Free Taming the Demon by Doranna Durgin Page B

escape—a staggering, jolting run that soon steadied out into pumping arms and legs and distance between them.
    Not that it stopped him yet—not with the rage of metal burning up his arm, pushing, pushing him—
    But for Natalie.
    She shoved him another few staggering steps back to pivot against the stalled SUV, and her hands shook where they fisted up in his sweatshirt. It was instinctive to lash back at her, hand around the sword hilt and the guard heading right for her face—cheekbones and nose, her wide, beautiful mouth flattened in fear.
    But she didn’t flinch; she pushed against him, finding his gaze—holding on to that, too, while he just barely pulled the blow, hovering at the edge of it....
    Hovering...yes...no...yes...
    “No,” she said, a low and ragged voice. “I see you. I saw you last night. This isn’t you. This is what happened after. ”
    His arm trembled; he searched her eyes while the flames licked in around his mind, grasping at him, little sparking hooks of pain driving rage.
    Her breath fluttered against his mouth. The breeze stirred her hair. And suddenly there were birds rustling in the massive old creeper vines draping the fence lines and a jet flying in low overhead and dogs barking both near and far.
    His arm sagged; his body still sang with tension. He wanted to close his eyes—to escape what he saw in hers. He had to swallow down his breath, short and harsh, to say, “This is exactly what I am.”
    She shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is what you are when you lose yourself.”
    The shock of that startled the blade into submission—into the knife, a lock blade snicking closed in his hand. With his other he grabbed her—as quick as that, the sweet feel of her neck curving into the back of her head, just as he’d done back at the house only this time—
    This time, she believed it.
    This time, so close, the brush of her hair against his skin, the thread of her life in his hand. “Either you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, sparing her none of the raw pain, “or you know too damned much.”
    He pushed her away. Not gentle. Not kind. And pretending so damned hard that his legs weren’t wobbling weak beneath him as he returned to the car.
    He wasn’t expecting her footsteps behind him—light and calm and purposeful, right up behind him at the open passenger side, wondering if he dared get in at all.
    He damned sure wasn’t expecting her hand to settle quietly on his back, tightening his skin at the touch. She said, “Maybe a little of both.” And then she took a deep, audible breath, and she said, “I don’t want another bodyguard, I want you. And I think you need me, too.”

Chapter 7
    S awyer Compton closed the file drawer with more force than necessary, drawing a startled look from Natalie as she bent over her desk, flipping through the pages of her resource book.
    She was damned attractive this morning, her current expression notwithstanding—pinched around the corners of her lovely mouth, an anxious set to the faint worry between her brows, her slow exhalation obvious.
    She thought she’d hidden her past from him, and that she hid her reactions now, but he always knew when she struggled. The flex of her fingers, so deliberate. The distinct pause before she reacted at all. The way her manner was ever so slightly formal when she did.
    Regrettable, that she’d had to experience the attack several evenings earlier, so similar to that which had driven her away from Ajay Dudek and eventually into Compton’s world.
    Regrettable, but so very worth it.
    Or Compton had thought so. From the way Devin had responded to her in the entry of this very house—possessive, in a way he himself probably hadn’t realized—he’d been so certain that a second threat to Natalie would prove a final touch.
    About the possessiveness, Compton was still certain—he still felt the sting of it.
    It doesn’t matter. Let James think he had a chance with