had happened – the loss of her bagged blood, being attacked and her own vicious retribution – began to set in. She didn’t see the beautiful house in front of her, or the thick, green hedges rioting with dozens of tiny white flowers that framed that house.
She saw nothing, was nothing. She simply floated.
Which was probably why when someone rapped on the driver’s window she let out a piercing scream.
“Hey.” Santos lifted his hands up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’ve been sitting there for awhile. Are you okay?”
She would be eventually, but she couldn’t discount that the sight of him, standing there all big and strong – and suddenly so very safe – made her want to tear up in relief. When she only continued to sit there, staring at him, his faced creased into lines of concern. He reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. “Open the door, Ria.”
Acting on his bidding, she dropped the hand she hadn’t known she’d curved around her throat when she’d screamed, and a red smear on her palm caught her eye. “I’m still bleeding.”
A moment of silence passed before Santos said in a low, slow tone, “Open the door right now, Ria, before I rip it off its fucking hinges.”
Her eyes jerked back to his, to see they’d gone cold and flat, yet fire snapped in the twin depths. Fire and determination.
As a shifter, he could do it too, she thought, and probably would. Then Chris would be pissed.
Her boss would also have a fit if she got blood on anything. A vague memory of cleaning up some and donning her jacket to cover the blood which had dripped onto her shirt seeped into her mind. Cleanliness suddenly a priority, she reached up and snatched a tissue from the little plastic container on the passenger side visor to wipe the blood off her hand.
“Now, Ria.”
As soon as the lock snicked open, Santos wrenched the door wide. “What happened?”
Strangely numb, Ria switched off the engine that was still running and picked up her purse, placing the keys inside. “Our luggage came in. Chris sent me to go pick them up.”
She moved to get out, but Santos blocked her way. “Why is your neck bleeding?” He slid aside the edge of her jacket and sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ, woman. There’s blood all over your shirt.”
She dropped her gaze to see what he was talking about. Dried blood coated the top left side of her shirt. A resigned sigh escaped. “Damn. I liked this top.”
Though the wound barely bled, the skin slowly knitting back together, there was no hiding the fact something bad had happened.
Santos reached out a finger and lifted her chin up and over to peer at her neck. “What. Happened?”
“Nothing.” A muttered response.
His chest rumbled with a low growl, his nostrils flaring wide. “It looks as if you’ve got more blood on the outside of your body than inside. That’s not nothing. Try again.”
She wanted to giggle at that, but even through the remaining haze of her blood high she recognized something in his face that warned her she better not lie. “Some guy attacked me at the airport.”
“ What ?”
Though he hadn’t yelled, steam seemed to come out his ears and something akin to an electrical storm caused the tiny hairs on her body to stand to attention. Power and heat lashed at her senses. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. A greenish-yellow ring sprung up at the outer edges of his irises and began to blast through the brown depths. It was fascinating, and terribly unsettling.
She gulped. “At the airport. After I put the luggage in the back. I was walking to the driver’s door and some guy pulled a knife and tried to drag me into a van parked next to me.”
The muscles in his jaw bunched. “You parked next to a van?”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone, her uncertainty falling away at the accusation. So like a man to blame the woman. “It wasn’t there when I parked. I’m not an idiot, and don’t you dare put the blame on me.” No
She saw nothing, was nothing. She simply floated.
Which was probably why when someone rapped on the driver’s window she let out a piercing scream.
“Hey.” Santos lifted his hands up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’ve been sitting there for awhile. Are you okay?”
She would be eventually, but she couldn’t discount that the sight of him, standing there all big and strong – and suddenly so very safe – made her want to tear up in relief. When she only continued to sit there, staring at him, his faced creased into lines of concern. He reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. “Open the door, Ria.”
Acting on his bidding, she dropped the hand she hadn’t known she’d curved around her throat when she’d screamed, and a red smear on her palm caught her eye. “I’m still bleeding.”
A moment of silence passed before Santos said in a low, slow tone, “Open the door right now, Ria, before I rip it off its fucking hinges.”
Her eyes jerked back to his, to see they’d gone cold and flat, yet fire snapped in the twin depths. Fire and determination.
As a shifter, he could do it too, she thought, and probably would. Then Chris would be pissed.
Her boss would also have a fit if she got blood on anything. A vague memory of cleaning up some and donning her jacket to cover the blood which had dripped onto her shirt seeped into her mind. Cleanliness suddenly a priority, she reached up and snatched a tissue from the little plastic container on the passenger side visor to wipe the blood off her hand.
“Now, Ria.”
As soon as the lock snicked open, Santos wrenched the door wide. “What happened?”
Strangely numb, Ria switched off the engine that was still running and picked up her purse, placing the keys inside. “Our luggage came in. Chris sent me to go pick them up.”
She moved to get out, but Santos blocked her way. “Why is your neck bleeding?” He slid aside the edge of her jacket and sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ, woman. There’s blood all over your shirt.”
She dropped her gaze to see what he was talking about. Dried blood coated the top left side of her shirt. A resigned sigh escaped. “Damn. I liked this top.”
Though the wound barely bled, the skin slowly knitting back together, there was no hiding the fact something bad had happened.
Santos reached out a finger and lifted her chin up and over to peer at her neck. “What. Happened?”
“Nothing.” A muttered response.
His chest rumbled with a low growl, his nostrils flaring wide. “It looks as if you’ve got more blood on the outside of your body than inside. That’s not nothing. Try again.”
She wanted to giggle at that, but even through the remaining haze of her blood high she recognized something in his face that warned her she better not lie. “Some guy attacked me at the airport.”
“ What ?”
Though he hadn’t yelled, steam seemed to come out his ears and something akin to an electrical storm caused the tiny hairs on her body to stand to attention. Power and heat lashed at her senses. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. A greenish-yellow ring sprung up at the outer edges of his irises and began to blast through the brown depths. It was fascinating, and terribly unsettling.
She gulped. “At the airport. After I put the luggage in the back. I was walking to the driver’s door and some guy pulled a knife and tried to drag me into a van parked next to me.”
The muscles in his jaw bunched. “You parked next to a van?”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone, her uncertainty falling away at the accusation. So like a man to blame the woman. “It wasn’t there when I parked. I’m not an idiot, and don’t you dare put the blame on me.” No
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