Free Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page B

and the dash. His eyes were a stark crystal blue that reminded me of Dean. Shivers ran up my spine as I thought of Dean’s hands on my face as he’d kissed me goodbye.
    “Hello,” I said, dropping the kickstand and stepping away from the bike. “You don’t happen to have a phone I could borrow. My back tire blew and I need to call AAA,” I said with a smile.
    “Nope, no phone but we can toss the bike in the back. I can take you wherever you need to go,” he said, reaching down to open the door from the outside.
    There was no way in hell I was getting in the car with some strange dude. I didn’t want to end up in little pieces in the desert.
    “That’s all right,” I said, waving him off. “I can just call from that convenience store I saw a few blocks back. Thanks, though.”
    “Ma’am, that’s not such a good idea,” he said, stepping out of the truck’s cab. “Those two boys who followed you out of Terrible’s and shot up your tire are circling back,” he said, walking to my now abandoned bike. He gathered it into his arms like it weighed nothing and hoisted it up to the truck bed. “They’ll be here soon.”
    I stepped back, my mouth gaping open as I watched him toss my roughly 650-pound bike into the bed of his truck. “I don’t think I’ll be going with you either,” I snapped, backing away from him, my nerves burning with anxiety. One step and then another. Maybe I could outrun him but I doubted it if he could toss my bike ten feet without breaking a sweat. I wasn’t that fast.
    “Ma’am,” he said, leaning forward. He held out his hand for me to shake. “You’re safe with me. I give you my word.”
    Hesitating, I placed my hand in his. Before I could think too hard or he could stop me, I twisted his muscled arm behind his back. I shoved him up against the tailgate of his truck in a wristlock, letting the pressure from my grip build through his muscles and grind the bones. I could’ve pulled a wristlock off in my sleep. A soft groan of pain escaped his lips in a grim line across his face.
    “Who are you?” I asked, the deep, threatening tone came back to me as easily as if it’d never left. In truth, I hadn’t needed it in the last five months and a little piece of me welcomed it, missed it.
    “Name’s Raiden,” he said, grunting through clenched teeth as I bent his wrist back just a bit further, feeling the soft crack of bone beneath his skin. “Uhhgg!”
    I leaned forward and breathed in his scent. He definitely wasn’t a vampire. I didn’t get that scent of death underneath all of the other smells wafting around him. Plus, he had a heartbeat. He wasn’t human either though. Plus, this guy was warm, really warm. His hand was like fire in my grasp. He smelled . . . off , not like the wolves back home either. They smelled of Pack, of the woods on an early spring morning, and of fresh water from the creek. Raiden smelled dry, like the earth had filled his being with dust, and the setting sun.
    “What are you?” I asked in a whisper.
    “We’ve met, you and I,” he said in a gruff voice, rumbling with the pain of my wristlock. “We’re running out of time.” He groaned and stopped struggling. He turned his head a fraction of an inch to meet my eyes.
    I saw a flash of amber fill his irises. He cocked his head, reminding me of Danny in his wolf form. I knew this man.
    “The coyote,” I whispered, backing away in slow careful steps.
    “Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he turned, shaking out his arm as if trying to return blood flow to his fingertips. “You got quite a grip on you,” he said with a bashful smile. “Now, Ma’am, if you don’t mind. Those two boys are making their way across traffic. We should go.” He pointed at the parking lot across the street as two nondescript men, a.k.a. goons, left a medium-sized, dark sedan behind. The two men tried to dodge traffic, crossing the four lanes of fast moving cars like a Frogger game.
    Nodding, I raced to the passenger