His gaze stared hard into her own. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, and the guy actually stared at her as if he had no clue who she was.
And that scared her. A lot. Because she’d seen what he did to the folks he considered his enemies.
“C-Cain?”
His head jerked at the sound of her voice.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, but the words weren’t quite the truth. His hold was strong, but not bruising. Didn’t matter though. She wanted down. There was something about his stare that chilled her.
And Cain wasn’t the chilling kind.
That furrow between his brows deepened, but he slowly lowered her to the ground once more. Then his head leaned toward her and he—had he just sniffed her?
She put her hands on his chest. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.” They were in the middle of nowhere, so she was hoping no one had seen that blaze light the night, but if their pursuers were close enough . . .
We could be screwed.
“Who are you?”
Those words, stilted, flat, had her own eyes widening.
She realized that there was no recognition in Cain’s gaze. Just . . . darkness.
“I’m Eve,” she whispered as she stepped back. She swallowed, glanced down, and forced herself to reach for his hand. It’s Cain. He just needs a few minutes. Give him time. He’d risen before and still known her. He’d remember her this time, too. He just needed—hell, she wasn’t sure what. Time. “We have to go inside. It’s not safe here,” she said again.
“Why not?” Still flat. No emotion.
How long would it take before his memory came back? A few minutes? A few hours? If only she’d had the chance to read Wyatt’s notes on Cain. “We’re not safe because there are men after us. They want to kill me.”
That got no response. Not even a blink.
“And they want to kill you,” she added.
He shrugged. “I can’t die.” He smiled, and it was a smile with an edge of evil. “I’m sure they can die. I’ll just kill them and listen to them beg and scream.”
This wasn’t the guy she knew. Goose bumps rose on her arms. “Cain?”
Something was off. He was off.
He glanced toward her. “Scared?”
Hell, yes. “No. Of course not.” She straightened her shoulders. “Now come on. It’ll be light soon. Let’s get inside and figure out what we’re supposed to do next.”
She tugged his hand and he actually followed her into the small home. It was a bit dusty inside. Since seventy-two-year-old John Monroe had gone hitchhiking across the U.S. last June, no one had been there—which made the place perfect for hiding.
“Maybe we can find you some clothes and—”
He yanked her back against him. “I like the way you smell.”
Um, okay. “Cain, I—”
He kissed her. Deep and hard, driving his tongue into her mouth and locking his hands tightly around her. The kiss was wild, wicked, and dominant. He didn’t seduce her with his lips and tongue.
He took.
Her nails sank into his shoulders, and she turned her head away from him. The last time she’d had sex with him, it had turned into slam-bam-good-bye ma’am. He might be having some issues right then, but she wasn’t just going to offer herself up again.
Even if the sex had been fantastic.
He was kissing her throat. Licking her. Lightly nipping the flesh. “I remember”—his voice was a growl—“your taste.”
She wouldn’t ever be able to forget his. “Let me go.”
He didn’t speak, but pressed another kiss to the curve of her neck. Damn, but that was a weak spot for her. One lick there and she was already arching her hips against him.
Down girl. “Let me go,” she said again, the words harder. She’d give him ten more seconds, then she’d start punching.
His head lifted. He stared at her. Had his eyes always been so dark? Like midnight with no stars or moon—total darkness. His breath came out, ragged, and he said, “I can’t.”
Then he kissed her again.
She tasted the desperation in his kiss. The wild lust. And knew . . .
Something was very, very wrong with Cain.
Eve didn’t shove him away. Maybe she should have. But . . . she was afraid. Not of him. His fire didn’t scare her at all.
She was just terrified for him.
Her hands slid over his shoulders. Held him. Her mouth met his, but she fought to gentle the kiss. Her lips brushed over his. Her tongue stroked his.