Page 17 of Sanctuary

My awkward kick isn’t terribly effective, but he does loosen his grip slightly, so I can yank my braids out of his hand.

I heft myself to my feet, my gasping breaths scraping in my sore throat, but Aidan grabs for one of my ankles and pulls me back down to the ground again.

I kick and punch as he moves toward me, but I can’t get enough leverage to make the blows hurt, and finally he’s on top of me. Holding me down with the weight of his body.

“Let me go, damn it!” I’m angry. Helpless. But more outraged than I am scared.

Hurting me isn’t Aidan’s purpose right now. He only wants the package.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, woman?” he grits out, dirt and perspiration smeared on his face and a deep scowl in his expression. “Why won’t you just give up?”

“What’s wrong withme? You’re the one trying to steal from me. You think I’ll just give up? You think I won’t fight back?”

“I’m not stealing. I’m taking back what’s mine.” He shifts his weight to hold down my frantic squirming. When I manage to get an arm free and clobber him on the side of his head, he grabs that wrist and pins it to the ground. “You’re the one who stole from me. Over and over again.”

“I didn’t steal anything from you.” My heart is hammering, and my lungs and cheeks are on fire. I’m nearly spitting in my indignation, but I’m not scared.

I’m still not scared, not even as he’s holding me down helpless.

“We obviously disagree about that, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m taking it back.”

A weird kind of excitement is pulsing through me—my mind, my body, my blood. It’s a kind of power. Exhilaration. And it makes absolutely no sense because Aidan is totally in control here.

But he’s roused. Intensely roused beyond that casual indifference he’s always worn like mask.

And I’m the one who awakened him.

It shouldn’t matter to me. Not at all. But it does. The excitement throbs inside me. I can’t look away from his unrelenting gaze.

We stare at each other for a minute, and I’m honestly not sure what would have happened then. We never have the chance to find out.

Because a strong, female voice rings out into the cool morning, “Get off her. Now. Or you won’t live to touch another woman.”

Both Aidan and I freeze for a few moments—in surprise more than anything else—and then we both turn our heads at the same time toward the voice.

I’m expecting to see a woman. Probably with a gun. But what I see are many of them. At least two dozen. Women of various ages, sizes, and races. All of them holding weapons. Surrounding us.

A little flicker of awareness tells me that they probably came from those campfires nearby. The ones I was trying to avoid. I have no idea how so many of them approached us without making a sound.

Yes, we were distracted by the fight, but still…

It’s unnerving. Surreal.

“I said get off her.” It’s the same female voice, and it’s coming from a dark-hair woman standing a few steps in front of the others. She’s tall. Looks strong. Attractive in a striking way with flashing dark eyes and an utterly cold expression.

Aidan, always quick to assess who has the advantage, climbs off me immediately, remaining crouched in the grass with an observant cautiousness. When every single gun shifts to point at him, he lifts both hands out in front of him in the universal gesture of surrender. He doesn’t say anything.

“Are you injured?” the same woman asks, her steady gaze moving to me.

“No.” I’m winded. Exhausted. Probably suffering some bruises and scratches. But not seriously injured.

“Did he rape you?”

For some reason, the blunt question startles me. “No.” I dart a quick glance at Aidan and see he’s watching me now. I have no way to read his expression. “He wasn’t going to.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Yes. He thought I took something of his, and he was trying to get it back.” Then I add out of self-preservation, “I didn’t steal it. He just thinks I did.”

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