Assassin's Honor (2010) Page 9
Her forehead wrinkled in a frown of pain as her eyes fluttered open. Panic lingered in her expression as she glanced around with several frantic jerks of her head. As she slowly realized she was safe for the moment, her gaze returned to his face. The recognition dawning in her eyes hardened into a cold stare.
"You."
"I said I'd be back for you, Emma. I'm going to take you someplace where you'll be safe," he said quietly.
"Safe from whom? You or the Obi Wan character who just tried to kill me."
"We would have been here sooner, but we were delayed."
"We?" Her elbow pressed into the gravel as she looked over her shoulder at Phae. Panic flashed across her face. "Oh God, more swords. Who are you people?"
She struggled up into a sitting position and shook off his attempt to help her. With her good hand, she wiped rain out of her eyes and pushed her wet hair off her face. A streak of mud marked her cheek and she looked in need of a strong shoulder to cry on. The muscles in his body that didn't ache grew hard with tension. When in the hell had he become the guild's poster boy for knights in shining armor?
"At least you're still capable of asking questions." He baited her as he remembered her earlier sarcasm about his ability to walk out of her office.
"Don't you dare mock me, you thief."
"You'll get it back." He clenched his teeth with irritation. He didn't like the way her acid accusation made him feel. "That damn coin is the least of your worries."
"Worries? Anybody ever tell you, you've got a knack for understatements?" She arched her eyebrows.
"Which is why we need to get you to safety," he snapped.
"There is no 'we' in this conversation." She blinked as rain ran down her face in rivulets. Lifting her injured hand, she peered at it in the dim light and blanched. "What I need is a hospital because I'm going to need stitches."
"I have every intention of seeing that your injuries are treated."
"I think you need to take care of yourself first before you worry about me." She nodded her head toward his chest. "I'm not the only one in need of sutures."
"Then stop arguing with me, and let's get on with it."
"Look, whatever your name is, I'm grateful you saved my life, or at least I think you did, but I--"
"Ares DeLuca."
"What?" She stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a new head.
"My name. It's Ares DeLuca."
"The god of War?" She snickered with sarcastic disbelief. "You've got to be joking."
"Hardly, although my friends find it a constant source of amusement."
"I'm not laughing," she said sharply as she tried to stand.
She failed miserably and tumbled backward into a muddy puddle. Frustration mixed with pain swept across her face as she burst into tears. He crept forward on his haunches and caught her chin in his hand.
With a tug, she tried to free herself from his grasp, but failed. If possible, her tears fell harder now. Dulce matris. He never had been able to handle a woman crying. It always reminded him of Phae and how she'd cried for months after their parents' murders. He winced.
"It'll be all right, Emma," he murmured. "I promise you. It will be all right."
"Just leave me alone," she yelled at him over the thunder rumbling above their heads. "I don't need your sympathy, okay. Just leave me alone."
Her sobs tugged at him in a way he didn't like at all. Damn it to hell. They didn't have time for this. She could protest all she wanted, but she was damn well going with him. They had more than the Praetorians to worry about now. The rogue warrior he'd just fought had changed the rules of the game, and he didn't have a clue as to what might come next.
Scooping her up into his arms, he stood upright. The action made his arm and chest protest viciously. Emma's gasp of outrage didn't surprise him, but he ignored it. Instead, he gritted his teeth against the pain streaking through his body. Merda, he couldn't remember the last time he hurt this bad. He was used to walking away with just a few scrapes and bruises. It had been a long time since he'd fought anyone with skills equaling his own.
"Il mio signore, you're injured," his sister exclaimed in a loud protest. Springing forward, she touched his hand. A familiar tingle raced up his arm and eased the pain in his upper arm. "Let me help her walk to the car."
"My lord? Fancy title for a thief." Another hiccup followed Emma's softly muttered sarcasm. He grimaced. He'd forgotten her resume listed one of her foreign languages as Italian. He sent her a dark scowl before he looked at his sister.
"I'm fine." He met the concern in Phae's eyes and shook his head. "Bring the car around to the end of the alley, Phae. And let Doc know he needs to meet us at the apartment. You're not going to be up to healing us both."
"But if the warrior--"
"Do you still sense him?" His sharp rebuke made Phae shake her head. "Then go."
Aggravation flashed across his sister's face before she sprinted away. He followed at a slower pace, his body protesting every step he took.
"Put me down." Although Emma tried to make her words a command, her sniffling marred the effort. He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"No."
"No?" Disbelief and indignation echoed in her voice.
"Do you really want to go there?"
"But I--"
"Enough," he growled. "Not another word, Emma. I'm having one hell of a night, so don't piss me off."
He watched her swallow hard as she debated whether to provoke his wrath. After a short deliberation, she nodded her acceptance of his command. At the same time, she murmured something unintelligible beneath her breath. He shot her a warning look, and she released a sigh of disgust. Satisfaction glided through him at her capitulation.
