Page 6 of Blade's Princess

"I'll come back for him," Blade says, reading my hesitation. "I promise."

"You promise?" I hate the childish quiver in my voice. “For real?”

“For real. I don't make promises I can't keep."

Something about the steel in his voice convinces me. I place my trembling hand in his massive one, relishing the warmth of his skin against my frozen fingers. He helps me from the car,and I move slowly cradling my side. Blade steadies me when my stiff legs threaten to buckle.

Pain shoots through my ribs as I stand—a reminder of the brutal blow that sent me sprawling across the kitchen floor. I try to hide my grimace, but Blade's sharp eyes miss nothing. His expression darkens, but he waits silently for me to find my balance.

Standing, the height difference between us is startling. I'm five-foot-four on a good day, and he towers over me, all sculpted muscle and power.

“Do you have any belongings to bring?” He nods toward my car.

I just shake my head, not trusting my voice. All of my meager belongings are in the attic room I've called home for twelve years. I don’t care about any of it.

"Let's go." He gestures toward the street, where a motorcycle is parked, sleek and powerful, the chrome glinting in the moonlight.

The rational part of my brain screams warnings. I’m leaving with abiker. I know nothing about him. I could be choosing a situation that’s worse than the one I'm leaving. But some deeper instinct silences those fears.

"Why are you helping me?"

He stares down at me, expression unreadable in the darkness. "Because you looked at strays like they were worth saving."

His answer is so simple and unexpected that for a moment I'm speechless.

Then, I wonder if that's whatIam to him. A stray—wounded and wary and in need of shelter. I don’t like the way that thought makes me feel.

Before I can respond, he's guiding me toward his bike, one large hand at the small of my back, barely touching mebut somehow anchoring me to the moment. This is really happening. I'm leaving. With him.

"Ever been on a motorcycle before?"

I shake my head.

"You'll need to hold onto me. Tight." He swings his leg over the bike with practiced ease, the machine looking somehow smaller with his frame astride it. "When I lean, lean with me. Let your body cling to mine."

The innuendo isn't lost on me, and I'm grateful the darkness hides my blush as I clamber onto the seat behind him super awkwardly because my ribs hurt so bad it's hard to breathe, much less move.

"Arms around me," he instructs, starting the engine with a roar that seems to vibrate through my entire body.

I hesitantly wrap my arms around his solid torso, fingertips barely grazing the leather he’s wearing. Even through layers of clothing, I can feel the heat radiating from him. It's the closest I've been to another human being in... I can't even remember, but the intimacy makes my breath catch.

"Tighter," he growls over his shoulder. "Like you mean it."

Drawing a shaky breath, I press closer, arms encircling him fully, my chest against his back. My heart races. I'm smooshed up against a man I barely know—a large, fierce, menacing man—hugging him from behind.

We pull away from the curb, the vibration of the engine between my legs creating interesting and not at all unpleasant sensations. The wind is frigid against my exposed skin, but I barely notice the cold. The city blurs around us as we weave through quiet streets, heading toward the outskirts of town. The scent of night air, engine exhaust, and Blade's leather fills my nostrils. Each mile brings a slight upturn to my lips as my body gradually relaxes into the rhythm of the ride.

For the first time in years, I feel…good. Free.

I have no idea where we're going, but as manicured neighborhoods give way to industrial zones and then to the rougher edges of town, I feel a growing certainty that wherever Blade is taking me, it has to be better than the endless cycle of chores, punishment, and fear I'm leaving behind.

We turn onto a gravel road marked only by a weathered sign I can't read in the darkness. The bike slows as we approach a gate with two men standing guard, shotguns visible even in the dim light. My arms tighten reflexively around Blade's waist.

The guards straighten as we approach, recognition evident on their faces. One of them quickly opens the gate, nodding respectfully as Blade guides the motorcycle through.

"VP," the guard acknowledges as we pass.

I'm not sure why, but when he notices me on the back of the motorcycle, he does a double take and his eyes widen so much it looks like they might fall right out of his head.

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