Chapter 4

Amelia POV

Gabriel was here, driving her home, and was speaking about her to anyone else. Someone who knew who she was and that he'd come for her and…

What the hell was going on?

“Gabriel?” she requested again, terrified, but also angry. What had he gotten her into?

“I'll provide an explanation for when we get inside,” he said.

She looked out the windows then and realized they had been on her block. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd yearned for the day Gabriel would come to her apartment. Dreamed about it. But by some means, she'd constantly imagined that he would not look until they'd reconnected. That out of the blue, one day, he would call her, or find her on social media. Something. He'd be the one to make contact. And he'd beg for forgiveness. He'd provide some entirely believable, forgivable offence for why he'd left. And they'd slowly reintroduce themselves to each other. Maybe a few telephone calls? Then she'd invite him to see her and…

She'd in no way imagined being shot at, looking at a man nearly die at his hands, and then listening to him swear like a sailor and bark into a burner cellphone like some form of evil film villain.

Gabriel had usually had an edge. A sharp edge. But he'd additionally continually held it in test round her. His electricity and self-belief had been a wall between her and the world to keep her safe; no longer put her under threat.

But that was 5 years ago.

He wasn't a youngster anymore.

Her eyes followed the line of his very massive shoulders and measured the thickness of them, the sheer power that rippled below his skin. Even the sleeves of those ugly overalls had been taxed by his biceps, pulling tight over them each and every time he moved his arm.

But when she'd acknowledged him before, his electricity was a tool. Something he used to help or protect. Now…

Now he felt like a weapon.

What had occurred to him? Where had her smooth warrior disappeared to in the past 5 years?

The photograph of him standing in front of her on that roof, his hand held out, and all the ways that easy gesture conjured their past—the way he'd known it would.

And the harm that had flashed in his eyes when she didn't take his hand. So distinct from the ultimate time he'd provided himself to her like that…

It was over a year after the first time. Dozens of open arms later.

They were in her room in the vibrant afternoon, both windows glowing with the late-summer sun.

They'd talked about looking every other. He hadn't pushed. Amelia had determined she was ready. That day her mother and father had been long past till late, and… and she cherished him. And, possibly more importantly, he loved her.

But she hadn't advised him that her dad and mom would be gone. She had wanted to give herself a threat to distract her mind if it did not feel right. But instead, she'd discovered herself buzzing with excitement, hopping around all afternoon, waiting for him to arrive. Because he did not know, and she did, and she was ready.

When he ultimately arrived, walking without problems into their kitchen the way he usually did, the afternoon sun throwing sparks off his dark hair, his handsome face softening when he determined her, she'd virtually thrown herself into his chest, fingers around his neck, taking the kiss deep and fast.

He was surprised, but he caught up quickly, his breathing turning heavy, his hands coming around her in that gorgeous, warm wall she adored.

“What—?” he'd rasped a minute later as she pulled him toward the hallway and the stairs up to her room.

“Just come with me,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

They'd kissed and breathed and stroked their way through the residence to her room, only pulling apart when they were at the door and she needed to flip to open it. She'd stared at him a minute first, and he stared back, his eyes a little wider than usual.

His arms shook. And that was what made her sure. She'd been so certain.

She took his hand then and led him inside, then got to the end in the middle of the carpet. He walked right up behind her in that way he constantly did, putting himself over and around her, his fingers trailing down her sides to rest at her hips.

But she'd stopped, suddenly, swallowing hard.

Her little, single twin mattress she'd had because elementary college stood stark in the middle of the floor, beckoning—and taunting her with her innocence.

He'd felt her worry and, without delay, given her more space. She turned to locate him, chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling, but his eyes… those eyes… they had always been a bright, startling ice-blue, but today in this light and with the ways they'd had their palms on each other, his eyes glowed, sparkling like ice over lights.

“It's okay, Amelia,” he'd croaked. “I can wait.” He didn't desire to—she could see the craving in his gaze. And the lump in his jeans. But he meant what he said. He could wait. And he would for her.

He was so fucking perfect, he put her to shame.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I comprehend you can,” she whispered. “But I can't.”

He'd blinked and supplied his hand, then a slow, heated smile started on his lovely lips as she stepped returned into his arms. He'd cupped her face and taken her mouth so deeply, so slowly. His trembling fingers brushed her hair, lower back off her face, then dragged down her nape to her spine. And she shivered.

