“Oh, good grief,” Reyna gasped, “stop the car!”
Mason hit the brakes so hard that Marco almost went forward flying. The car screeched to a halt. Reyna practically threw herself out of the car and towards a stumbling figure in the distance. Fucking hell, it was Amelia.
Marco ran after Reyna and watched as she reached Amelia in time just to catch her from hitting the ground. He ran faster, but the closer he got, the more unfamiliar she looked. She was bleary-eyed, her hair patted back and wrapped in a messy bun, and livid bruises ran the length of her jaw. A flash of pain shot up Marco's spine as he watched her in horror.
A feeling he had banished so long ago rose to the surface. Anger. Pure, hot, boiling anger teetering over the edge of his eye-lids, and he knew he was going to accidentally kill the person who did this to her without remorse.
“Marco,” Reyna called out to him, her voice stern, “Right now, she needs you to focus on her.”
Reyna was right. He leaped to the ground, right beside her, arm cradling her neck, gently pulling a stray strand of hair away from her face.
“Miss Jones,” he said gently, “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah…” she whispered hoarsely, “I’m…I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he breathed, restraining his anger. He lifted Amelia in his arms and went straight for the car with Reyna at his side. She was so frail and so soft. His chest filled with a familiar sense of warmth he hadn’t felt in so long as he carried her to his car. It was enough to quell the anger, but only slightly. Once he knew Amelia was in safe hands, he would go back to confront whoever it was who had done this to her.
"Miss Jones, " he whispered, "you'll be alright, okay? Just hang tight."
She let out small puffs of breath, her tongue too dry to roll words.
Chapter 4
Amelia couldn’t tell where she was. All she saw was a lot of white and gray. But it was cozy, wherever she was, and it felt so…so safe. Odd. She had never felt like this in a very long time. She almost wanted to go back to sleep and relish in whatever leftover dream was playing in her head.
“Miss Jones.” The voice sounded so faint and far away, “Are you feeling better?”
Amelia blinked against the white light, hands shielding her eyes, and everything came into focus. And she saw him. His face. His eyes. Her hand was wrapped in his hand.
Oh, God!
Amelia sat upright with a jerk.
“Hey, hey!” he said, placing his hands on her shoulder. Her neck heated up at his touch. It was such a firm hold, but still gentle like she was delicate glass and could break. Well, maybe she could considering her-wait a minute.
She looked at herself in the mirror behind him, shocked.
“I thought my face would be terribly bruised,” She wondered aloud, bewildered, “How is it okay?”
“I understand it might be strange to-”
“Oh, my Lord.” She finally realized it in horror, realization dawning upon her. “How long was I knocked out?!”
“What?” he looked confused for a second, “Oh, no, no, it’s only been around an hour or so. You must be fine now, though. Please lie back down, or you’ll get dizzy.”
He was right. She was getting dizzy, but Amelia wasn’t sure if it was her weakened state or his scent that was driving her to a high she had never known before. He smelled like smoke and wood, but with a tint of warm honey that enveloped her whole body in comfort.
So much comfort.
His hands guided her back to the pillows, his warm and big hand brushing over her cheek softly. It felt nice.
She couldn’t help the way her face dipped into his palm. But she caught herself. He must have thought she was too strangely comfortable around his presence, but she was met with surprise as his thumb stroked her cheek.
“You were beaten up badly, Miss Jones,” his voice washed over her skin, electrifying and deep.
"Please call me Amelia," she said, as she struggled against meeting gazes with him. There was something powerful in his eyes that gripped all her senses every time she locked gazes with him. It was intoxicating yet magical.
He smiled. "Amelia, can you please tell us what happened?”
