Blaze

Forty-Four; James

The heavy metal door groans on its hinges as I swing it open. I reach in and feel along the wall with my left hand. My right hand is still grasping onto hers, a physical reminder that she's here and safe. And that need to protect her is the only thing that is stronger right now than my desire to murder Wyatt Montgomery.

My fingers brush across the cold plastic of the light switch. The room is flooded with harsh fluorescents. The second we clear the threshold, I kick the door shut and pull her against my chest.

She's still sobbing, although the tears have dried up and have been replaced by inconsistent, erratic breaths.

"Breathe, Blaise."

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

"I'm fine."

We both loosen our grip and laugh a little at the absurdity of her statement. She's not fine. Nothing about this entire situation is fine. I look her over, and while her face is surprisingly calm, the red marks across her neck are already starting to turn purple.

"I still think you need to go to an emergency room. Get checked out."

"It's just superficial bruising. It'll heal. Besides, the hospital will report the assault. I don't want the police involved."

Even now, even after everything he put her through, she's still trying to protect him. It's infuriating.

"Blaise, he attacked you." I try to rationalize with her as calmly as possible.

"And I attacked him. I broke his nose."

"You were defending yourself."

"Says who? You think they'll believe us over him? If I go to the cops, I'll be the one that ends up in jail."

I'm relieved that her loyalty lies with herself and not Wyatt, but hate that she's right. She won't get the justice she deserves. I contemplate serving justice myself, but that's a dark path to wander down, so I focus on something I can control. I have a feeling that was supposed to be her dinner. She's going to crash soon from her adrenaline high. She doesn't need a blood sugar crisis, too.

I start pulling containers from one of the large industrial-sized refrigerators lining the wall. I feel her eyes on me as I set them on the butcher block island and round the corner to pull a plate from a metal shelf.

"What are you doing?" she finally asks.

I pull random ingredients from the containers, grapes, cherries, a handful of walnuts, and a wedge of brie, and arrange them artfully on the plate. I don't look up from his task as I answer.

"Feeding you."

On cue, her stomach rumbles loudly, the sound amplified by the silent, empty room.

"See?" I look up at her and raise an eyebrow. Despite our circumstances, I can't help but smile when she laughs.

"On that note, are there any chicken salad sandwiches left? Those are my favorite." I grin again as I store that piece of information. I find a few sandwiches wrapped in cellophane and throw one on the plate.

"Follow me." I grab her hand and pull her through another doorway.

She turns and leans against the counter, and I can't help but stare at her. She's always beautiful, but in that dress? My God, she's magic.

"Can I help you?" she asks when she catches me staring.

My eyes scroll up and down her figure. "Have I mentioned I really like that dress?"