Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(8)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Teeth locking, he leaped after her. His knees didn’t even buckle when he landed on the ground.

The thunder of footsteps told him that their pursuers were rushing toward the front of the motel.

And he and Cassie were running toward the back parking lot. She jumped in the driver’s seat of an old, beat-up Jeep and slid under the dash even as he climbed into the passenger seat. In the next second, the engine kicked to life, and Cassie shoved her foot down on the gas.

The Jeep rocketed out of that lot, heading into the waiting darkness.

Dante glanced back, but saw no sign of the men who’d been after them. The fools were probably going into the motel room. It would take them precious moments to realize that he and Cassie had vanished.

“They can’t follow me without the chip,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the engine and the whip of the wind as it beat against the open Jeep. “We’ll be safe.” She paused. “For a while.”

Maybe she hadn’t meant for him to hear that last part.

If she knew him as well as she claimed, the woman would understand that he could hear even the faintest whisper from fifty yards away.

He’d clearly heard her words and the fear that trembled in her voice.

“Did he attack her?” Kevin asked as his gaze swept over the blood-stained bathroom. “I thought you said he wasn’t a threat to the woman.”

Jon shouldered his way into that closet of a bathroom. His gaze swept over the blood—and the two bloody handprints on the sink. “Get a team in to analyze the blood.” But he already suspected he was staring at Cassie’s blood, not Dante’s.

Cassie wouldn’t risk hurting Dante. She needed him too much.

“What did he do to her?” Kevin whispered.

Ah, Kevin was making a mistake. Most people did when they looked at Cassandra Armstrong. Small, delicate, human—they automatically thought that she was weak.

Jon knew she wasn’t. Cassandra Armstrong was the most dangerous adversary that he’d ever faced.

She was also the woman he’d once wanted to marry. When he saw that much power, he wanted to possess it.

But Cassie had wanted someone else.

His fingers skimmed over the edge of the sink. He touched the miniature tracking device. She would have known to look for it, and she wouldn’t have minded a bit of pain if it meant she kept her freedom.

Clever Cassie. Always so clever.

“She did it to herself.” He inhaled. Cassie’s blood smelled . . . different from most humans. It was a scent that he easily recognized. “We don’t need the tracker to find her.” Not while she was bleeding.

The blood would create a distinct trail of its own.

Either his team members would find her . . . or someone else—something else—would find her. Cassie’s blood was too sweet, a lure designed by science. She should have known better than to run away with an open wound.

She was going to attract all manner of beasts.

Beasts who wanted only one thing—to drink that blood and drain her dry.

“This is your safe place?” Dante’s voice was heavy with doubt.

Cassie glanced over at him with a frown. “Look, I didn’t say I was hanging out at the Ritz.” The rundown warehouse on the edge of town was the perfect crash spot for her. She tucked the Jeep behind the building, making sure it was out of sight, and led Dante toward what looked like a boarded-up door. The windows had that same, boarded-up look.

Appearances could be deceiving.

She pushed a panel, and the door slid open. Inside . . . the lights immediately flashed on, revealing an apartment. “Sometimes, this place can almost be as good as the Ritz.”

She could tell by Dante’s hanging jaw that she’d caught him by surprise. Score one for her.

“I have a friend,” she said, though friend might be stretching things. Patient? Yes, that was a better description since they hadn’t exactly had lots of meaningful conversations. “The guy’s a computer genius. He’s rich as all hell, and he’s got a few of these . . . safe spots around the country.” Since he couldn’t currently use them, they were sure coming in handy for her.

She headed toward the bathroom. “Just give me a minute, okay?” A minute to stitch up her wound and get the blood off her skin.

Cassie didn’t look back to see if Dante was waiting. If the guy had planned to ditch her, well, he would have left her butt back at Taboo. Since he was there, she knew he wouldn’t leave. Not until he’d gotten what he wanted.

If only what he wanted was her.

The T-shirt bandage was soaked red with her blood. Great. Gritting her teeth, she peeled the wet cloth away, prepared to see the jagged sight of—

Healed skin.

Her breath rushed out and she angled her head down, trying to peer at what should have been a gaping wound. But she wasn’t bleeding any longer. The skin had already sealed closed.

She hurriedly slammed the bathroom door shut behind her and barely managed to stop herself from sinking to the floor in shock. Unbelievable. Her skin was healing on its own. The wound just vanishing.

Her fingers slid over the skin. It was still a little pink, but there was no blood. “Amazing.”

The door shook behind her. Dante’s hand was pounding on the wood. “Cassie?”

She stripped away the remains of the bloody shirt. Tossed it to the floor. Her bra was stained red, too. Fabulous. “Give me a . . . ah . . . minute.”

Silence, then almost grudging, “Do you need help?”

You’ve already helped me. He was the reason why her wound had closed. Why her whole life had changed.

A human didn’t just magically heal herself.

He’d altered her down in New Orleans. Everything had changed for her in a blood-soaked instant of time.

When she’d opened her eyes, ready to thank her rescuer, Dante had been gone.

Her body wanted to shake at the memory, but Cassie stiffened her spine. She yanked on the shower’s faucet and the water rushed out. Hurrying, she finished stripping. She’d get the blood off, then she could deal with the mess that was her twisted relationship with Dante.

She’d put one foot in the shower when the door came crashing open behind her. Yelping, she tried to cover herself—one hand over her br**sts and one hand over the juncture of her thighs.

His cheeks were flushed. His eyes—sweeping over her. Heating up. Burning not with the fire of the beast that he carried, but with desire. Lust.

“I-I told you to give me a minute.” She backed away from him and went right into the path of the shooting shower spray.