Elena gazed at the extended hand. It was a big hand, spotlessly clean, with long, muscular fingers and immaculately clipped nails. It was the hand of a man who had never broken a sweat in backbreaking work, a man who ruled empires from behind a marble desk. It was a hand that wielded unimaginable power, and it was being extended to her, a waitress with eighteen dollars in her purse and a past she couldn't escape. Running now seemed the most stupid move of all. He had known her name. He had located her once with unnerving ease. If she ran, he would simply follow. The game would be on again, and the not-knowing would eat her alive. More than that, the recollection of her own strange, protective impulse just seconds before kept her from acting. Why had she lied to him? What was this strange, terrifying connection? Getting into that automobile was a frightening prospect, but it was the only path that might bring her answers.
Her decision made, she brushed his hand away and stiffly walked to the car door, her movements jerky. Before she could get to it, the door was opened for her by the silent, stone-faced driver. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Elena slid into the luxurious interior. The door slammed softly, solidly closed, and the world outside was lost. The sounds of the city—the distant cars, the buzz of the streetlamps—were completely lost, replaced by a heavy, tomblike silence. The air inside did not smell like a car; it smelled of rich, dark leather and him. That clean, wild scent of a storm was all around her, a scent that was both unnerving and addictively thrilling. It was like being trapped in a cage with a panther.
Damien scooted into the seat next to her, the car interior large enough to be a mini-room. He issued a soft instruction to the driver, and the car moved away from the curb with a movement so smooth it seemed to happen without anyone noticing. Elena leaned back into the plush leather, attempting to put as much space as she could between them. She gazed out the window at her own neighborhood whizzing by, the dirty, familiar streets seeming odd and far away behind the tinted glass.
The quiet hung, heavy with unasked questions and seething tension. Elena sensed he was gazing at her; she felt the pressure of his golden eyes against her flesh. She would not be his docile prey. Her fear was an icy, hard stone in her belly, but her fury and bewilderment were a flame that grew hotter. She turned away from the window and confronted him directly.
"How do you know my name?" she asked, glad that her voice sounded strong.
His lips brushed a ghost of a smile, a fleeting, dangerous glint. "I have an interest in finding out things that affect me, Elena."
His response was a masterful parrying, not speaking and not not speaking at the same time. "That's not an answer," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "What do you want from me?"
"For now," he said, his voice low, hypnotic rumble, "I want to ensure you make it home safely."
"And then what?" she asked.
This time, he leaned forward a little, the action relaxed but charged with predatory power. The air between them narrowed, and Elena's breath caught. "After that," he declared, his golden eyes fastening on hers, "we are going to have a very long talk about fate, destiny… and what's mine."
Her heart thudded against the wall of her chest. Her entire being cried out that this was madness, that she was messing with fire with a man who was not safely sane. And yet, her body had other plans. Her pulse thudded with not just fear, but with a strange, black excitement. The car pulled up in front of her dilapidated apartment complex. The multi-million-dollar vehicle juxtaposed with the decaying brick facade was almost laughable.
The driver opened her door, but Damien was already outside, standing by the sidewalk, waiting for her. He accompanied her to the building entrance, his presence a brooding, possessive assertion before anyone who just so happened to be observing. She fumbled with her keys at her door, her hands trembling.
He towered above her, his body inches from hers, so she could feel the warmth emanating from his skin. He didn't back away to come in. Instead, he leaned in slowly and ran his knuckles over her cheek. The touch was fleeting, a feather's kiss, but it ran through her whole body like a shock of pure electricity, a jolt of sharpness. Her eyes went wide, and she saw the flash of brilliant gold, the glimpse of the wild wolf beneath.
"Rest now," he whispered, his tone a menacing threat. "I will find you tomorrow." He turned and walked away without a word. The brief touch seared her, and as his car disappeared into the darkness, she stumbled into her apartment and locked the door, knowing with a chill awareness that no lock on earth would ever be able to keep him out.