Growling, he snatched up her things from the coat closet by the door and debated whether he wanted to waste time running up to her room to find a pair of shoes. In the end, he decided it didn't matter, as soon as he found her, he’d pick her up and carry her back inside.
If she was angry, that was fine, she could yell and scream, rant about how unfair it was. If she was devastated, she could weep and sob, grieve for the loss of her belongings. If she felt guilty, she could explain to him why the hell that was so he could understand and assure her that she had done nothing wrong, certainly nothing deserving of being attacked and losing her home.
Whatever she needed to express, she needed to get it out, she couldn’t let those emotions fester. Life had been unfair to her lately. She’d been through too much, had learned things about how she was conceived that would upset anyone, and taking a life—no matter how justified—left its own scars behind. Everything life had thrown at her she’d dealt with, but she kept refusing to let anyone in and seemed to be of the belief that she had to handle it all on her own or people would think less of her, doubt her strength.
“Like hell, little rabbit,” he muttered as he stomped out of the house and slammed the door shut behind him.
It wasn't hard to follow her trail even though she’d disappeared into the forest. All he had to do was sniff the air and let the sweet scent of caramel lead him right to the woman he was prepared to tear down his own walls for to keep her in his life. Walls he’d spent literally all his life erecting, since he was old enough to recognize his thoughts. Walls that were the onlyprotection he had against his family, against what had been done to him.
Now they had to come down if he wanted Cassandra, and he wanted her.
More than he’d ever wanted anything else.
Which meant learning how to be vulnerable, to be open, to share the darker parts of his soul, he tried his best to keep hidden.
“You can't run from me, little rabbit,” he yelled as he stepped within the cover of the trees, his boots stomping across the scattered snow as he zeroed in on his prey. “Don’t you know the wolf always catches the rabbit?”
She was still running, he could tell from her scent, she was crying, too, and her tears did crazy things to his insides. It was like they had the ability to sear through his flesh and make him feel her pain. There had never been another person to make him feel the way Cassandra did. Hell, he’d still been willing to torture Rose even knowing Steel had grown attached to her because revenge had been the only thing keeping him somewhat sane.
“Stop running, little rabbit,” he growled as he got close enough to her to hear her winded breathing and soft weeping. “You know you're going to get caught.”
Dragon would have sworn he heard her gasp at his words, and he hoped he hadn't scared her. He wanted her to know that he was there for her, that she could talk to him. Maybe he wouldn't say the right things, maybe he’d be a little clumsy in his attempts to offer comfort, but he would flatten the world to fix things for her.
Sensing her unease, he picked up the pace, and a moment later, he spotted her moving through the trees a mere ten yards or so away from him. She’d slowed right down, and even from where he was, he could see that she was shaking.
Why had she run when she had a whole house full of people who would have offered her their support? They had been stripped of their consciences, their ability to feel emotions normally, at least that’s what they’d spent the last decade believing, but more and more Dragon was starting to see that wasn't true. Even he, who had been raised from birth to feel nothing for anyone, had the ability to feel everything when it came to the brunette still trying to get away from him.
Tired of this game, angry at seeing her socked feet pounding the cold, unforgiving ground, and driven by a need he didn't even understand to wrap his body around his little rabbit’s and protect her from anything and everything, including herself, Dragon picked up his pace.
He was on her a moment later.
Snatching her up off the ground, she fought against him like a wild animal caught in a trap, and since he was fairly certain she would have done the same thing even if he’d been one of her brothers, he tried not to take it personally.
“Stop fighting me,” he ordered as he did his best to contain her small but strong body as she did her best to find a way out of his hold. There wasn't one, and the quicker she accepted it, the quicker he could get the coat, gloves, scarf, and beanie on her, and get her back inside where it was warm. “You have injuries, and you're going to split them open again if you keep doing that.”
“Let me go,” she wailed, still trying to get free.
“No,” he said simply. “I don’t want to hurt you, little rabbit, so please stop fighting me.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, although he had no idea why, because she began to sob and beat her small fists against his chest. “I'm not going to break,” she screamed into the otherwise quiet evening.
“Of course you're not,” he agreed. Why would he think she would? Cassandra Charleston might not look it on the outside, but inside she had a spine of steel.
“Then stop treating me like I'm made of glass,” she snarled, and even in the dark, he could see fire burning in her green eyes. “You're just like everybody else, like my brothers, their partners, you think I'm soft, weak. You treat me like I'm still a child, one who needs to be protected and coddled.”
“I sure as hell do not see you as a child,” he snarled right back at her. Nothing about the fantasies he had of the woman still struggling to get away from him implied she was a child. If he thought he could be a gentle enough lover, he would have joined her in the shower last night, showing her exactly how he thought of her.
“Prove it,” she challenged, arching a brow and finally stilling.
“Prove it?” How the hell was he supposed to prove to her that he didn't see her as a child, or as someone who was made of glass?
Cassandra nodded. “Prove to me that you don’t think I'm weak and pathetic.”
Hearing her say those words about herself made a growl rumble through his chest. Nobody, not even Cassandra herself, got to say that about the only woman he’d ever been obsessed with.
“You left without putting on your coat,” he said, wondering if he could maintain his hold on her without hurting her while also wrangling her into the coat.
“Weak.”
