Passion Awakened (2 page)

Chapter Two

Shayla clasped her throat and swallowed hard. She could
swear the cool edge of the blade still kissed her skin. On shaky legs she
reversed her steps, watching the fight between the large, intimidating man with
ebony hair and the attacker unfold, until her rear bumped the cabin’s door.

She should get her ass inside.

But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away and make it
happen.

Mesmerized, she watched as the bleeding man who’d saved her
life lunged for the blond with the knife.

“Enjoy your stay,” the thinner man uttered, then
poof!
Shayla’s breath hitched. He was gone. Just like that, vanished. She blinked and
shook her head. Her mind refusing to accept the last few minutes of her life.
Shayla stared once more at the spot where the guy with the blade had stood. The
man who remained slowly revolved and faced her. Even from a distance his vivid
blue gaze captivated her, held her immobile. She could only imagine what the
effect would be up close. A shiver ran down her spine.

Mr. Blue Eyes pivoted and headed for the tree line, jerking
her back to reality. Shayla slid her palm up and shoved her jaw shut. Dang, she
had to have looked like a freaking idiot standing there with her mouth agape.
But how often did one get accosted on their doorstep by a knife-wielding
lunatic who could vanish in thin air? Her stomach rebelled. God, was she going
to be sick?

With a backpack in hand, the stranger appeared from the
cover of the trees and headed toward the cabin. On reflex, Shayla dropped her
hand onto the doorknob. She had no idea what the heck she’d witnessed, and even
though he’d saved her life, he wasn’t getting inside.

At the foot of the steps, he lowered his bag as if she
weren’t there, then proceeded to unzip the diagonal closure to his jacket.

“What’s going on?” Shayla finally managed to blurt out. “How
did he do that?”

He glanced up in acknowledgment, long, thick obsidian lashes
lifting, but carried on with his task in silence. Eyes narrowed, the only sign
the action caused him any discomfort, he pulled his injured arm free from the
black leather. Underneath, he wore a thin white t-shirt. The short sleeves
stretched taut over defined biceps, the right one soaked in blood.

“Hey!” she yelled and eased forward. “I’m right here.” She
waved a hand, the “heeelllo” unspoken but very much implied. “After what he
just tried to do to me, I deserve…” The afternoon sun highlighted something
other than blood dripping from his upper arm, snagging her attention. The wound
lay open, and blood mixed with a white substance trailed from the deep gash.
“Oh God…” Shayla inched down two steps, taking herself in for a closer look.
“You’re really hurt.”

She reached forward, but before she could make contact, he
yanked his arm away.

“It’s nothing,” he snapped, his voice deep and commanding.
The tone made it clear she needed to mind her own business. Good luck with
that. He was on her property, and his buddy had been the one to cross that line
with a knife to her throat.

“It most certainly isn’t nothing.” She shook her head and
moved closer whether he liked it or not. “It looks like he ripped something
open on your biceps.” Shayla grasped his shoulder to turn him. “Is that muscle?
You’re going to need a doctor.”

He shrugged, the action knocking her away. “No. It’s not
muscle. And no, I don’t need a doctor.”

“Fine.” She huffed. “You don’t want my help. Good.” She
tossed up her hands in surrender, wheeled about, and marched back up the steps.
“You don’t want to answer my questions. I’m fine with that too. But the police
won’t be so easygoing.” Shayla bent and recovered her laptop from the porch
boards then reached for the door.

“I can’t allow you to notify your police.” The deep rumble
of a voice at her ear nearly had her jumping out of her skin. She whirled
around. When had he climbed the steps?

“Why?” What would he do to her if she did? Was he going to
finish the job the other guy started? She breathed deep through her nostrils.
Stay
calm, Shayla. You can’t let him see your fear.
“I was attacked. Held at
knifepoint. And I am going to call the police unless you have a very good
reason why I shouldn’t.”

“And what will you tell them?” He arched a brow and one
corner of his mouth quirked, drawing her attention.

Her heart skipped.

A five o’clock shadow the color of kohl surrounded full lips
so dang perfectly etched they should be a sin to possess. She blinked, forcing
herself to focus on what he was saying.

