Dare You to Run (19 page)

“Thanks for the warm welcome.” Greer spread his hands out wide as Damascus made her way down the steps, hopping once she made it onto the pavement as rocks jabbed into her bare feet.

She turned to Vitus. “Where are we?”

He cut her a sidelong glance. “Getting you off-grid takes an extreme amount of effort considering how visible you are in the media. We're in the California mountains at a friend of Greer's property.”

“Happy to be of service.” Another man appeared at the top of the stairs. He had dark hair, a little longer than she was used to seeing on a clean-cut guy. But there was no way to dismiss him as shabby, even with his hair brushing his collar. There was still order to it, and yet there was something about the longer length that hinted at just how uncivilized he enjoyed being. The suit he wore was impeccably tailored to his frame, something she knew more than a little about, but it wasn't a high-profile label. No, unless she missed her guess, the suit was custom.

He made his way down the stairs as she took him in, his eyes a startling green. “Dunn Bateson,” he introduced himself once he stood on the pavement, towering over her as Vitus helped steady her.

“But, you aren't here,” Dunn said with a shrug. “Shame. You're not boring. I think I might have enjoyed your company.”

It seemed to be his form of a compliment. He considered the mess of dried blood on her dress, and one side of his lips twitched up.

“I took out the cameras,” the driver said as Saxon opened the side door of the van. “But there are still a few folks around here, so maybe you should get her into the van before someone notices all that blood?”

Vitus was moving her toward the open van, in his normal “no arguments” hold. She made her way inside as Saxon and Vitus followed.

“Do I owe him a thank-you?” she asked as the door slid shut.

“You thank Dunn by not being tedious. We got lucky. He was already scheduled to fly back when we hit the airport. No one will suspect the flight plan,” Greer supplied from a seat in the back of the van. He'd stretched out his legs and leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed. “Long flight, I'm beat.”

“Um … thanks,” she muttered as the van peeled around in a circle that had it tipping to one side before leveling out. She ended up locking gazes with Vitus. It was surreal, the situation, the fact that she was sitting there close enough to touch him, and not a single person there to tell her not to.

No, there was just the flash of warning in his eyes that told her they were about to clash. She'd walked away from him and never given him a chance to pick apart her reasons. It had been a cold thing to do to a man like him, but something that was absolutely necessary for her to shield him from her sire. The problem was, Vitus wouldn't agree with her, and she was facing a man determined to hear her out.

And explaining was the last thing she could do.

*   *   *

The hot water stung, but Damascus stayed under the shower. Washing was a necessity, but she finally came out when she admitted that what she wanted to clean off herself wasn't stuck to her skin. It was clinging to her soul like an oil spill. The ooze was just as toxic too, trapping any little bit of hope and rolling it under the spill until it suffocated.

“Better?”

Of course Vitus was waiting for her. Damascus double-checked the towel she had wrapped around her body, earning a narrowing of his eyes. The scent of food distracted her from the retort she wanted to make. Her belly rumbled and her mouth actually started watering. She stared at the food, unable to look anywhere else. It actually felt like her stomach was so empty, the insides of it were stuck together.

“Eat.” Vitus pulled a chair out from a small desk that was in the room. “Then we'll talk.”

She'd already landed in the chair and had a spoonful of shepherd's pie shoved into her mouth when he dropped his little bomb. The mashed potatoes were steaming hot, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth, but she was too hungry to pay any attention to caution and swallowed it, feeling it burn all the way to her stomach.

“I really appreciate—”

He held up his hand and pointed at the food. She darn near clicked her heels together in response. She drew in a deep breath and lifted another spoonful of steaming meat and vegetables up before she made the mistake of engaging with him with low blood sugar.

He'd be hard enough to deal with when her blood sugar wasn't bottomed out. She polished off the pie and ended up blushing as she realized she'd eaten it like a starving dog. The thought stung because she knew what it was like to be treated like an animal by men who so easily demoted her to less-than-human status. The need to escape was becoming more like a panicked cry, echoing around inside her head until all she could do was scream it out loud.

Colonel Magnus.

That single idea was solid enough for her to get a grip and steady herself.

“How do you know they were planning to kill us?” Vitus asked, clearly done with being a gentleman.

She looked up, locking gazes with him. Vitus was reading her expression, expertly gauging her mood by the way her emotions were showing on her face. She stiffened and then chided herself for letting him see her need to keep things from him.

“They told me.” She stood up and crossed to a bed in the room. There was some clothing on it. “Do you mind?”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“Don't be presumptuous,” she informed him.

“Right,” he answered smoothly. “We're not in a relationship. You made that point pretty solid when you turned down my proposal.”

Damascus had gathered up the clothing, but Vitus moved between her and the bathroom, the look on his face making it clear he wasn't going to let her escape. Food was a necessity, modesty wasn't.

“So why”—he took a step closer—“why did you put yourself at risk to cross town and warn me?”

His gaze was trying to slice into her. Damascus rolled her lower lip in, biting it as she contemplated her response, because it needed to be good. His gaze homed in on the tattletale motion.

“You rescued me,” she said a little too fast. “I'm really not a cold-hearted bitch, but Jeb is. He saw your brother and me in a picture and it set him off. When I realized Saxon was tailing me, I had to make sure you both knew you were waving the flag in front of the bull.”

Vitus didn't reply right away, which sent a ripple of sensation down her spine. He was weighing her words against her body language. The man seemed to know her better than she knew herself, which only turned that ripple into a prickle of heat that settled in her belly, her memory offering up a crystal clear recollection of just how well he knew her flesh.

She liked the fact that he knew her body language so well while she loathed it, her own personal heaven and hell in one man.

