally finished the last stitch. The dark line was ugly, but would hold. The blood had tapered off to a seeping wound. But as he reached into his bag for a bandage, I noticed something odd. His fingers were trembling.
I jerked my gaze to his face, so close, I could see the gold flecks in his green eyes. “Owen, are you all right?”
He nodded, his jaw set. When he didn’t meet my gaze, I knew something was wrong. He was too pale, sweat beading across his forehead almost as if he were in pain. Lord, was he one of those guys who couldn’t handle a little blood? Or was it more?
“What’s wrong?” I demanded. Had the demon swiped at him while I hadn’t noticed? “Where are you hurt?”
I reached for him.
“Hold still,” he snapped.
I froze while he tied off the stitches, waiting impatiently for him to finish. I felt like a million bucks, but he looked like total crap. He dropped his arms to his side but didn’t step back. For a long moment we just stood there, so close I could feel his heat. So close that his musky scent swirled around me, ocean, pine forests…him. Still he didn’t move, almost as if he was trying to regain his nerve.
“Are you done?” I finally whispered, my breath stirring a loose lock that had fallen across his temple.
He nodded, closing the bag.
“Good, now tell me what the heck just happened. What’d you do to me?”
I should have felt something…shock, fear, anger, pain…mostly pain.
“Merely cleaned and stitched the wound.” He lifted his gaze and finally met mine. “Now, do you mind if I wash up?”
I didn’t notice until that moment that my blood covered his hands and vest. He started to turn. My hand brushed his side as I reached out. I meant to demand answers, but I didn’t miss the grimace that crossed his face at my touch. Confused, I frowned. Something wasn’t right here.
“Wait a minute,” I demanded, jumping from the counter. He didn’t have time to pull away before I jerked up his shirt. A nasty red line ran the length of his right side, directly over his muscled stomach and in the exact spot where I’d been injured. I stared at that injury mutely, unable to understand.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze to him. “What did you do?”
“My job.” He reached around me and tossed his medical supplies into the bag.
I latched on to his arm, in no mood for half answers. “What did you do? Answer me!”
“It’s my job to protect you,” he said softly, still refusing to meet my gaze. “My job to make sure you never suffer. The demon poison would have killed you.”
“What does that mean?”
He slammed his hands down hard on the countertop, leaving behind bloody prints, and startling me. “Damn it, Emma, can’t you just let it go?”
I glared at him. “No!”
“It was my fault for not being here.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, smearing my blood across his skin. “Therefore I took your pain, and nothing comes without a price. At least not in our world.”
I shook my head, stunned. “No.” I stepped closer to him, so close my body pressed intimately to his. My heart hammered madly, my skin practically tingling with an odd need to touch this man. He blamed himself for my injury; he’d taken my pain so I hadn’t felt anything, while he…he had suffered. He wasn’t merely my Protector, he was more. So much more.
“You didn’t have to do that, did you?”
He lifted his head, our gazes clashing. In that moment, I saw something…saw, perhaps, the truth. In some inexplicable way he cared about me. He cared. I knew the truth, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
I didn’t know why I stood on tiptoes, couldn’t explain why I leaned into him. I only knew that this guy, this virtual stranger, had done more for me than anyone ever had in my entire life. For once, someone had taken care of me. And so while my apartment shook with thunder, while my heart hammered and my instincts told me to run, I kissed him. I leaned into his hard body, cupped the sides of his face, and pressed my lips to his firm mouth.
I kissed him.
He didn’t respond at first, merely stood there with his arms at his sides. A stoic soldier fighting a battle of wills. And for a brief moment, I thought about pulling away. It was only supposed to be a quick kiss, a thank-you kiss. But then he touched me. With soft, gentle hands, he cupped the sides of my face and tilted my head back, deepening the kiss.
I sighed, resting my palms on his hard chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin through the thin material of his shirt. The entire world disappeared and I was caught in a warm cocoon that made me hum for more. Just when it was getting good, Owen tore his mouth from mine.
At first we didn’t move, merely stood there staring at each other in confusion and shock. Owen had just kissed me, or maybe I’d kissed him. I couldn’t quite remember. All I knew was that it had been the most stunning kiss I’d ever received. I felt as if he’d branded me some
how, as if things would never be the same.
“No.” He lifted his hands, warding me off. “We can’t.”