The faint whiff of whiskey drifted beneath his nose, and it created a sudden longing for a shot of bourbon. Liquor would help take the edge off his pain. Every part of him ached. Fire had replaced the numbness in his chest, while his arm throbbed from the added strain of carrying Emma. The slight healing touch Phae had performed on him had already begun to wear off.
Calling on the last of his mental reserves, he shifted Emma's soft frame so the invisible sling his mind formed beneath her legs could ease some of the strain on his shoulder. A small measure of relief pushed through him as a result. Maybe he should have let Phae help Emma get to the Durango. In the back of his head, a small voice laughed.
Without hesitating, he slammed the door on the mocking sound. He didn't want to contemplate the reason for the laughter. He just wanted to enjoy Emma's warmth melting into him. Wanted to relish the softness of her body pressing into his. All of it distracted him from his pain. And there were other things about her that helped him ignore the dull throbbing in his chest and shoulder. That plump lower lip of hers reminded him of a succulent raspberry. Dark red, just the way he liked his berries--sweet and juicy.
"I'm going mad," she whispered as if speaking to herself.
The soft statement made him ache to ease the fear and loneliness he heard in her voice. A sudden urge to kiss her fear away swept through him. Christus. He needed to watch himself around this woman. Letting himself get too close to her meant trouble. And her kind of trouble he didn't need. He grunted with pain as he reached the end of the alley.
"You're not crazy, Emma."
"Of course I'm crazy." Her head sagged down onto his uninjured shoulder. "Nobody fights with swords anymore."
"My body disagrees with you," he said with a touch of amusement.
When she didn't answer, he looked down to see her eyes closed. "Vulnerable" and "sweet" were the first two words that popped into his head. He gritted his teeth at the emotion she aroused in him. Where the hell was Phae?
The sound of a car wheeling sharply around the corner caught his ear. Turning his head, he watched as the Durango stopped dead on a dime in front of him. Phae threw the car into park before she got out to open the rear passenger door for him. As he set Emma down on the seat, her eyes fluttered open.
The slurred words made him freeze. Damn, but the woman knew how to mess with his head. He stared down at her pale features illuminated by the streetlight a short distance away. Despite the pain and shock mirrored in her glazed expression, he could still see the feisty woman he'd met earlier. With a nod, he pulled away from her.
"We'll talk about it later."
Shutting the door of the car, he watched as she leaned her head back onto the seat and closed her eyes again. Phae released a soft sound of annoyance.
"I suppose it's a good thing she was drinking. Helps control the pain level."
"I'm going to sit in the back with her."
"Fine."
Her clipped response tugged a frown to his mouth, but he didn't reply. Instead, he circled the car to climb into the backseat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so drained. No, not drained. Worried. Everything in his body clamored for something he couldn't or didn't want to name. It clawed at him and challenged every lucid thought he possessed. He reassured himself that it was just the pain. He'd be fine once Doc had worked his magic and then he'd sleep. Just a few hours' sleep and he'd be back to normal. Soft laughter echoed in the back of his head once more. Something told him normal had ceased to exist.
HALF-DRUNK and exhausted, Emma jerked awake as the SUV streaked along the highway. Eyes closed, Ares sat next to her with his head reclined against his headrest. When he'd set her down in the backseat of the car, the woman with him had gently touched the back of her injured hand.
A small electric shock had raced across her skin, and in seconds, the pain in her hand had lessened. Even her ankle didn't hurt as badly. When he and the woman had argued in the alley, she remembered him mentioning something about healing. Odds were the woman had some strange power, just like Ares. But at the moment, Emma didn't feel like asking questions or placing bets. She'd had more than enough excitement for one night. She just wanted a doctor to stitch up her hand and give her enough Darvocet to keep her unconscious for a week. Slowly, her head drooped again.
Minutes later, she jerked awake, drawing in a sharp breath. Oh God, they were on Lower Wacker Drive. The three-tiered roadway was open in different spots along its two miles of pavement, but they'd entered the subterranean portion. During the day, business traffic kept the area relatively safe. But at this hour of the night it was a whole new ball game, and the cretins cruising the road would have the home field advantage.
With its concrete pillars and walls, the nineteen-twenties structure had a spooky air about it. It reminded her of a dimly lit ancient tomb with the yellow lighting casting a sickly hue on the dingy concrete walls. Throughout the day and into the early evening hours the loading docks servicing the buildings aboveground bustled with activity.
Now, they were closed off to the world, their gray steel doors projecting a sense of stern sentinels. In some ways, they looked like giant guardians, but for some reason she couldn't help but think they were keeping something in rather than out. Any minute now, she expected to see one of those metal doors give way beneath the weight of some dark creature from a childhood nightmare. She uttered a soft sound of disgust.
When in the hell had she suddenly turned into a wuss? She'd lived in the desert with deadly snakes, reluctantly crawled into holes where the earth could easily have caved in on top of her. She'd survived the brutal murders of her parents and her mentor, all the while knowing deep down inside someone might come after her as well. Tonight's events shouldn't have been all that surprising. Although two men fighting with swords had been a bit over the top.
