Page 46 of Touch of Hate

Lightning flashes again, and at the very last moment, she sees it. Recognizes what it is and what’s about to happen. Though I can’t hear her gasp, I see it in the way her mouth opens and feel it in the sharp intake of breath that lifts her chest.

In one smooth move, I shove it into her neck and press down on the plunger. She struggles against me, and I hold her in place, waiting for the effects of the drug to kick in. It didn’t have to be this way. I only hope she doesn’t hate me for it. When she’s calmer, when we’re away from here, and the shock of seeing me again wears off, I’ll be able to talk to her. We’ll get back to where we used to be.

We have to. What else is there, otherwise?

“Listen to me.” I lower my head until our noses touch, trying to get through to her before she loses consciousness. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you. I’m not going to hurt you, ever, I swear. You’re everything to me. You know that.”

Her eyelids flutter, her body giving a few weak, ineffectual little jerks like she still wants to fight, even if it’s a losing battle.

I stayed away too long, didn’t I? Have I lost her?

It may as well be an eternity before she goes limp, her head lolling to the side and muscles loose. She doesn’t even twitch at the rain hitting her face. Her beautiful fucking face. I allow my fingers to trace the line of her jaw and over her bottom lip before coming back to myself. I don’t have a moment to lose here.

I survey the area quickly, making sure we’re alone. I find my footing and stand, crouching to lift her from the ground. She’s as light as she ever was, almost weightless in my arms, her head lolling on my shoulder. Her blond hair sticks to her face. With her slender body tucked against my chest, I lower my head and step as carefully as I can across the muddy ground while moving quickly. My goal— the gate I left slightly ajar to make for a quick exit.

Ahead, I can see the guard still unconscious and propped up against the other side of the wall, his chin touching his chest. Did I hit him that hard?

I might have killed him, but the possibility only stirs righteous pride rather than guilt or sorrow.

He stood in my way. That’s what happens to people who stand in my way.

This is war, after all. In war, there are casualties. River’s reminder echoes in my mind. He’s right and always has been, except when it comes to her.

My angel.

The nearly broken down, nondescript Jeep I’ve used for months sits in the deep shadows provided by gnarled oak trees lining the north side of the outer compound wall. It helps me blend in better than any flashy, expensive vehicle I was accustomed to in the past.

Thanks to the thick growth from the branches and leaves overhead, the gusty rain turns to a light drizzle once I reach the rear door and swing it open. I can see more clearly now that there’s no curtain of rain in my eyes.

I laid a blanket out over the back seat before I made the trek up to the house, just in case I had to use the sedative. Even unconsciously, I wanted her to be comfortable. For now, I lay her across the back seat, my priority being to get the hell away from here before anyone sounds the alarm.

I doubt I would hear any alarm that’s raised, and not only because of the near-constant thunder. The storm has reached its peak, directly overhead, lightning zig-zagging across the sky. I will barely need my headlights since the flashes are coming in one on top of the other.

None of that can touch the rush of blood in my ears, the victorious roar in my head. I did it. I took her from them. I claimed her for myself.

She’s back where she belongs.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Climbing into the Jeep, I close the door, which provides a measure of relief. I can hear myself think. I can hear her soft breathing, too, smooth and even. She’ll be fine. It’ll be nothing more than a long nap.

And when she wakes up, we’ll settle a few things. I can’t stand the thought of her being afraid, not of me. Not when the only thing that’s ever mattered is her well-being.

It occurs to me, as it has many times before, that her father and brother and the rest of her family might have done everything in their power to turn her against me. The idea leaves me grinding my teeth as I pull away, grateful for the Jeep’s handling over wet roads. I don’t have to slow down or be cautious. There isn’t time for that.

I glance away from the road to take a look in the rearview mirror, my gaze landing on her limp, sodden form. She wouldn’t believe any poison against me, would she? The mere idea makes my heart clench and my throat tighten.

Has she betrayed me?

I shake my head, a growl stirring in my chest and loosening the tension. That’s River talking. He’s never missed a chance to remind me of how she’s forgotten I exist and written me off as nothing more than a villain. I refuse to believe it. She would never turn away from me. Hell, I tried hard enough to make her do that, didn’t I? She refused. And she’ll refuse now, I know it.

I’m so concerned with arguing with myself that I almost forget what needs to be done before another mile rolls over on the odometer. I should’ve done it back there, but I wanted to get away before anyone noticed.

We’re a few miles from the compound now, the road empty, thanks to the late hour and the storm. I’m confident enough to pull off to the shoulder, the tires crunching over gravel before coming to a stop.

I’m about to undo a grievous wrong.

She’s so thoroughly under the effect of the sedative that she doesn’t react when I kneel over her in the back seat. I hate what I’m about to do, but it’s a necessity. I begin probing the area under her left shoulder.