“I didn’t—”
“We can’t.” He stepped back, his gaze intense. “I’m your Protector, Emma. Do not make the mistake of thinking I helped you because I feel some sort of affection.”
His words were like a slap to my face. My shock turned to anger. Way to ruin the mood. I would have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been so stunned. Jerk. How dare he.
“I’m merely doing my job.” He turned, heading toward the bathroom. “Pack a suitcase. We’re going to France.”
“Owen, you can’t just…”
He disappeared into the small room, closing the door behind him and putting an end to our discussion, at least for now. If he thought he was going to control me, he’d realize soon enough that no one told me what to do.
Chapter 8
Owen
I’d kissed her.
Yeah, she’d started it, probably out of some sense of gratitude. But I sure as hell had kissed her back. And I’d liked it. More than liked it. And that made me nervous. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to her. I wasn’t supposed to be consumed by thoughts of Emma. But she’d looked so damn vulnerable, injured and covered in blood. I couldn’t help myself.
“Midnight,” Emma said, coming out of her bedroom and dropping the phone on the counter where only earlier that afternoon she’d been sitting while I stitched her side. My own body still ached from the pain, but I knew I’d do it all over again. I couldn’t, wouldn’t see her suffer. The thought made me ill…even furious, for some reason.
“The soonest we can get out of here is midnight.”
I glanced at the black cat clock hanging on the kitchen wall and frowned. Five hours. Damn it all, we couldn’t wait that long. Dare I contact the Consulate? I raked my hands through my hair and paced the living room. No, I hadn’t heard from Jotham yet, and the truth was I didn’t bloody trust them. Until I knew for sure who I could rely upon, I couldn’t contact them. Not yet. Not until I heard if Jotham had uncovered anything.
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter, watching me warily. “So, why France?”
Her petite features belied a seasoned warrior. Hell, she’d killed that demon in the cemetery without a second thought. Killed it as if she’d been hunting Underworldly beasts her entire life. How could anyone so lovely and innocent looking be so deadly?
“We’re based in France.”
The corners of her lips lifted into a smirk that was fast becoming her signature look. “The country of love, of course. And who exactly is we? Are you saying there’s more than one of you? More than one of me?”
“Yes.”
She grew annoyed. I could see it in the flash of her eyes, in the stiff stance of her body, and I could sense it in her aura. Why she was angry, I wasn’t sure. But then, that wasn’t unusual where she was concerned.
“Well then, great!” She threw her arms wide. “If there are other people with my ability, you don’t need me.”
I’d walked into that one. Exhausted for the first time since gaining my powers, I collapsed onto the sofa. “You can’t just ignore what you are. Besides, there aren’t that many of you.”
She frowned. “How many?”
I shrugged, glancing at the windows. I was growing to appreciate her flat, or apartment, as she called it. The wide, sweeping windows that overlooked the town, and the lake in the distance. The exposed walls and history that pulsed in the very building. I could understand why she lived here. I felt comfortable in this place, almost at home, and I’d never felt at home anywhere.
“And you?” she said. “What about you? How’d you become a Protector?” I heard the curiosity in her voice and smiled. She couldn’t quite help herself; she was a natural detective. How the hell would she fit in with the Consulate? My smile fell. They didn’t appreciate questions; I knew firsthand.
“Like you, I didn’t have a choice.”
“What do you mean?”
So many questions. This was getting way too personal, way too fast. “The fates chose me. We need to pack. One suitcase. We can talk about whatever you want on the plane.” I started toward her bedroom, intent on helping, intent on changing the subject. Hell, Clarice hadn’t been interested in anything personal.
“And you expect me to just move to France? Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, frustrated with my answer. “Owen, I wasn’t raised for this. I don’t know what I’m doing. Besides, I have to take care of Lizzie.”
“I wasn’t raised for this either.” I glanced back at her. She was surprised, but then so was I. Sharing my childhood wasn’t exactly what I’d been planning. I didn’t talk about it often. Or ever. “I was a young lad when they came for me, and frankly it was a relief. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”
“I’m not like you. I’m not ready for this, any of it.”
“All the more reason for you to go to France. You can’t be alone here with abilities you don’t understand, completely unprotected. And they won’t leave you alone, Emma, no matter how much you ignore them.”
She threw her arms wide. “I have a job! I have clients.”
