Page 3 of Marked By His Touch
I rush to Alexander’s side, adrenaline surging through my veins. My heart hammers in my chest. His muscles are taut, his breath ragged. Looking at him, I feel a strange pull in my chest. I see the blood staining his jawline. His eyes, though filled with the exhaustion of battle, burn with an untamed fire.
I look at Alexander. He has not stopped for a moment; he’s alive in this world. He thrives on violence like a creature who lives in the shadows. There’s a primal power in him, a raw, untamed energy. I’ve never been more attracted to him than right now, but I know there’s no time. We have to leave.
“They are coming faster,” Alexander says.
He’s right. We’ve barely been here in this motel.
The floral tablecloth, a kitschy attempt at a motel makeover, secures the makeshift gag Alexander makes.
He snaps the wires from the lamp, twisting them around the man’s wrists. Alexander drags him to the bathroom, and his body slumps against the bathroom’s green tiled wall, a dead weight. The click of the lock echoes through the room. It feels more like a sigh of relief than a triumph.
My sigh comes out ragged, a release of tension I didn’t know I was holding. It’s a strange feeling. It’s like a victory that’s tainted by the cost.
Alexander leans against the wall, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on me. The adrenaline still thrums through my veins, leaving a tingling sensation in my fingertips.
I notice something on the floor by the door. I pick it up, it’s an envelope.
"What is that?" I say, my fingers already tracing its surface. I tear it open, peering inside, and gasp. A single lock of red hair rests beside a black feather. My breath catches in my throat. It's a message.
“Red hair?” Alexander says.
My mind is in panic, focused, laser-focused on the red hair. “It’s a message from the Raven, from Cole.” I gasp. “He has Sarah.”
I’d recognize that hair color anywhere.
I freeze in place.No, no no, not Sarah.I never wanted to drag her into this.
“We’re leaving,” Alexander says with a low rumble, recognizing the hurt and desperation in my eyes. “I’ll get the bags. We’re going to Port Haven.”
Port Haven. Rain Haven. Home Haven.
I was so eager to go, to escape this running, but now that Alexander has agreed, a cold, icy hand grips me.
I’m thrown back to a place—a place with a different kind of fear.
The air isthick and cold, with shipping containers all around. The walls are bare and grimy, and the place is lit with stark overhead spotlights. It’s the basement of Cole’s warehouse in Port Haven. His fortress. His shipping warehouse is by the waterfront. The Raven’s playground.
I see Alexander, his face bruised and bloodied, slumped against the cold concrete floor. He’s unconscious, his breaths shallow and ragged.
Cole is there, looming over me. His cold and predatory eyes rake over my body. He commands his men to undo my shirt, his fingers brushing against my skin. I flinch back, fear constricting my chest.
He pulls my shirt down, his gaze meeting mine. It’s the chilling gaze of a master playing with his puppet. I can only watch, helpless, a prey caught in his trap.
He is about to touch me, his touch cold and invasive. I brace myself, the fear a physical force that tightens my muscles and constricts my breath.
The memory fades, leaving me gasping for breath. The metallic tang of blood, the suffocating fear—it’s all still there.
I hearAlexander’s breath beside me and he takes my hand. “Are you okay, Ava? You were gone there for a second.”
His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I see the same raw, visceral fear reflected in his eyes.He’s afraid of losing me. He’s scared of me getting hurt. As I am of him, being harmed.
The world around me shifts back into focus: the motel room, the tension in the air. My pulse throbs in my temples, thinking about that night in the Raven’s warehouse, and now there’s one of his men lying unconscious in our bathroom.
I look at Alexander; his gaze meets mine, and a spark ignites in his eyes. It’s a primal hunger, a raw desire that makes me shudder. I part my lips and take him in.
His beard has grown long. His hands are sweaty and callous from the fight, and his breath is intense.
I feel a thrill run through me, a raw, automatic response to him. I’m inexplicably drawn to him, my heart pounding against my ribs.
