“You’re like a guardian angel,” she breathed in wonder.
He grunted. “I’m no damned angel.”
But he was. The sheer size of him, the width of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest stole her breath. She couldn’t decide what color his eyes were, but she knew enough about tragedy to translate the fury she saw banked there. He was a cross between a terrifying devil and an avenging angel, a heady combination of dark and light, of sin and grace. There was more of cinder and ash to his furled wings—if he indeed had any—than flowers, sunshine, and holy water. Besides, wings made perfect if not surreal sense to this crazy, scary night. Surely, he couldn’t have shown up as quickly as he had without them, could he? Else why was he here precisely when and where she’d needed him? He was a sight to behold, so much larger than life, and she was so much smaller. So not worth his attention nor his time. And younger. He had to be ten years older.
“Where’s your car?”
“I usually take the train home,” With everyone else. “But…” Ashley swallowed hard, her voice trailing off to no-darned-where. The creep who’d assaulted her, still lay panting frosty breaths up into the chilly night sky. He was just like her deadbeat father, a user and a deadbeat, nothing like the mysterious dark angel holding her tightly. Keeping her safe. A stifled sob choked out of her at the stinging pain all over her scalp. “He pulled my hair!” she cried.
“I know. I saw. He’s paid for what he did to you. Trust me, he’s paid.” Folding her into his arms, the man in black sat down on the grass with her on his lap. His much thicker thighs were warm and solid. His longer, muscled arms and shoulders wrapped around her like castle walls. Strong, high, impenetrable, warm walls.
Somehow, Ashley was surprisingly calm and able to breathe through her fear. In and out. It really worked, just like he’d said.
He tucked a thick chunk of her hair out of her face and shifted it over her shoulder, then smoothed his other hand over her forehead, brushing more tangled strands out of her eyes. “How else did he hurt you?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the silent man bleeding on the ground. “M-m-mostly, he just pulled my hair and p-p-punched me.” She still couldn’t believe people could be so cruel. “He kept banging my face into the grass, and h-h-he had a knife, and—” Ashley’s hand flew to her neck. Her fingers came away sticky and dark. That jerk! “He cut me!”
With two gentle fingers, her angel tilted her chin. His dark eyes turned into shards of black obsidian. His nostrils flared, and she was pretty sure steam snorted out of his nose. “Fuckin’ moron!” he hissed. Reaching into the other side of his jacket, her foul-mouthed angel pulled out a small bag of…
Oh, wow. He carried a personal first-aid kit with him? That was different.
“Lean back. Relax,” he ordered, opening a small, sealed pack of antiseptic wipes. “It’s not very deep, but let’s get you taken care of.”
Ashley hesitated. She looked like something an alley cat had dragged in or yakked up. Her nose was still running, possibly bleeding, and her cheeks were no doubt bright red. With her fair complexion, a simple blush looked like a fatal case of hives. Tears still dripped off her chin.
When he cleared his throat and nodded his chin at her, oh yeah. Ashley swiped another tissue under her nose, gathered her hair out of his way and leaned into his arm. Somehow, she’d lost her elastic. Wayward strands drifted in the breeze off the Potomac. Some teased over his nose and brows. Some got caught in the scruffy shadow on his chin. He didn’t seem to mind. She tipped farther back to allow him to better see what he was doing.
“It’s not a deep cut, thank fuck.” Her potty-mouthed angel peered closely at her neck.
She found it odd that his continual f-bombs didn’t distress her. Despite the sharp scent of antiseptic alcohol drifting between them, his breath was deliciously warm in her face. He smoothed a wipe—that stung!—up the quivering column of her throat. His fingers were spread wide, and his gentle touch was so disconcerting, that Ashley couldn’t catch her breath for an entirely different reason now.
With the dark night’s breeze swirling her black hair around them like a mysterious, translucent fog…
With this guy’s hand so gentle on her throat…
With her rescue so recently, so fearlessly acquired…
Ashley froze, afraid to look at the brash man who held her now. She was caught again, this time in a vortex where time seemed to stand still. The warm scents coming from inside his leather jacket whirled in the same spiral her hair was caught up in. A piece of her battered, frightened heart felt determined to go with it.
Silently, the same way he’d come to her rescue, her fierce savior cradled her jaw in one of his big, rugged palms. Very gently, he tipped her chin up with his thumb. Stark savagery stared down at her. His eyes were so dark, so full of pent-up passion, that her heart stuttered to a whimper. He could kill her. He was that kind of John Cena large and John Wick lethal.
Ashley swallowed hard, her throat incapable of the normally involuntary action. Something was happening. Something good and right and…magical?
Whatever happened next, she wasn’t afraid. He was looking down at her, as if he’d just felt that same hint of something rare and wonderful. She refused to extrapolate what that might be. If it was even
