The Stone Warriors: Damian (33 page)

“Damn it,” she muttered, trying not to think about the fact that the smoke was getting thicker, the fire hotter. She searched the junk closest to the window, looking for something she could use, something within reach, and found an old length of galvanized pipe. Wielding it awkwardly with her left hand, she smashed the wood holding her right arm until she had both arms free. She still couldn’t reach her legs, since they were tied to the back legs of the chair, which meant she could only stand in a hunched-over position as she began crawling over the junk below the window, dragging herself upward, inching closer to the uncovered window.

Behind her, the fire was spreading, with a thick smoke now blanketing the ceiling, making it harder to breathe the higher she climbed. She heard a distant siren that might be the fire department coming, but she wouldn’t last that long.

Gripping the pipe in one hand, she crawled ever higher, surprised to discover a workbench of some kind just below the window. When she managed to clamber up onto it, it gave her a solid surface from which to swing the pipe. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack, but behind her, the fire made a whooshing sound as the cold air rushed in from outside to feed the flames. She didn’t turn to look, didn’t need to see. She could feel the heat growing against her back as she broke out the remaining glass in the window frame and saw her next problem. She could wiggle her way out that window, but the damn chair wasn’t going to fit. She screamed in frustration.

DAMIAN SMASHED through the locked front door of the house and found the back of the small structure almost fully engulfed. He turned for the hallway and the two bedrooms, tearing them apart as he searched for Cassandra, convinced she was alive and in this house somewhere. Nico had his expensive car and his technology, but Damian had his gut. And it was telling him she was here.

Feeling sick at all the possibilities of what could happen, he raced out of the last bedroom and into the hallway, terrified that they’d left her in the kitchen at the heart of the fire. But on the way, he caught sight of an ordinary wooden door. He touched it in passing and slammed to a halt. It was hot, so hot that it wouldn’t last much longer. There had to be a basement behind it—the heat was too intense for anything smaller, and the layout of the house permitted nothing else. Once again, his gut spoke, telling him Cassandra was down there in the heart of that fire. He took a step back and kicked open the door, flying back on his ass when flames erupted from the opening.

“Cassandra!” he called, his voice drowned by the steady rumble of the flames. He turned and raced from the house. He was fearless, not stupid. He’d never make it down those stairs through the fire, but there had to be another way into the lower level. He tore around to the back of the house, sucking in great lungsful of air as he went. If it was this bad for him after just a few minutes in that house, he could only imagine what it must be like for Cassandra. Was she conscious, injured, or even bound? Was she watching the flames come closer, her lungs filling with smoke, killing her slowly with every breath?

He rounded the building to the sound of shattering glass, followed by a woman’s angry scream.

“Cassandra!” he roared and drew his blade. “Stay back!”

“There’s no fucking room!” she shouted, and despite the anger, despite the hoarse growl in her voice, it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He dropped to his knees and saw she was right. His blade was preternaturally sharp, but he could as easily cut her as the wall, which was his target. Thinking quickly—which was, after all, what he did best—he ripped off his leather jacket and wrapped it around the blade to shorten it to a workable length. The edge would cut through the leather and then his hand soon enough, but he wouldn’t need much time, and he would heal.

Using the blade like a long knife, he sliced through the old stucco and wood wall, until the opening was big enough that he could reach through and drag her out, cursing when her body got hung up on even the larger opening.

“I’m tied to this damn chair,” she croaked, choking out a sobbing laugh.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, sheathing his blade. Her arms came around his neck, and he reached behind her to break away the remnants of a wooden chair, until finally, he could pull her all the way through the window and into the fresh air. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the far back end of the big yard next to a tall chain-link fence. It might have been safer to head for the street, but they were away from the burning house here, and the smoke was blowing in the opposite direction. Besides, he didn’t know the situation on the street yet, didn’t know if Sotiris had more men about, or if the human authorities would accost him the moment he appeared with Cassandra in his arms.

She clung to him for only a moment when he stopped at the fence and put her on her feet, coughing so viciously that he worried she couldn’t stop. But eventually, she managed several deep breaths, and her fingers loosened their grip on his arm. And then, avoiding his eyes, she stepped back and asked, “Do you have a knife?”

