Something must be seriously wrong for him to reserve his remarks.
“How far are we from the tavern?” Violet asked. His brother seemed to have wanted them to go back there.
“Too far,” he denied. “But don’t worry, I have a place close by.” He urged the horse into a faster gallop. “Hold on.”
Ihavebeen holding on.As if she’d ever let go!
Violet was determined to hold on for dear life. Eternal life, if she had to. She had no intention of dying tonight, certainly not in the arms of a man this infuriating. And certainly not with him in hers. She only prayed the “place nearby” wasn’t the graveyard. Besides that, wherever he was taking her, it could not possibly be worse than the men giving chase.
*
Drake could tellthe woman in his arms was terrified and he bloody hated it. She should be smiling, narrowing her gaze on him in challenge, cursing him, boldly declaring her stances, not hiding in his arms like a crushed wallflower. He hated what it did to him, too, this particular need to put the spark back in her eyes, but that didn’t matter right now.
He needed to get her to safety.
And he needed to bloody stop the bleeding before he did something unforgivably weak and toppled off this damn horse. Fury infiltrated every inch of blood and bone. He needed no damned guesswork to name the devil responsible.
They’d lost their pursuers for now. But his brothers would only stall them for so long. He couldn’t afford the luxury of a long mad dash. He already lost his focus once, so he damn well had to get his wound handled before she noticed he was in far worse condition than he let on. They had to secure safety fast.
He guided the horse into another side lane and then a narrower passage.
There.
One of his safeholds. Thank God. A narrow, nondescript brown door wedged between two derelict buildings and easy to overlook. Drake yanked the reins, dragging the horse to a hard stop. Pain flared sharp along his side, but he pushed it aside and slid his arm beneath Violet. A soft yelp slipped out when he dismounted with her in his arms, her own flying around his neck, her legs locking instinctively at his hips.
“Put me down,” she hissed near his ear. “You’ll make your wound worse.”
“I’m fine,” Drake bit out. But he reluctantly set her on her feet, unable to argue with her logic. His vision tightened at the edges, a slow, insidious fog creeping through his skull, dulling the sharpness of his senses. His body felt wrong—too light in places, too heavy in others—his muscles fighting with the effort to obey him. The wound throbbed in vicious pulses, each one stealing a little more strength than he could spare.
Just wall it off.
“How could you be fine?” she challenged. “You are bleeding through your shirt and your grip is not as steady as you think it is.”
“You noticed that.” Too perceptive for her own good.
“I notice everything,” she said tartly. “It’s how I’ve survived this long.”
Another piece of her, noted and stored. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He turned and stepped up to their hideout, braced himself, and drove his boot into the door. It splintered inward with a crack that split the silence in the narrow street. He grasped her wrist and pulled her inside, his steed following without a command.
“What is this place?”
“A place where I store most of my valuables.”
Drake shut the door and pulled over a side table to keep it from swinging open. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Violet stood beside him, taking in the barren room with a faint furrow in her brow. There wasn’t much to see. That was the point. This was Fury territory. Unless a man possessed a wish to vanish from this earth, they wouldn’t dare set foot uninvited onto a property they had no business setting foot on. The men hot on their heels shouldn’t know about this place either. Not even his brothers did.
“Not much here,” she murmured.
“By design,” he said, pressing a palm to his side again. Christ, the room tilted for half a second before he forced it steady. “Come.” He ignored the stars dancing in his vision as he led her down the corridor, past the sweep of the staircase and the empty frame that had once been a receiving room, until they reached a plain door set into the wall. He shoved it open. A steep stairwell dropped away into darkness, straight into the old cellar he’d turned into something far more useful.
He reached blindly for the shelf beside the door, releasing his wound just long enough to light the candle. The flame sputteredto life, and he applied pressure again, jaw locking against the sharp flare of pain.
“Stay with me.”
“What about the horse?” she asked softly.
“He’ll be fine for now. He won’t wander.”
