Anew: Book Two: Hunted (5 page)

Ian

“A
melia!”

I lunge forward as she’s about to fall into the reflecting
pool. All the breath goes out of me. What the hell? Edward told me she was all
right, back to classes with the damn Russian and the usual social round. I
wasn’t going to follow her when I saw her leaving the ball but she looked upset
and I couldn’t stop myself--

Several of my men are converging out of the shadows. I order
them off with a jerk of my head and carry her to a stone bench far enough away
from the entrance that the guests who are still arriving won’t see us.

Her face is pale against my shoulder, the delicate fringe of
her lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. I can barely feel the faint rise
and fall of her breath. She was always slender but now she’s too damn light. I
mutter a curse and sit down, holding her on my lap.

“Amelia, sweetheart, wake up.” I can hear the fear in my
voice. What if there’s really something wrong? She’s been going flat out ever
since she awoke, thanks in no small measure to me. Could sensory overload have
done this to her? What if she doesn’t wake up? Everyone who knew squat about
the customization protocols used when she was imprinted got vaporized when the
Institute was destroyed by the HPF. Where will I find someone to help her? I
should have known better. Should have taken better care of her. She was
entrusted to me and all I’ve done is--

Her lashes flutter. She stirs in my arms. Relief hits me so
hard that I gasp, sucking in air. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down.

She makes a soft sound and opens her eyes. For a moment,
they’re filled with confusion but then she focuses on me. At once, she
stiffens.

“Ian--”

Yeah, Ian. The guy who fucked you with cold calculation
while he told you about the demons that urge him to forget that you’re a
thinking, feeling human being and use you like the possession that the law says
you are.

That guy.

I still have nightmares about the Club, something I didn’t
tell her. Lately, they’ve gotten a hell of a lot worse because she’s in them.

“It’s all right,” I say quickly. “I’ll let you go in a
second. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

Her hand grips the lapel of my evening jacket. “Don’t,” she
murmurs.

Don’t what? Hold her? Talk to her? What?

“Don’t let go.”

Oh, shit. It’s hard enough to hold on to my resolve where
she’s concerned without her giving me any excuse not to.

“Just for a minute,” Amelia murmurs. “That’s all. I just
need to--” A shudder runs through her.

I can’t help myself. My arms tighten around her. I touch my
lips to her forehead as I inhale the unique, arousing scent of pure Amelia. She
feels so fragile in my arms but I don’t doubt her strength and courage any more
than I do her passionate, honest, and giving nature. She’s generous to a fault.
She certainly has been with me and apparently still is given that she isn’t
pushing me away, screaming bloody murder, and demanding that I never come near
her again. After ten days without her, it’s all I can do not to carry her
farther into the park, find a secluded spot and--

“Need to what, sweetheart?”

She doesn’t answer, only presses closer to me. I’m savoring
the feel of her, not even trying any more to figure out what’s going on, when
she gives a soft sigh.

I know that I have to put a stop to this. There’s no
question about that. Life can be murky as hell but where she’s concerned right
and wrong are so clear that the blinding clarity feels like an ice pick
straight through my skull.

Let her go.

Simple, no brainer. Besides, I already did that when I told
her the truth about myself and walked away from her.

There’s no going back from that. Is there?

I look down and see my hand wrapped around her wrist. How
the hell did it get there?

Her bones feel so delicate under my fingers. At least I’m
not squeezing, just holding lightly. I’ve got that much control left, although
I can’t say how much longer even that will last.

The light of the floating lanterns, falling across her face,
reveals a small injury to her lower lip.

 “You’re hurt.” My voice is unintentionally harsh. I
wince at the sound of it. The last thing I want to do is frighten her. The mere
thought of doing so is like a knife twisting in me.

The tip of her tongue touches her lip for just an instant. A
flare of heat moves through me.

“It’s nothing,” she says softly. Her eyes still won’t meet
mine. She’s so damn lovely but far too pale. I can see the faint blue tracing
of a blood vessel along the side of her forehead. She looks as though she’s
become almost translucent. The thought that she’s fading away scares the shit
out of me.

I take a breath and shift her a little on my lap, enough so
that hopefully she won’t be aware of the erection that’s straining against my
trousers. My cock has absolutely no sense of timing or anything else apart from
the need to be deep inside her, thrusting hard, driving us both to--

I clear my throat and ask, “What happened? Why did you
faint?”

She hesitates and I can tell that she’s debating what to
tell me. Finally, she says, “I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

She’s withholding something. I don’t have a clue what it is
but I’m certain all the same. I can’t blame her for not trusting me but I also
can’t stop myself from resenting the fact that she doesn’t.

“If you weren’t feeling well,” I say, “you’d tell someone,
right? Edward or Adele, someone. You wouldn’t keep that to yourself.”

The question seems to surprise her. “Yes, of course I would
but I’m fine.”

That’s obviously not true but I don’t want to argue about it
so I change direction. “You shouldn’t have come out here alone.”

The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me. I sent her
away because I’m a danger to her but I don’t trust anyone else to keep her
safe, not even my own men. No wonder I’m tied up in knots, unable to sleep even
when I get the chance, and so on edge that Hollis and Gab are tip-toeing around
me.

“I needed some fresh air,” she says.

I nod, pretending to understand. “It’s a crush in there.”

She’s silent for a moment before she finally lifts her eyes to
mine. Her gaze is unfathomable, her voice a thread of sound that makes me want
to draw her even closer. “I didn’t think you would be here.”