“So, that's all that really matters,” she finished up.

He made a soft sound. “Not even close, Princess.”

She'd made the mistake of looking away when she spoke. An attempt at hiding her true feelings didn't fool him for a second. He'd closed the distance between them while she was battling with her emotions and cupped her chin.

The connection was explosive. She jumped, feeling like he'd touched her with a live wire.

His eyes widened as she reached up to push her hair out of her face. “Sorry.” She tried to flash him a smile, but it wouldn't stick. Her lips were trembling. “Guess … guess I'm a little jumpy.”

He nodded, falling back a pace and folding his arms over his chest. Just that little bit of space made her realize how much she didn't want to talk. No, she wanted to fling herself into his embrace and take solace in his arms.

She gasped and recoiled, realizing that she was thinking of using him.

“Damascus—”

“Stay there.” She held up a single finger like it was going to do any good against him. Actually, it was her only recourse, asking him to do what she wanted.

Begging, you mean …

Right, dead on actually, but she didn't have enough mental strength to debate with herself. She was crumbling, feeling her sense of will falling away bit by bit while she tried to grasp at her composure. And all that happened was that it was sliding through her fingers like fine, dry sand.

She should call it the Vitus effect. Damn her hormones.

“Come here,” he grunted, moving toward her, reading what was happing right off her face.

As usual.

“No, that's not a good idea.” She ran into the dresser. “Using you isn't right.”

“Use me?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she snapped, her temper giving her enough strength to face off with him. “That's what you charged me with last time. How did you put it? A ‘last screw'?”

He stiffened. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” she agreed. “I haven't—” She snapped her mouth shut and groaned with frustration. She felt like she was being twisted like a wet swim towel, tighter and tighter as the water was wrung out of her.

He snorted, and a moment later she was wrapped in his embrace. He turned her so that she was facing out and his chin was resting on her head.

“Neither have I.” He muttered above her head in a tone she wasn't used to hearing from him. There was a touch of uncertainty in it, something she didn't associate with him. It was hard to do so even now, with it still ringing in her ears because he was just so solid against her.

“You haven't … what?” Her brain was trying to shut down, making a clarification necessary.

“I haven't been with anyone else either.”

It was a confession, one he wasn't very happy to be making. She let out a harsh breath and tried to squirm away from him. He snorted in her hair and let her go.

“You and I have a real problem,” he said as she moved across the room, the way to the bathroom clear now.

But she stopped because she realized the last thing she wanted was to lock herself inside anywhere. In fact, she looked around, finding a window that was covered in a curtain but the glow of sunlight was still visible.

“I really want to go outside.” The need took over completely. She dropped the towel and reached for the clothing without a care for the fact that Vitus got a good look at her bare body.

“Wait.”

She looked up as he went past her on his way into the bathroom. She tugged a pair of underwear and a sports bra on before he returned.

He let out a grunt. “You need some disinfectant on those scratches.”

“I can do it.”

He held the bottle out of her reach, but she tried for it anyway, ending up against him as he kept the disinfectant out of range.

“Is it really that hard to accept help from me, Damascus?”

His tone had deepened, touching off a ripple of sensation that made her want to hum. His touch did that to her, set her body in motion like what a musician did to the strings of a guitar. Without him, she was silent. In his hands, she was a melody.

“You've already helped me,” she defended herself as she pulled back. It was hard, because it felt like she was ripping away from him. And all she craved was to touch him.

“So you want to repay me?” He sat the bottle aside and came after her. “Is that it?” He cupped her hip, somehow finding a spot that wasn't scratched.

“Why shouldn't I?” she asked as she tried to focus her thoughts on what she wanted to say in the argument she needed to formulate instead of on the way his hand felt against her skin. The sheer jolt of excitement went through her pelvis as he gripped her hip. It was bluntly sexual and thrilled her to the core.

“Because you gave me back my ring.”

She heard it now, the sting of anger in his voice. She lifted her chin and locked gazes with him, feeling the connection all the way down to her toes.

“I don't want to talk about that. It was a long time ago.”

There was nothing between them now. Her defenses were a pile of rubble at his feet, all of her intentions mere wisps of ideas long since turned to vapor in the face of his determination. He wanted to argue with her, she saw the distrust in his eyes along with something she hadn't expected—she clearly witnessed his pain.

She pulled away, wrenching her body from the comfort of his touch because the memory was too painful, like a brand that burned into her tender skin. Humiliation sank its claws into her, just like it did every time she remembered those first few hours back in her father's care.

“Of course you don't,” he muttered, clearly disgusted by her.

Well, that's what you want, right?

Or at least, it was what she had to make sure of if she was going to keep him alive. Vitus couldn't harbor anything except repulsion for her.

She nodded and pulled herself together. “You need to stop being so mad at me and listen. Focus on the situation details.”

He crossed his arms over his chest again. “Fine. I'm listening.”

“My sire … Jeb … he wants you and Saxon dead.”

“No kidding,” he mocked as he reached for the disinfectant, unscrewing the bottle and turning it over with a cotton ball over the open neck. “Princess, we know that.”

He reached out and dabbed some of the lotion onto one of the gouges on her arm. It stung, making her pull her breath in as he made his way around her body. She pressed her feet against the floor, ordering herself to stand still and not be a wimp at this late stage of the game.

“How do you know?”

She'd waited until he was twisting the cap back onto the bottle before asking the question. He looked at her for a long moment.

“How long has Tyler Martin been heading up your father's security?”

It was a test. His face had tightened as he waited to see how she'd answer him. Damascus didn't look away. “A few months, but I used to see him, Tyler, from time to time.”