Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

Oh God! What if the police find out I’m the one who called? What if he finds out? Can he find out? Angelia walked down the busy street, her bag slung over her shoulder and books clutched to her chest in a literary shield.

Something close to betrayal clogged her throat. No, she couldn’t think like that. He might have saved her, but he was still a random lunatic.

She hoisted the books higher on her hip. Today of all days would be the day her library books were due. Not that an overdue book would be the fall of western civilization, only that she had never had one. It was a small and somewhat silly thing to be proud of, but then she never lied, cheated or stole either, so returning books on time went with her Pollyanna image. It wasn’t an image she had been born to, but one she maintained of necessity.

From her periphery, she could see her reflection in store windows as she passed. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

She had witnessed a murder, and done nothing to stop it from being committed.

Guilt bubbled up from some deep well inside. If Preston had been any kind of a gentleman he would have seen her home. Or come to her place instead. But he never did. He never went out of his way for anyone but himself.

But wait, it wasn’t his fault a man grabbed her and dragged her into the alley. Just as it wasn’t her fault some vigilante heard her cry for help and became a little over-zealous in protecting her.

Despite the warm sunshine and heat rising from the pavement, cold lodged in Angelia’s limbs. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms. Would she ever be warm for more than five minutes at a time again?

When Preston had called to make sure she’d gotten home all right, she hadn’t told him about the incident. Omissions couldn’t really be called lies, could they? In all honesty, she had arrived at her apartment safe—it was the sound part that was a little shaky. And yet, he didn’t need to know anything that went on in her life any longer. He’d lost that right when he’d treated her as if she were unimportant. At least not important enough to even walk down to the street.

The phone call ended when he told her he loved her. How could a man tell a woman he loved her and not allow her to stay the night? Why had she never realized all this before? She was a reasonably intelligent woman. She was about to start a wonderful new job at Achilles International as an acquisitions agent. They didn’t hire idiots over there, so why did it take a traumatic event for her to realize her romantic relationship sucked like a starved leech? Or not. At least the leech part wasn’t quite accurate. Preston was anything but a clingy lover. He kept her at arm’s length. Did she want a man who left her to her own devices in the middle of the night, or one who would chase away the demons?

With that thought the memory of two glowing eyes lit with a killing rage popped into her head. She closed her own eyes and tried to block the memory.

Do not go there again.

So deep in her thoughts was she that she didn’t notice someone following her until a hand on her shoulder startled her. The library books fell to the ground with a dull thud.

A deep voice whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Angelia looked down on the back of his head as he bent to collect the books from the sidewalk. Dark hair shone in the sunlight. A confusing and overwhelming compulsion to run her hands through the thick mane coursed through her blood like quicksilver. A blood red ruby winked in the sunlight as he stacked the books in his left hand.

He stood and held the books out to her. Golden eyes searched her face as if cataloging every detail. Her breath caught.

Once again he’d appeared as if she’d conjured him from thin air. “What do you want?” she managed to choke out despite the fact her mouth had gone dry with fear and—oh, God—desire. She licked her lips and jerked as his hungry gaze settled on them.

“Only to know if you’re all right.”

Though it hurt to look away from him, Angelia pulled her gaze from his and turned to face the opposite direction. “Yes. Now…please leave me alone.”

She’d gone a few steps when he said, in a voice that sounded as if it came from inside her own head, “Is that the thanks I get for saving you? Your turned back?”

Anger spun her around to face him. She didn’t need him pointing out her ingratitude. “You killed that man. Am I supposed to thank you for taking a life for me?”

He took a few steps forward. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why? Are you going to kill me, too, if I don’t?”

A pained expression moved quickly over his face and was gone. Holding himself erect he said, “Never.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving Angelia standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling petty and small. He had killed for her. She’d never wanted or asked for it. But he’d also come to her rescue when no one else had. When her own boyfriend hadn’t even bothered to see her home.

From the cut of his clothes and confident bearing, he wasn’t a common schlep, but a man of substance and consequence. The thought intrigued as much as it confused her. He looked as if her rejection had cut him to the core. Pride made him conceal it. He couldn’t hide it from her, she’d seen it. She had damn well felt it.

“What have I done?”

She juggled the books more securely in her arm and hurried to the corner to follow him, only to find he had disappeared like vapor on the morning sun.