“That a man from six hundred years in the future warped back
in time, held you hostage, stole my way home, then vanished from your lawn
without a trace?”

Shayla’s mind grappled for a hold on his words. “The
future…” Her gaze collided with his. No teasing hint of a smile hid in those
blue depths. “You’re joking.”

“No. I rarely joke.”

She bet that was the truth. The man had dead-serious tough
guy stamped all over him. He possessed the looks and attitude. The perfect
alpha badass for one of her novels.

“Y-you’re saying the guy who had the knife at my throat,
when he disappeared, he…”

“Traveled somewhere either forward or backward in time and
has left me stranded,” he added, finishing her thought for her, his face hard,
unshakable.

“That’s impossible.” She shook her head.

“I rarely lie either.” The deadpan statement and matching
expression had her doubting her sanity. Because she almost believed him.

“Rarely?” She hit him with a don’t-fuck-with-me glare.

“Rarely. And this isn’t one of those times.” He retreated
one step, giving Shayla room to breathe and gather her thoughts. The proximity
of the man, his intense larger-than-life presence was scrambling her ability to
think.

“There’s no reason to hide the truth from you, or make up
some deception. The reaction you had to my admission is the same you would
receive from anyone you attempted to reveal the details to from this
afternoon.” He cocked his head, studying her. “But I can’t risk the chance of
being arrested and detained in one of your holding cells. When a locater team
comes for me, they don’t need that complication. I have to return as soon as
possible to prevent any contamination in your time period.” He glanced away,
then assessed the injury to his biceps, his fingertips going to the edge of the
wound before continuing. “And for certain other personal reasons, my retrieval
must be expedited.”

“So what year are you from?”
Good Lord.
She couldn’t
believe the question had even come from her mouth. Was she truly believing all
this?

His gaze flicked up. “The year 2625.” He dropped his hand,
then straightened. “My name is Creed Donovan. I’m a Sustain drug enforcer for
the Federation of Americas.”

Shayla scoffed. She couldn’t help it. The entire delivery
was so perfectly rehearsed and executed. “You say that as if you believe it
yourself.”

“And your name would be?”

Not one flinch. Her accusation should have ruffled his
feathers.

Baffling.

This Creed Donovan was unlike anyone she’d ever met. His
story said he was crazy, but the way he responded, his actions, didn’t match
the insanity of his pitch.

“Shayla Murphy,” she said on a frustrated sigh. “The other
guy who attacked me, do you think he’ll be back? Do I have anything to worry
about?”

He shook his head. “Highly unlikely. He’s not a violent
person. Thomas wanted to escape me, not injure you. Now that he’s obtained his
goal, he won’t be back.”

“Well…” With a puff of air, she blew the few loose strands
of hair away from her eyes. “
That
at least is reassuring.”

“So, as you see, there is no need for your police.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hmm…”

“You’re not injured. Your property is not damaged, and your
assailant is very long gone, not to return.”

“But
you
are injured.” Shayla stared at his
bloodstained t-shirt.

Creed’s gaze darted between his arm and her. “There is
nothing your law officials can do to help me with this. Only returning to my
time will resolve the situation.”

“It’s a deep cut. I think we can help you here. You just
need a few stitches.” She stepped forward and reached out. Creed jerked back.
Shayla dropped her hand.
Wow. Edgy much?
He acted as if she were going
to burn him with her touch. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“Like I said. There’s nothing anyone here can do to help.”

“Okay,” she drawled and backed toward the door. Shayla
gripped the knob and added, “I’m going inside now, and it’s time for you to
gather your things,” she indicated his backpack with a nod of her head and a
wriggle of her finger, “and leave. The main road is a couple of miles in that
direction.” Shayla pointed in the vicinity of the dirt drive where her faded
Grand Cherokee sat.

“No police?”

“No police. You have my word.” As long as nothing else went
down, she didn’t have to call the cops.

“Thank you.”

