Chapter 4
VALENTINE’S DAY, PRESENT
W ho did this to you?” His voice was a song Amorette’s spirit recognized. Feral rage coated the rich tenderness in his words, and she collapsed against him. Her forehead leaned on his thickly muscled chest as her fists clutched his shirt, a life vest in the storm, and he wrapped her in his powerful embrace. He held her close, possessively, longingly, and the intoxicating scent of his skin reminded her of home.
“Tell me,” he murmured against her hair like a lover, like a warrior. “Tell me who hurt you.”
“No.” Amorette jerked back, shoving him away. “You can’t be here. I can’t let you get involved.”
“Too late for that.” He stepped forward with a single stride, closing the distance she desperately tried to put between them. “I’m already involved.” A soft groan escaped the back room, and he stiffened, alertness coiling through his massive frame. “Is he here?” he asked, as his rage multiplied. “Is the man who hurt you here?”
“Yes,” Amorette whispered with a nod. “One of them.”
“One of them?” The blond looked like he might explode with the strength of a bomb. “Stay here.” He strode past her with the power and grace of a panther and pulled a bow from his back. Amorette gawked at him as he nocked a golden arrow. Maybe she was unconscious; the blow from her fall worse than she thought because where on earth had he gotten a bow and arrow? The gold clutched in his fists was no ordinary bow, either. Its precious metal was the only thing soft about it as its curves hung halfway down his body, its edges and designs harsh and tactical. As long as she was tall, that was no hunting bow. Neither was it a competition weapon or a showpiece. That bow and arrow was an angel of death, a harbinger of pain, and the only reason one would carry such a monstrosity was to end another in a brutal display of carnage.
“What…?” Her voice gave out. He hadn’t had that when he walked in. She would have noticed the golden craftsmanship of war. It was too large to ignore, much like the intimidating warrior storming toward the back room. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, finally finding her voice. “Why do you have that?”
“Stay here, Amorette,” he said, not slowing.
“How do you know my name?” she grabbed his biceps in both her hands and yanked him to a stop, vaguely aware of how dangerous it was to physically restrain a man with an arrow aimed for the kill. “What are you doing? And where did you get that?” She could feel her sanity spiraling.
“I’ve always had it,” he said, anger in his eyes, but tenderness in his voice. “Now please stay here. I wish to shield you from this sight.”
“You have not always had that,” she practically shouted. She should stop fighting the warrior bent on vengeance, but something about him promised she was safe. She could argue with him, fight and confront him without harm befalling her. And she was tired of men leaving her oblivious, only for her to pay the price. “I would have noticed a god damned golden arrow and the tactical gear…” she trailed off, convinced she’d gone insane. Since when had he been dressed in black, form-fitting tactical gear? She swallowed, painfully aware of how unreasonably sexy he was in the formidable uniform that hugged his every muscle. Amorette always thought her blond Adonis was gorgeous, but seeing him like this was like walking into a fire and letting it flood your veins and ignite your heart. He was otherworldly in his beauty. An angel with ice atop his crown, and the devil with violence simmering beneath his surface. He normally wore sweaters and dress coats, tailored ensembles that conveyed wealth yet somehow hid his unnatural size, but dressed like this, there was no mistaking him. That man was a warrior, a demon, a monster, and his wrath was aimed at all who harmed her.
The blond pointed at the sign hanging above the cracked café door where her name hung in curling script, and her cheeks blushed at the obviousness. “I’ll explain,” he said, gently extracting himself from her hold. “But I won’t allow any more harm to come to you. Stay here, and let me avenge you.”
“Avenge me… wait, you’re not going to kill him, are you?” Amorette chased after him.
“Was he trying to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“And when he regains consciousness, will he try again?”
“Probably.”
“Then he sealed his fate.”
“But the cops? You can’t go around killing people.”
“Mortal rules do not apply to me.” He drew the arrow back and rounded the corner. “Do not watch.”
“No.” Amorette stood her ground despite his odd comment about mortals. “This is my fight. My brains they were going to paint across the bedroom. I’m not hiding.”
“If this is your wish, so be it, my brave Amorette.” He aimed for Derrick’s heart. “Witness what happens to anyone who so much as lays a finger on you.”
And the blond warrior shot.