She still wasn't sure she could trust Ares, but then he hadn't given her a choice in the matter. He'd simply picked her up as though she were a discarded rag doll he'd found and decided to keep. He had to be in phenomenal physical condition to carry her as if she were a featherweight--she knew different.
And he'd done it in spite of his injuries. His chest wound had been the only injury she'd seen while in the alley. She hadn't realized until he sat next to her in the car that his arm also had an ugly gash. The wounds weren't life threatening, but they had to hurt like hell. The man had to have the pain tolerance of a bull because he hadn't protested a single time.
Except for his one or two grunts of pain when he'd climbed into the SUV, he'd been stoic about his injuries. She admired his self-control. Compared to him, she'd been a big baby. Still, and it irked her to admit it, his caveman behavior had been more than just a little exciting.
She'd never had a man carry her like that before. It made her feel exceedingly feminine, sexy even--something she rarely felt. Would he be as commanding in the bedroom? Her insides clenched as she remembered the way he'd kissed her earlier. She winced. Lord, the sooner she put some distance between her and this man, the better. She darted a glance in his direction.
With his eyes closed, Emma had the opportunity to study his profile without him scrutinizing her in return. Earlier this evening, she'd labeled him a beautiful, blond Lucifer. Now she realized her mistake.
His features were a little too rugged to qualify him as truly beautiful. But his face fostered the image of strength and power. He had the face of a solider. No, a warrior. He exuded the aura of a battle-weary fighter who knew there were more skirmishes ahead. Okay, now she was really getting fanciful. For all she knew, the man could be a dangerous criminal. She lightly bit down on her lip. That might be going a bit too far. After all, how many felons rescued damsels in distress? But if her vision was anything to go on, he was more than capable of killing, which definitely made him hazardous to one's health.
And why in the world did he fight with a sword? Didn't he know what a gun was? Not that she wanted to encourage him or anything, but sword fighting? That belonged in the distant past, not in present-day Chicago. Then there was the odd way he spoke Italian. If you could call it that. She knew her Latin was rusty, but she'd never heard the dead language mixed in with any other Italian dialect before or any other romance linguistics for that matter. It was as if he were speaking an undiscovered language.
Her attention returned to the man beside her. Lines of tension furrowed his forehead, and his sensuous mouth had thinned to a straight line. He might not be complaining, but he'd obviously reached his pain threshold. She could see it in the drawn corners of his mouth. Impulse almost overrode common sense as she started to reach out and soothe the lines of pain from his face. At that precise moment, he stirred as if aware of her gaze.
The idea of having those dark, mysterious blue eyes staring into hers again made her avert her gaze quickly. No doubt about it. She definitely needed to give this guy a wide berth. She shivered as the Durango slowed down and veered off onto one of the service lanes.
The vehicle made a sharp right then halted in front of a loading dock door. Rolling down her window, the woman leaned out and pressed her thumb on a small digital screen attached to a steel pole. A moment later, the garage door rolled up. Emma couldn't help being impressed by the security measure, but it intimidated her as well. Of course, Ares had been doing that since she first met him a few hours ago.
The brightly lit garage made her blink. The weighty feel of Wacker Drive's concrete walls and ceiling gave way to an environment that almost made her believe it was daylight. A small group of vehicles lined one wall, and the woman pulled into a parking space next to a black Bravada. Behind them the garage door rumbled shut.
"If I'm any judge of Phae's abilities, I think you'll be able to limp your way into the elevator," Ares said.
Low and husky, his voice made her pulse rate skip along like a pebble across a still pond. More to the point, the sound might easily melt her to the bone if she let it. Swallowing her trepidation, she turned to meet his compelling gaze. She couldn't read his expression, but he seemed amused. He confirmed it for her.
"Unless, of course, you'd prefer I carry you."
He leaned into her as he spoke, the scent of him raw and all male. The pounding
rhythm of her heart increased, and her mouth went dry. God, the man gave new meaning to the word "sexy." She shook her head as she scooted away from him and exited the car. Her movements cautious, she found she could limp her way around the car door, just as Ares had said. What sort of abilities did the woman named Phae have?
No one spoke as he and the woman got out of the SUV. Closing the door behind her, Phae sent Emma a censorious look before turning away. Could jealousy be the root cause of the woman's antipathy? Had Ares's attention toward her irritated the woman? Phae obviously didn't want her here. She sighed. The woman didn't seem to understand she wasn't happy about being here either. An emergency room might be a chaotic atmosphere, but it would at least be somewhat normal.
The thought of doctors made her look down at the cut on the palm of her hand and she frowned. The length of the gash seemed smaller than she remembered and the pain had become a quiet throb. Not to mention her ankle didn't hurt anywhere near as badly as when Ares had carried her to the car.