What does that mean? That my presence makes her
uncomfortable or… It hits me then, what I’m feeling from her. She’s deeply,
profoundly sad, as though her world has turned as dark and bleak as my own.

My chest feels as though it’s about to crack. The need to
comfort her is so overpowering that I know I’m on the verge of forgetting
everything else and giving into it. Rather than let that happen, I stand
abruptly, steadying her on her feet. I pull my hands away and take a quick step
back but I can’t help devouring her with my eyes.

Distantly, I notice that she’s draped in diamonds. They
encircle her throat and extend down over her delicate collarbones, clasp her
wrists, adorn her ears, and nestle in her upswept hair. But their brilliance
fades to insignificance beside the woman herself. Her gown is a deep, rich
velvet, the color of aged claret. It’s the perfect foil for alabaster skin
suffused with a slight blush. Her chestnut hair has been mildly tamed and swept
up to expose the delicate line of her throat. I stare at the pulse fluttering
there and fight the urge to press my lips to it.

Hoarsely, I ask, “Amelia, what’s wrong? And don’t tell me
again that you’re fine because you obviously aren’t.”

She doesn’t answer me directly but she does ask, “Why are
you here?”

I run down a quick mental list of plausible reasons.
Escorting my mother and sister is probably my best pick but I refuse to hide
behind women.

“I need to know that you’re safe.” What the hell? Is telling
her the truth becoming a habit?

She shoots me an anxious look. “The HPF--?”

“Gone,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to worry about them
anymore.”

“And the--”

She pauses delicately as I recall giving her the short
version of what I intended to do to the HPF leaders once they were captured.
Reduce them to babbling husks of men, was how I think I put it. Way to go,
Slade, sensitive and reassuring as always.

“The information you wanted,” she says. “Did you get it?”

“Edward and I have everything we need,” I assure her,
wanting to drop the subject. “We’ll track the money, find out who was behind
them. You don’t need to worry about that either.”

She nods and I think she’s relieved that she’s safe but then
she opens her mouth and completely blows my world apart. “Thank God! I’ve been
so worried about you.”

About me?
I’m the bad guy, sweetheart. The one other
people lie awake at night worrying might be coming after them. Evil people,
scumbags but still human in their own special ways.

“Going after the HPF was a horrible thing to have to do,”
she continues, oblivious to my thoughts. She’s looking at me with those huge
aquamarine eyes that are filled with an emotion I don’t want to recognize
because it looks dangerously like compassion. The shriveled thing in my chest
that passes for a heart twists at the thought.

“I’m so sorry that you were dragged into all this,” she
says.

I’ve had nothing to drink. I don’t touch drugs no matter how
legal they are. So why am I hearing things?

And seeing them, too, because her eyes are glistening with
tears, as though she’s done something terrible that she can’t ever forgive
herself for. I’m so far out of my depth, so baffled that I can barely string a
few words together.

“Uh…I think you’ve got it backwards. You’re the one who
didn’t ask for any of this.”

She looks at me as though I can’t possibly be this obtuse.
How little she knows! When it comes to Amelia, I’ve cornered the market on dumb
and dumber.

Patiently, she says, “You’re doing all this for my sake.
That makes it my responsibility.” She straightens her shoulders, tilts her chin
up, and meets my gaze head on. Her voice is small but unwavering as she says,
“I’m very well aware that Susannah sprang me on you with no warning. You never
asked to be involved with me. And now I also know the harm I’ve caused you.
What you’ve had to relive because of me. If there was some way that I could
undo all that--”

She thinks this is her fault? She thinks I’d be better off
never having known her? How is it possible for an intelligent, seemingly
rational woman to get everything turned inside out like that?

No memories. No experience. No context. Knowledge but
nothing to put it up against, no way to make sense of anything except gut
instinct which, in this case at least, is dead wrong. That’s how.

But she still has strength of character and raw courage that
astound me. I’ve known a shit load of people in this world who won’t take
responsibility for anything. Who always have some excuse why they’re never to
blame no matter what harm they do or how much havoc they wreak.

Hell, I’ve put some of them in the ground.

And this woman--this beautiful, brave woman--stands right in
front of me and apologizes because I’m the dark, deeply flawed bastard that I
am?

Hell, no. No way she gets to do that.

“Listen to me,” I say. “You have nothing to be sorry about.
You’re the innocent party in all of this. You have been from the very
beginning.” Completely innocent as I would have realized before that first
night with her in the golden bed if I had been thinking straight. I should have
taken it a hell of a lot slower with her or better yet kept my hands off her
entirely. If I were remotely the man she thought I was, I would have. Instead,
I’m--

“I may be inexperienced, Ian,” she says softly. “But I’m not
a child to be protected from unpleasant truths. Please don’t treat me like
one.”

If the suddenly steely glint in her eyes is anything to go
by, she means it.

“All right then,” I say, regrouping rapidly. “Tell me the
truth. How are you really?”

Reluctantly, she says, “I breathe. I eat after a fashion. I
would sleep more but when I do, I dream. How are you?”

What’s wrong with her dreams, unless she means that they’re
nightmares? I want to ask her about that but I’m scared that she’ll say I’m in
them. Instead, I say, “I bench pressed four eighty the other day. That’s a
record for me.”

She nods, smiling like that’s great. “So you’re working out.
That’s good…healthy.”

It beats pacing the floor at night, my body feeling like
it’s been twisted into knots with longing for her and my skin burning for her
touch.

“I’ve been playing a little handball, too,” I add. In
between interrogation sessions and only with the rapidly shrinking pool of guys
willing to get on a court with me while I’m in the mood that I am.