“Cassandra,” he murmured, frustrated and angry at the events that were tearing them apart.

“I need a knife, Damian.”

“I’ll do it, damn it.” Gritting his teeth, he pulled the blade from his belt and cut through the remaining bindings on her arms, then reached for her wrist, which was swollen and bloody, still wrapped in lengths of rope. “Let me—” he started to say, but she snatched her arm away.

“I’ll do it,” she insisted, her hand trembling as she reached for the knife.

“Stop it,” he said impatiently. “You’ll cut yourself and only make it worse. Let me help you, damn it.”

She pursed her lips angrily, but nodded and held out both wrists. Damian took one of her hands and carefully slid the sharp blade beneath the ropes. She hissed in pain when the back of the blade touched her raw skin, but he held her steady and sliced through the rope with a single move. Taking her other wrist, he did the same, then put a hand on her hip. “Hold still.”

She stiffened beneath his touch, but he did what needed to be done, quickly removing the remains of the chair and the ropes from her legs. “We need to treat those rope burns. They’ll fester.”

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped. She drew a calming breath through her nose, but then destroyed the image with another bout of coughing. Panting, breathless, she said, “We should leave before the authorities get here—”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Nico said, coming around the house and crossing the deep yard to join them. “Cassandra,” he said gently. “Do you need—?”

She flashed Nico an angry glare. “You can both go. I don’t need anything from—”

“Damian, would you excuse us for a moment?” Nick snapped.

Damian stared at his old friend, confused.

“Just for a moment,” Nico said, meeting his eyes. “Please.”

Damian didn’t want to leave Cassandra, even if she was so angry that she wouldn’t look at him. He needed to explain, to make her understand why he and Nico had needed to meet, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t with her. On the other hand, this was Nico. The one person he trusted more than any other on this earth. He nodded. “I’ll wait around front.”

Nico frowned. “There will be firemen and police arriving soon. We’ll want to leave before they get here.”

“Cassandra,” Damian said. “Where’s your vehicle?”

She looked him in the face at last, and gratitude flashed in her eyes, there and gone so quickly, he might have imagined it. “Around the corner,” she told him. “They took my purse, but there’s a spare remote in a magnetic case in the rear passenger wheel well. You know which one that is?”

He smiled slightly, wondering if she was being intentionally insulting or if she really thought he was too stupid to understand her directions.

“He knows,” Nico interrupted before they could use up time that they obviously didn’t have.

“I’ll find it,” Damian told her and hopped over the tall fence into the alley, noting, as he did, that the house didn’t have long before it would collapse.

CASSANDRA WATCHED as Damian easily levered himself up and over the tall fence. He was the very picture of athletic grace in his tight jeans and T-shirt, which was all he had on, despite the cold air. His leather jacket had been ruined when he’d used it to pad his grip on the sword, but—She frowned when she noticed the blood on the fence.

“He’s bleeding,” she said. “The blade must have cut through the leather of his jacket and into his hand.” She started to go after him, but Nick stopped her.

“Damian knows blades. He knew what would happen, but he did it anyway. He cares about you, Casey.”

“Not enough,” she muttered.

“Oh, fuck that,” he snapped angrily. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Her eyes went wide. Had she ever seen Nick actually get angry? Had she ever seen
any
genuine emotion from the man?

“He’s the best man you’ll ever meet,” he continued heatedly, “and you’re sulking because he hasn’t shared his soul with you? How long have you known him? A week? What the hell do you expect?”

“Honesty!” she shouted, her eyes filling with tears despite herself. She hurt everywhere; it hurt to
breathe,
for fuck’s sake. And her heart was a raw ache inside her chest. The very last thing she needed right now was a lecture on her love life, especially not from Nick, whose idea of a long-term commitment was a few days. “
He
lied to me, and
you
made me feel like a fool.”

