Читать книгу The Blood She Betrayed - Cheryse Durrant - Страница 6

Sunday

He'd heard that dying people saw their lives flash before their eyes, but all Max felt was uncontrollable panic.

Death by stupidity and a slippery ledge. He closed his eyes, swallowed a scream and prepared for the crunch of bones on the pavement below when a body slammed into him mid-air, breaking the speed of his fall. His stomach lurched. Fingers bruised his ribs. He turned his head and dodged a mouthful of hair. They crashed into lawn, not pavement, and tumbled down the estate's grassy slope.

Snatches of landscape bounced in front of him: sky, grass, sky — tree! His head jerked sideways but his body hurtled onwards and smacked into the trunk. Pain radiated through his body and he collapsed beneath his rescuer.

He looked up in surprise as air rushed into his lungs.

It wasn't a guy who'd saved him.

It was a girl!

Max's chest tightened as he stared at the Goth Angel's ivory skin, devastating violet eyes and midnight-black hair. His hands clung to her waist; his fingertips grazed the smooth lines of her… copper breastplate? He stretched his neck and blinked at the armour's elegant arcs and matching arm guards.

She disentangled herself and he swallowed hard. Sheathed sword, copper armour and black pants? Either this girl had a passion for medieval costumes, or he'd died and gone to heaven and she was his leather-scented welcoming committee.

`Where did you come from?' Nausea curdled his stomach.

She sprang upwards, hauling him with her like a paper puppet. She was shorter than him but her lithe frame was pure muscle. `You must flee!'

`But you caught me! You saved my life!'

`Shh!' Her finger grazed his lips. `They might hear!'

She drew him away from the well-lit Linden mansion, into the shadows beneath the trees.

`Who might hear?' This girl was hot. Even her accent fitted her warrior chick image, and that funky armour did everything for her curves. Was she on her way to a party? He needed an invite. As long as she wasn't going to his father's costume ball that was gathering momentum in the next suburb. Could he have sent her? `Are you working for Laronte?'

`I cannot linger. Go! You are not safe.'

Safe? Neither was she! He was hot for her. Hot and drunk. `I—' Her face blurred as the rum lurched inside his stomach shifting him from queasy to rebellious. He bent over and hurled, just missing the tips of her boots. His head swam and the ground rocked as he reached for her. She held him and, after he spewed again, her fingers stroked his forehead.

What the? His skin tingled beneath her touch, even as his mind spun through long-banished memories, like his mother's decapitated head on the floor.

`We must move.' She tugged at his sleeve as his drunkenness ebbed away.

`Why?'

`We are standing in your vomit.'

`Oh.' He followed her further down the slope. He'd never met anyone like her. She couldn't be on Laronte's payroll. None of their employees were this interesting. `You saved my life. How did you do that?'

`What distance is the nearest tavern?'

`There are drinks at the party.'

`I need lodgings as well.'

`You want a place to stay?'

`Yes.'

Since Ethan's death, he'd been cautious of strangers, but this girl had already got under his skin — and saved it. She was quirky, yes, but what ulterior motives could she have? He needed to know her better and she needed a place to stay.

`How about my house?' he suggested.

`Are you in possession of safe premises?'

`Yes.' Thank you, brother Ethan, for leaving me your home.

`What about your enemies on the balcony?'

`My enemies?'

`Max!'

Oh great, the private nursemaids. Wiry, grey-haired Jack and beefy, bald-headed Ike raced towards them. His bodyguards had only been a few metres away when he fell but they'd taken their time finding him. Not even garden shadows could save him from their GPS.

Goth Angel drew her sword against the approaching men. `Leave him alone!'

`Who are you?' Jack pulled up short and drew a Glock handgun from the inside of his jacket.

`Don't! She's with me!' Max held up a hand before turning towards her. `It's okay, they're my bodyguards.'

`Then they have failed in their duties.'

`Max?' Jack aimed his gun at her. `Who is this girl?'

`She saved me when I fell from the balcony.'

`You were not pushed?' Goth girl lowered her sword.

`Nuh.'

She rolled her eyes. `I know now why you need bodyguards.'

After some hesitation, she sheathed her sword.

`Are you injured?' Jack returned his Glock to its underarm holster.

`Bundy Rum — better than local anaesthetic.' Max grinned.

`Drunk again.' Jack frowned as if alcohol were a bad thing. `We're taking you home.'

`No!' Max's vehemence surprised even himself. He'd never once complained about them shadowing him and he'd always obeyed their instructions, but not this time. `I don't need either of you tonight. I want to be with my friend.'

`You're spending the night with this woman? Who is she?'

Max's simmering resentment burst. `She's none of your business! Just leave us alone!'

`But your brother—'

`Yes, I know we buried him three months ago.' Anger fuelled his sarcasm. `I was at his funeral. Good job protecting him, by the way. Go! I'll see you tomorrow.'

`You can't spend the night with a girl we know nothing about. Your father would be furious.'

`He'd be furious, too, if he knew some of the things you'd done while on duty, but I won't tell if you don't.'

Jack frowned. `Ike can have the night off. I'll be at my place with my phone turned on. Be careful, Max.'

The men retreated through the garden, towards the car park on the other side of the estate.

Max flexed clammy hands. Had they ruined his chance? At least she was still here. `I almost choked when you drew your sword. Jack thought it was real!'

`Naturally. Only imbeciles carry a fake or walk the streets unarmed.'

`Oh, I get it — you're pretending to be your costume character. Sweet. So you're a friend of Darryn's?' He gestured towards the party lights.

`Is he important?'

`Only because his parents are paying for the caterers. Did you gatecrash with friends or—'

`You invited me to your home. Do you have sustenance? Will I be able to rest there?'

She was still keen on his place? He hadn't died, but he'd still gone to heaven. `Yes. Food, rest. Can do.'

`Then lead me to your abode.'

He forced himself to move. Other than Emma, he'd never been interested in girls before, mainly because they were more interested in his money than he was. But he felt a connection to this Goth Angel. She emanated purpose, from the regal tilt of her head to the scuffed toes of her boots, and he craved to know her better. He might even find out how she had leapt and broken his fall. Maybe she was a high jump pro. Maybe she had a gold card to the gym. Whatever her secrets, he was ready to discover them.