Even through all that steely attitude, she’d detected the
relief in his voice. And as much as she hated to admit it, the effect warmed
her. “You’re welcome.” Without turning her back, Shayla slipped inside then
locked the door. A long breath she had no idea she’d been holding escaped her
lungs. “Oh my God,” she mumbled to the empty one-bedroom cabin. A
post-adrenaline tremble washed over her. Shayla headed for her desk in front of
the bay window that faced the front lawn and returned her laptop. From her
vantage point, she watched as Creed bandaged his wound then shoved everything
else back inside his pack.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead he pulled something secured in what appeared to be a
clear plastic wrapper from the front pocket of his bag and began to eat. Her
hands went to her hips. Just how long did he plan to camp out there?

* * * * *

Shayla rolled over and stared at the silvery streaks of
moonlight bathing the wood beams of her bedroom’s ceiling. Sleep had played
hide and seek with her for most of the night. It had been hours since she’d
last heard or seen anything of her unexpected visitor. But the memory of the
day’s earlier event made the idea of a peaceful night’s rest a real joke.

One more check outside. That’s all she needed, and maybe she
could get some shuteye.

On bare feet, Shayla padded into the living room and over to
the front window. She scanned the front yard for any unfamiliar shadows,
movement or sounds.

Nothing.

Good. He was gone. She sighed. Yeah. That was a good thing.
Absently, she rubbed her midsection. Then why did the tiniest part of her
feel…disappointed?

Because he was kind of hot. Shayla groaned.

He was fascinating. Crazy, but fascinating.

And he was hot.
She rolled her eyes, mocking herself.
Maybe she was the one who needed a therapist. A messed-up-in-the-head man was
not what she needed in her life after her last disastrous relationship. Her
precious three-year-old little girl, Maddie, was the only positive and
beautiful thing that came from those two years.

Shayla rotated on her heels, then froze when a dark form on
the porch caught her attention. She peered through the glass, trying to make
out exactly what she was seeing. What the…?

Creed.

He was curled up in a sleeping bag at the far end. But there
was no mistaking that dark head of hair buzzed into a military cut.

A hot flash of anger swept through her and she stomped for
the door. Then it hit her. Creed really must not have anywhere to go. She
dropped her hand away from the knob and her head fell back between her
shoulders. Why else would he choose to sleep on her porch when she’d ordered
him to leave? He hadn’t tried to break in, touch her, or even make a sound. She
really had thought he’d left. Despite her misgivings, her heart went out to
him. She couldn’t stand to see anyone cold, hungry or hurt. And he probably
suffered from all three. Shayla moved back to the pane and took another hard
look. Unmoving, as still as the night and fast asleep. She tugged on her bottom
lip with her teeth, then rechecked all the windows and door locks. Everything
remained secure.

She had a soft heart, but her mama hadn’t raised a fool.

Morning came around way too quickly. Shayla blinked rapidly
and groaned from the bright rays of sunshine jerking her back into
consciousness. Coffee. The thought of the hot brew was the only thing pulling
her from her covers. That and her deadline’s fast approach. The reason she’d
left Maddie at her mother’s and gone up to the family cabin for some
undisturbed marathon writing. Time away had been great for her muse. Well,
until yesterday’s adventure. On that thought, Shayla hit the coffeepot’s
on
switch, then returned to the set of living room windows to check on her
unexpected porch guest.

In the same spot she’d found him in last night, Creed was
upright, eating another one of those plastic-wrapped bars. It may have been her
imagination, but his color seemed a little more pale than yesterday. From the
stabbing and sleeping outside, could he be coming down with an infection? Dang
it! He was not going to sit out there and die on her porch.

Shayla unlocked the door and stepped halfway onto the
decking. “You stayed out here all night.” Creed stopped mid-chew and looked up.

“I apologize for the awkward situation, but I have to remain
in the close vicinity of my last coordinates so that a retrieval team can
locate me as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh. I see.” Shayla nodded. He was sticking to his
story. She gave him props for that. Shayla eased a bit closer, assessing him
from behind an old wooden rocking chair. Creed acted like a man perfectly
healthy, enjoying his breakfast and the cool mountain morning. But dark shadows
lurked under his eyes, and his complexion—a shade whiter beneath his now
two-day stubble said otherwise.