“Well, welcome to the real world. There are things about my life, about my life with
Damian
, that could get people killed, people we love. So we made a mistake.
I
made a mistake. Don’t blame Damian for it. He wanted to tell you everything. He
would
have told you everything if you’d been there when he got back to the hotel. I’m
old,
Casey. I’ve had several lifetimes of keeping secrets just to stay alive—my secrets and other people’s too. You say trust doesn’t come easily to you? Well, multiply that by a thousand, and that’s how I feel. You don’t think that’s fair? Well, shit, Case. Life isn’t fucking fair. But if you’re stupid enough to walk away from Damian, then maybe you don’t deserve him.”

And with that, he spun around and hopped the fence with the same ease and athleticism that Damian had shown. More proof that he was the warrior Damian claimed, more evidence of just how little she’d really known him. The wind shifted and she looked around, nearly choking on the smoke from the burning wreck of a house. Why the hell was she still standing there, and why had they left her all alone? Oh, right. Because she’d asked them to. Probably not a good plan on her part. But wait, Damian had asked about her Yukon—

“Cassandra.” Damian’s deep voice cut through her self-pity. He touched her arm and she swung around to face him. It really was eerie the way he could sneak up on her. Behind him, the gate was hanging open in the back fence. “Your truck’s in the alley,” he said. “Come on.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm. At the blood coating his fingers. “You’re still bleeding.”

He snatched his hand back and wiped it on his jeans. “Sorry.”

As if she cared that he was getting blood on her. “Damian—”

“We need to get out of here,” he said gruffly. “Can you walk?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure. She took a single step, wincing at the stabbing pain in her hip. She must have bruised it somewhere. Maybe when the chair had crashed to the floor the second time. She took a second step, but her foot never hit the ground. Damian swept her into his arms and started for the gate.

“Sorry, sweetheart. But we have to hurry.”

She wanted to protest, but she was so tired and sore, so cold. And he was more than warm. He was hot, like a furnace, his chest deep and comforting. She sighed, relaxing into his strength. Then she noticed he was holding his bloody hand away at a weird angle, so it wouldn’t touch her. Fuck.

“Damian—”

“Almost there,” he said, again interrupting her before she could finish.

Was he afraid of what she was going to say? Did he really think she’d argue with him when he’d just swooped in like some mythological hero to save her life and carry her to safety? She thought about it. Well, yeah, he probably did. She’d had her reasons for leaving. Good reasons. But Nick’s words came back to her.
Life isn’t fucking fair
. Sure, her life hadn’t been perfect. But it sure as hell had been better than what Damian had been through.

She rested her head against his shoulder, saying with her body what he wouldn’t let her say with words.
Thank you. I trust you.

THEY WERE BACK at the hotel, the same one she’d left that morning, the one she’d been convinced she’d never be coming back to, especially with Damian’s arms around her. But she was too worn out to be angry, and she saw the situation a little differently now. She had a good idea of what, or
whom,
he and Nick were protecting—the other warriors, the ones still trapped by Sotiris’s curse. And she knew how important the missing fighters were to Damian. And then there was what Nick had said about Damian wanting to tell her everything. It didn’t surprise her that Nick kept secrets; she’d always known and accepted that. And she realized with a start that it wasn’t the secret that was bothering her, it was the sense that Damian was choosing Nick over her. That the two of them had a relationship that would always take precedence over whoever else was in his life.

Damian slid the key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open, practically carrying her into the room, with his arm around her waist from behind. He sat her on the bed and kneeled in front of her, staring into her face. “Can you take off your clothes? Do you need help?”

She wanted to weep. He was being so sweet and so careful with her. “I can do it,” she told him and began unbuttoning her blouse, realizing when she was halfway done that there wasn’t much left of it. Between the fire and her own struggles to free herself, the thing was ruined. She might as well have asked Damian to cut it away with his knife.

And where was Damian anyway? She lifted her head to see him through the open door of the bathroom. The shower was running, the room filling with steam. He was half-naked, wearing only his jeans as he leaned against the marble sink, both hands on the sink top, his arms stiff while his head hung between his slumped shoulders in a pose of utter defeat. It hurt her heart to see him like that. A proud warrior brought low. Was he longing for the world he’d been sucked away from? For the friends he’d lost, or the days when he and Nick had fought the good fight against Sotiris, with an army at their backs?