Page 10 of Trapped for Her Blood
“For assuming, for eventhinkingyou’d do that… It’s just that I haven’t had the best experiences since I’ve been down here.”
His eyes open wider and his already huge muscles seem to triple in size. “Who hurt you?” His deep voice echoes in the cave.
“No one.” He looks like he’s ready to kill whomever I name. “It was only threats.”
“Threats like from me.” He looks back into the fire.
“No. Actual threats. Again, I’m sorry for the accusation. You’ve been nothing but kind.”
He holds up his hand, the one that had the shard. “You were kind too.”
“About that…” I chew my lower lip. “I hope this isn’t rude, but whatareyou?”
He grunts.
Shit. I’ve offended him. I grip the cup between my hands.
But when he turns toward me, there’s a slight up-curve to his lips, countering the fierce message delivered by his brows. “I am many things.”
I set down the cup. Apparently ‘many things’ is all I’m going to get for now. Encouraging this man, or whatever he is, to talk is a challenge.
“What’s your name?” I ask. “I’m Ember.”
“Axel.” He shakes his head. “Axe.”
“Axe suits you.” It springs to mind an image of him splitting wood, felling trees with a single swing of his namesake weapon, those powerful muscles put to good use. Speaking of uses, I need to keep those muscles and the man who wields them on my side, protecting me until I can get out of here, wherever here is.
“Where are we?” I ask. “This place? Are we still in Philadelphia?”
“Fuck if I know.” His voice is harsh and deep.
“I don’t mean to pepper you with questions, but I have so many. Like…how long I’m going to be down here.”
“That one’s easy.” His chest expands. “Forever.”
“What do you mean forever?” My heart rate increases. “Why would you say that?” I can’t believe him. I won’t. I’m down here by mistake, as soon as someone realizes that I’ll be released.
“Sorry to be blunt,” he says. “Been a while since I’ve talked to a woman.” He shakes his head and the light dances over his brown locks seeming to wake reddish highlights. “Talked toanyone.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“What’s the date?” he asks still staring into the fire.
“I’m not positive.” I bite my lower lip, trying to make my best guess. “I was unconscious for a while. And I’m not sure how long I slept here with you. But I know it’s still November.” I laugh at my joke.
“Year?”
My back stiffens. “2019.”
He turns away sharply and pounds the ground with his fists. His muscles expand again, his shoulders tighten, his jaw too, and it’s like I can see the rage building inside of him.
My body tightens, squeezing the air from my lungs. He’s so angry. “What did I say?” My voice comes out tight and high.
He stops punishing the stone with his fists, and facing down, his hair falls forward and sways as he shakes his head slowly. Turning toward me, he pulls back his hair, and even that small gesture accentuates the massive power pent up in his arms, in his entire body. If this man is scary most of the time, he’s terrifying when he’s angry.
But when we make eye contact it’s not anger I see. Instead, I feel his pain so clearly it’s palpable. It jabs into my heart and makes me want to hold him, to comfort him, to make it all better.
“Who did you lose?” I ask softly, feeling sure that I’m right about the source of his pain.