She'd shivered a lot that day—

“Amelia ?” his voice was deeper now, harder. But as she blinked back to the present, his eyes were unchanged.

The identical eyes as she'd viewed that day—shadowed in the dark of her condo building parking lot. Sharper and nearly haunted, looking for the predators. But he'd turned in his seat, and when their eyes locked, his ice-blue eyes… melted.

“You're here,” she said, like an idiot.

His throat bobbed. “I never virtually left.”

She felt her face fall, pinching with confusion and pain. “But—”

“I'll explain, I promise, Amelia. But we have only obtained a few minutes. Because they suppose I'm leaving you here, and I'm not.. But as quickly as we step out of this van, we're possibly being recorded. So you want to listen to me for a minute, okay?”

Gabriel POV

Amelia nodded at him, her face pale, and her eyes barely glazed. Shit. She wasn't just frightened, she was in shock.

With every other muttered curse, he pushed up and out of the driver's seat, crawling over the bench seat into the back of the van.

Her eyes widened and he realized he'd probable finished that a little too smoothly. But with any luck, she'd just put it down to her personal shock.

She was nonetheless sitting in the soar seat, nevertheless clipped into the seatbelt, but her eyes accompanied each pass he made. So he crouched on the flooring of the van, inserting himself decrease than her, and spoke quietly and evenly as he unclipped her seatbelt and held it so it would return slowly and not make that clunking noise. She was already on the edge. He didn't want to startle her.

“So, what we're going to do is we're going to go internal and get a bag of your things. Not much, simply enough to keep you going for a few days. But the clothes, they want to be satisfied and tough. Only one pair of jeans. Leggings and Ski clothes are higher if you have them—stuff that will keep you dry and heat in the snow. You won't want to make up or something like that. And don't deliver ID. No wallet. Nothing that can become aware of you to anyone else, okay? Plus, you'll want to leave your phone here.”

“What?! Why?”

He raked a hand through his hair as she pushed away from him in the seat. “Because the humans that we're running from will be in a position to track it,” he stated honestly. “The great chance we have of getting away from them is to go away with no trail. No way to trace you. No identifiers at all.”

She gaped at him, her brow furrowing into lines. “Gabriel… why?”

He put a hand to her face and felt her skin prickle, smelled pleasure and want thread into her scent, and his coronary heart leapt. “Because the humans I'm close to are Dangerous, Amelia. And they choose to know why I have not been able to go away from you alone for five years. And why I confirmed to comply with you tonight. And why I hid you from them. I'm sorry. This is my fault. They're after you now because of me, but you have to know, I by no means wanted that. It's why I've averted you all this time.”

She met his gaze, and when she spoke, it was in a broken, strangled voice. “Gabriel… are you… Are you in the mafia or something?”

He huffed a giggle and caught himself. “No,” he said emphatically. “This is way larger than that.”

“What could be bigger—?”

“Trust me, Amelia, you're safer if you do not know. But here is the thing you want to know: I by no means desired to leave. I never selected it. And I by no means stopped watching over you. Ever.” He'd never dominated her before—never wanted to spoil her will. Never desired her to supply him with whatever she didn't pick out for herself. But he let himself feel the weight of these words, sense the truth of them, let them echo in his ribs and feed into his veins. Let her experience the electricity and walk in the park with him. She wanted to know.

She wanted to consider that she could have faith in him.

She blinked a few times, and her hand twitched like she was going to contact him. An anguish bloomed in his chest when she fought it.

He had to remind himself that she didn't know he'd been so close for so long. She was not aware of why he'd left her alone, that he'd been defending her, even then.

“Do you believe with me?” he asked, subsequently, when she did not answer.

She nodded slowly. “I'm simply not positive I should,” she whispered, her eyes blazing with worry and hope and a storm of thoughts he could not untangle in her scent.

“You comprehend me, Amelia,” he breathed a truth he hadn't informed some other dwelling soul. “You're the solely one who ever knew the actual me. Trust that.”

In the opposite of what he'd hoped for, she frowned at that and pulled back, pushing herself deeper into the seat. “I cannot have faith some something you say,” she stated simply. “You lied to me.”

“No, I never lied, I was—”