“Yes.” I released a harsh laugh. “Ruining love for all. How noble.”
Her face flushed, those brilliant eyes flashing. “I don’t ruin love, love ruins my clients.”
Just like that, my anger fled. Bloody hell, she was more screwed up than me. She really believed that the idea of true love was some evil force out to destroy people. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Maybe I do.” She tilted her chin high, daring me to argue. “If my mother hadn’t been so consumed by my father, she wouldn’t have sunk into a depression after he died, forcing me take care of Lizzie and the bills.”
She tried so hard to be strong and independent, but I could sense the vulnerability beneath that hard shell. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to be alone, that I was here to help. It was my job; I wouldn’t leave her. I wanted to tell her that someday she could know love. Real love. But I couldn’t because it wasn’t true. At least not for her. “Emma…”
The doorknob rattled, and sadly I think we were both somewhat relieved. She was a client, merely a client, I had to remind myself. Yeah, I was here to protect her. But she had to work out her personal issues on her own. I was no one’s psychologist.
I focused on the hall outside, listening to the footsteps. “More than one person. Are you expecting someone?” I wasn’t worried, for they were obviously human, and by the excited pitch of their voices female.
The door opened and Lizzie barreled inside. Whereas Emma walked quietly, almost invisibly, Lizzie burst into a room, all dazzling color and positive energy. “Emma! Movie club!”
I slid her a glance. “Movie club?”
“Crap.” She raked her hands through her hair. “My sister brings her friends over once a week. She thinks I need to socialize more.”
A handful of teenage girls stumbled into the room, all bright and smiling, all loud and all like Lizzie. God, no wonder why Emma hated movie night. “Get rid of them.”
She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Screw you.”
Make a note: Do not demand anything of Emma. And she had said reverse psychology went out years ago. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to tell her what I really thought. Spiteful witch.
Emma threw her arms wide and smiled. “Hello, Sis, come on in.”
I bit back my growl. Hell, she was impossible. Had I actually wanted to kiss her? The only thing I wanted to do now was shake some bloody sense into her head. Not only would she be putting herself in danger, but her sister’s friends as well. She obviously still didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.
“Emma, can we talk?” I asked as five girls filed into the small apartment, their curious gazes immediately going to me. Wonderful,
just bleeding wonderful. I was supposed to be inconspicuous. So much for blending in.
“Why?” She smiled, daring me to object. “We have plenty of time until we leave. Why not socialize?”
Socialize. Because I hated socializing. And after becoming a Protector, I hadn’t needed to worry about socializing. My life was spent in training, just as I preferred it. Guess Emma and I had something in common.
“Hey, are we interrupting?” Lizzie watched me curiously. “Have you decided to take Aunt Clarice’s gift?”
By the way her voice came out strained and tight, I knew Emma had told her sister the truth. And suddenly this little party made sense. Lizzie was freaked out, and assumed if we had a crowd, a demon was less likely to visit. Or maybe she was more worried about me doing damage.
“What gift?” a short, curvy girl asked.
Emma held up her hands, palms out. “No, it’s not—”
“Emma!” A tall girl with brilliant red hair latched on to Emma’s arm. “What’d you get?”
“Something good, I hope,” a blonde interrupted, setting a bag of food on the countertop.
“Come on, tell us!” the curvy girl demanded.
“Well…” Emma glanced at me, reluctance in her gaze. I crossed my arms over my chest and quirked a brow. Served her right. I wasn’t about to come to her rescue. “A cottage in France.”
“No way!” Lizzie yelled, showing true surprise.
Well, at least she didn’t mention the important thing, I thought sarcastically.
“Dang it, you’ve got to share!”
“It’s uninhabitable,” I interrupted, lying.
They all turned to look at me as if I’d just taken away their chances at a happily ever after. Seriously, this was getting out of hand. I couldn’t have a group of teenage girls coming to visit her in France. We needed to go into seclusion, at least for a while. Until I uncovered the truth.
“I’ll start the salad.” Emma sent me a glare as she brushed past me, headed into the small kitchen. I read the message there…Don’t do anything weird.
“I’ll help.” Lizzie scurried after her sister. I knew exactly what she was going to do, and when she lowered her voice to whisper upon reaching Emma, she confirmed my suspicion. “What the heck’s going on?”