“Stay back,” she said as she tried to examine her skin again.
She didn’t see any blood, and she didn’t smell burnt copper; if he’d gotten any blood on her, then it wasn’t his. The chair skidded across the floor as she planted it between them while she backed toward the room she just fled.
Saxon held his hands up as he tracked her movements. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She gave him a “yeah right” look as she dragged the broken chair with her toward the other room.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be,” he told her.
She had no doubt about that, but these bastards hadn’t wanted her dead either—at least not right away—and there were plenty of times since they took her when she wished they’d kill her.
Chapter Six
“Tellme what is going on here,” Saxon said. “And I might be able to help you.”
“No one can help me.”
He followed her back into what he now realized was a living room with a TV on top of a cherrywood stand. A few books sat on one of the end tables with the remote next to them. He imagined the brown, leather couch and wagon wheel coffee table were usually set up in front of the TV, but they were both closer to the door now.
Dark, wooden beams ran across the ceiling toward the paneled walls. His booted feet clicked on the wood, plank floors. Looking around the cabin, he felt like he’d stepped back into the seventies; a time he remembered with fondness. He loathed disco music, but he had a lot of fun in the clubs. Studio 54 was an especially good time, almost as fun as Woodstock.
With his responsibilities, he hadn’t expected to attend either place, but when some Savages decided to crash the party, he’d followed them and attended one day of Woodstock with Killean and Declan.
He’d never seen Declan look as amused as he did while watching the hippies rolling through the mud or Killean look as disgusted. For his part, he’d enjoyed more than a few flower children and the music. And in Studio 54, after killing a Savage, he’d contemplated clawing his eardrums out, but he stayed for the show and the women.
His attention returned to Elyse as she continued to edge away with the chair between them. He was used to charming women with a smile; he didn’t know how to handle one who held a stake to his chest and looked terrified of him. And for some reason, he hated the idea of Elyse being scared of him.
Holding his hands up, he strode over to the couch and sprawled out on it. He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands behind his head as he tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. When he smiled at her, she scowled at him, so he lost the smile.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“There are worse things than pain.”
His casual demeanor vanished as he sat up on the couch. “Such as?”
Elyse glanced at the door behind her, but she had no illusions she’d make it outside before he stopped her. And there was nowhere for her to go. She’d freeze to death out there.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“I’m going to get you out of here once I have the chance. Have you seen—” He searched his pockets for his phone, but it was gone. “—my phone?”
“No,” Elyse said. “And it wasn’t on the porch.”
He probably lost it during the fight, which meant the snow now covered it. “Well, anyway, I’ll get you out of here. But first, you have to tell me what is going on.”
Elyse studied him as she tried to figure out what to do. He didn’t seem as vicious as the other vampires, and he looked sincere, but she didn’t trust anyone with fangs. Hell, she barely trusted anyone without fangs.
“And how do you plan to get me out of here?” she asked.
“When the snow stops, we’ll take the car—”
“The car is dead.”
“You already tried to escape here.”
“Yes.”
He recalled her battered feet and understood what happened to make them that way. “Did you run outside barefoot?”
