Page 8 of Festive Fugitive
“Stay still! Both of you!” he yells as if he has authority, but his hands tremble. “On the ground! Not a step closer!”
The dark angel, who’s already halfway back to me, exhales, but barely even slows down. “Put the gun on the table.”
“Y—you! To the ground,” the truck owner rasps in a voice that’s likely way weaker than intended. I hold my breath when the stranger walks right into the man’s personal space, waiting for the unmistakable bang, and for the burnt scent that always follows. But instead of bleeding out with a bullet in his chest, the man shoves the truck owner’s gun aside and slams their foreheads together.
The seller’s gun falls to the ground along with him. Dazed, he moans something with his eyes closed, but doesn’t attempt to get up.
Black eyes turn to me and I notice something’s wrong with one of them. It doesn’t move the same as the other. Only by a fraction, but I swear it doesn’t. The man seemed perfectly kind when he bought me a sandwich. Now, I see something demonic in him.
And yet I still grab his hand when he urges me to get up. He opens his mouth to talk when we both notice the distant cry of a police siren.
“It couldn’t be avoided, I suppose,” he mutters, as if the manhunt is a minor inconvenience, then grabs my arm and pulls me along, toward the darkness of a park.
“Let’s hurry.”
We rush down the street and between the trees. I have to let his arm wrap around my waist because I’m limping, but he smells so good it’s hardly a sacrifice on my part. I watch the path under my feet to avoid tripping but keepstealing glances at him in complete shock. “Who… whoareyou?” I choke out. I can’t help it, my heart beats ever faster when I notice how handsome his profile is. Or I’m just attracted to how competently he dealt with several people. For me.
“I’ll explain. Just not now. I know where to go,” he says.
And even though I don’t know his name, I follow.
Chapter 5
Cesar
Ihighlydoubtthecops will look for us in a Santa’s Grotto on the grounds of the local school. The beauty of small towns is that there are few cameras around, but plenty of unlit alleyways a man can creep through, and police forces are more used to dealing with cattle theft than violent crime.
Sirens keep howling somewhere in the background, but we’re safe. For now.
I exhale and watch vapor form in the air.
The dark interior smells of the wood the cabin’s made of, and the artificial aroma of pine. There’s a fake fireplace on one of the walls, and plenty of decorated boxes piled up behind Eli’s tall armchair, but without heating, and laughing children, the grotto is rather depressing.
He’s taking off his shoe with a grunt of pain, and I’m eager to find out just how badly he’s hurt himself.
“We can only stay here so long. I still didn’t get your name. I’m Eli, but you probably already know that,” Eli pushes back his hood, revealing the ash and silver hair, and he leans back in the armchair. It feels like he’s in a throne, and I, his mere subject, sit on the floor.
“Are you cold?” I ask and remove my cowl before offering it to him. It’s the least I can do for the favor he’s unknowingly done for me.
Eli cocks his head, watching me as though I’m some curious animal, but takes the scarf. “I’ve not been warm in a long time. Thank you. I don’t think I’ve even taken in all you’ve already done for me tonight.”
I like his voice. It’s masculine, quite low, but there’s a softness to it, as if all its edges were wrapped in silk. “Let me look at your ankle?” I ask, shifting closer over the wooden floor, until I’m kneeling at his feet.
I’ve been forced to my knees in front of Sullivan many times, and this is nothing like that. Eli doesn’t threaten me, beat me, or punish me. I’m here because I want to. Because he deserves my help.
“Are you a doctor? You don’t look like one.” Eli’s pale cheeks gain a bit of color when I roll his jeans above the ankle.
I meet his gaze as my fingers touch his lower calf. He’s warmer than I expected, and his sparse body hair tickles my palms when I drown in his gray eyes. They’re attentive and bright like two ponds that have frozen over for the winter.
“I’m Cesar, and I know how to deal with minor injuries.”
My fingers have been broken or otherwise injured more times than I can remember. One needs to know how to keep themselves mobile in my profession, whatever the situation. Still, maybe I’m not as professional about this as I want to be, because a part of me itches to pushmy nose under the folded denim and inhale his essence straight from the warmed skin.
Eli leans forward. “How? You’re not telling me the full story. There’s a reason you’re helping me. Though… I guess I’d like to know what’s wrong with my ankle first. Can you tell?”
My tongue dries, and I lean forward, eager to tell him everything. How I was at the gala because I wanted to put pressure on Sullivan over a broken promise, but that Eli freed me from the bastard instead.
Hefreedme.
