Page 29 of The Mafia Bloodline
“I’m not,” she lied, because she was trembling hard enough to feel it in her knees.
His eyes softened in that barely-there way only he could manage. “Come on, little flame. Let’s get you out of here.”
He took her hand and started toward the Escalade parked near the gates. The ground was slick with oil and blood, the air thick with smoke and the copper tang of death. My mind was spinning, trying to keep up, to process, to breathe.
And, of course, that’s when she tripped.
Her boot caught on a stray cable, and she pitched forward with a startled squeak. Volken caught her mid-fall, his reflexes fast as lightning, one arm snapping around her waist to steady her.
He sighed, shaking his head slowly, that small smirk returning. “You really are a danger to yourself, aren’t you?”
She scowled, her cheeks burning. “It’s dark. And there’s…blood. Everywhere.”
His expression softened even more, though his tone stayed dry. “Good thing I’m used to carrying what’s mine.”
Before she could argue, he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. Her arms instinctively flew around his neck.
“Volken!” she hissed. “I can walk.”
“I’ve seen how you walk,” he said, utterly unfazed. “You trip over oxygen.”
She gaped, torn between outrage and laughter. “You’re not funny.”
“You think so,” he murmured, voice dipping low as he strode toward the SUV, “but your heart disagrees.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her side, the scent of him, steel and smoke and something primal, drowned out every word.
He set her down only when the Escalade door was open, guiding her inside before circling to the other side and sliding in next to her. Colt was still outside.
Volken reached over, his large hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until his forehead rested against hers. His thumb stroked the edge of her jaw, the faint tremor in his touch betraying what his face tried to hide…fear.
“You could’ve been hurt,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.
“I wasn’t,” she murmured, her breath brushing his lips. “You made sure of that.”
His gaze locked on hers, molten and hungry, and before she could say another word, he caught her mouth with his.
The kiss wasn’t soft, it was desperate. Fierce. A storm breaking loose. His hand fisted in her hair as his mouth claimed hers, a deep growl vibrating through him like he was trying to anchor himself with the taste of her.
She melted into it, into him, every pulse of the bond singing through her body until she couldn’t tell where her fear ended and his need began.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead pressed to hers. “Next time,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “you stay behind me. Always.”
Her lips curved despite the lingering tremor in her chest. “You say that like I listen.”
That earned her a quiet laugh, rough and almost disbelieving, as he shook his head. “You’ll be the death of me.”
His fingers brushed over her lips, still swollen from his kiss, and then he turned toward Colt, who was sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Drive,” Volken ordered.
As the SUV pulled away from the carnage, she leaned into him, exhaustion finally settling in. His arm came around her without hesitation, his hand warm against her back.
And for the first time that night, she stopped shaking, because even with blood still drying on his skin, Volken felt like safety.
Chapter 11
By the time Colt dropped Runa and me off at the mansion, she was half-asleep against my shoulder. The moment her head touched the pillow, exhaustion claimed her, the faint scent of blood and battle still clinging to her hair.
