The distance between them decreased by the second, and when she turned her head to look behind her it decreased even more as she slowed. She whipped her head back around and tried to put on a burst of speed, but even that wasn't going to save her.
He wasn't even near to being winded.
There weren't a lot of people around, but even so he had to catch her quickly in case someone decided to take action and call the cops. Which would be the last fucking thing he needed.
He ran faster, closing the distance.
Violet was heading toward a group of people standing on the sidewalk up ahead chatting, but she must have realized she wasn't going to reach them in time, because she suddenly changed direction, darting down what looked like an alley way between two buildings.
Bad idea.
He reached the alley seconds later, racing after the dark figure fleeing down it.
Catching her at the halfway point, Elijah reached out and grabbed her, hauling her around then pushing her up against the rough brick of one of the buildings bordering the alley.
She struggled at first, pushing against him, and then, when he didn't move, she went still, lifting her chin and staring up at him. She was panting, her skin flushed pink with exertion, her blue-green eyes glittering. Fear flickered there, unmistakable. Yet not as much as he'd thought. In fact, she looked more angry than anything else.
Christ. This woman.
"What the fuck was that?" He put a hand on her shoulder and pinned her against the wall. "You do that again and I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
She stared at him, the fear disappearing, replaced by a kind of determined defiance. Then, shockingly, her mouth curved and she gave a breathless laugh. "Oh, come on. I had to try, right?"
And for some reason he couldn't possibly fathom, her laughter made a surge of intense rage go through him. He was sick of her bravado. Sick of her defiance. This determination to push him, test him. This complete refusal to be cowed.
She had to stop. She had to learn he was somone to be feared. Not some weak little fuck in a suit who could be manipulated into doing whatever she wanted.
She wanted to push him? Consider him pushed.
"You think this is a game?" He leaned in, so close they were almost nose to nose. "Well, do you, Violet? You think that when I catch you, it's your turn to chase me?"
Her smile became twisted and he could see the rage begin to flicker again in the turquoise depths of her eyes. Rage and fear, they always went hand in hand. So she was scared and she hated it, and she didn't want him to see it. Well, fuck, he could work with that.
"Of course this is a game," she said, a sneer in her voice. "It's called outwit the big dumb criminal." Her breath was coming in rushing bursts-he could hear it despite the noise of the traffic coming from the street. "Am I winning yet?"
"No." He stepped closer, forcing her harder against the wall with his body, physically intimidating her. "You don't get to win. You don't get to do anything but shut the fuck up and do as you're told."
Even now, even when he was looming over her and his anger had to be scaring her, she had that little chin of hers lifted. And there was something other than anger gleaming in her eyes. A spark of … Jesus. Was that excitement?
"Or what?" Violet demanded. "You keep telling me about all this stuff you're going to do-"
He reached out with his other hand, took her jaw in a hard grip, cutting off the stream of words. "I keep telling you that you should be afraid," he said, coating each word with ice. "But you don't listen. Perhaps you'll listen now."
Her eyes had gone wide and for some reason her gaze had dropped to his mouth. An unwanted physical awareness began to seep through him. Of how soft her skin felt against his fingers and how red her lips were. How she'd trembled when he'd put a hand to her throat back in the store. … She'd wanted him. Except she had no idea what she was asking for.
So? Show her. Scare the shit out of her.
Elijah tightened his grip on her jaw just a little, tilting her head back.
Then he covered her mouth with his.
She'd known it was going to happen. From the moment he'd taken her jaw in his hand, his fingers pressing against her skin, she'd known. Something about the fury in his eyes, about the way he'd looked at her. Intense, focused. As if she was the only thing in the world he was aware of.
Her heart was slamming hard against her ribs, her breathing out of control and not just from her desperate getaway sprint. She didn't understand why running from him had had wild sparks of excitement scattering through her, not when logic told her she should be terrified.
Sure, she had been scared and yes, angry too, especially when he'd caught her.
But a deep part of her had known she'd never be able to escape him. And that same deep part had wanted her to run anyway, to have him chase her.
So he had. He'd taken off after her in a wild hunt, just as his surname promised.
She hadn't known till he'd caught her how much she'd wanted to be caught, and she'd known that was wrong. How weird it was to feel thrilled that someone had come after her, had chased her, run her down, because they didn't want her to get away from them.
No one in her life had ever come after her. No one had ever chased her.
Which probably only went to show how fucked up she was. Because it wasn't as if Elijah wanted her for anything more than bait.
But right in this moment, Violet didn't care. His mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, and it was raw and passionate and so hot she was going to go up in flames.
She wanted this. Despite everything she knew about herself, despite everything she was afraid of, she wanted this so badly. And she wanted him to take it so she didn't have to make the decision herself.
He kissed her the way he'd run her down, conquering her, taking her. His tongue pushed deep into her mouth, tipping her head back against the brick wall behind her, allowing her no space to pull away or deny him. And then there was nothing but heat, the taste of him, earthy and dark, with a kick of alcohol like black coffee laced with scotch.
She groaned, unable to help herself, hunger flooding through her. There was just something about the ice in his voice and the heat of his mouth, with the way he was holding her jaw, not painfully tight yet firm. Keeping her in place as he devoured her.
The contrasts of him made her shiver with delight. Because something was shattering that cold, merciless exterior of his, and letting the heat of the man beneath it show through. Something was getting to him, changing him, and she thought that something might be her.
It was thrilling. Powerful. Finally, after all these years, she actually reached someone.
Her fingers pressed up against the granite-hard wall of his chest, the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt so warm. She loved the feel of him, the leashed strength and power beneath her palms. The flex and release of hard muscle. And she loved, too, how helpless she felt next to him, even though she had no idea why that was. Probably something to do with control, but she couldn't really think about that right now. Not when he released her jaw, running his hands behind her head to curl into the short spikes of her hair, holding onto them tight, pulling her head back even further.
Kissing her harder.
Her hands slipped down his chest, finding their way underneath the hem of his shirt and finding smooth, fever-hot skin beneath it.
Elijah made a sound in his throat, harsh and raw, and suddenly she was pinned to the wall by the length of his body, one powerful thigh thrust between hers, pressing the seam of her pants hard against the most sensitive part of her.
She shuddered, her hips flexing helplessly against him as he tore his mouth from hers and kissed along her jaw and down her throat. There were teeth against her skin, grazing, a sharp pain as he nipped her. But that didn't matter. The pain was all part of it. A great, dark bonfire of sensation that she wanted to burn in.
This is a really bad idea. You weren't supposed to let yourself go like this.
No, she wasn't, and yet she couldn't remember why.
Was it so wrong to want to be touched? To be kissed? Was it so wrong to be wanted by someone, even if it was by the man who'd captured her at gunpoint?
No one had come after her but him. No one had wanted her but him.
She wasn't going to give that up, not yet.
"You should be afraid of me, princess." His voice, rough and gritty near her ear, his breath warm against the side of her neck. "Why aren't you afraid?"
Her hands slid up over the hard surface of his stomach, feeling every dip, every hollow. Reading the sharp definition of his muscles like a blind woman reading Braille. "Because you want me," she murmured thickly. "Because you won't hurt me. You talk big, Elijah, but you're not as cold as you like to make out."
The fingers curled in her hair tightened, his mouth nuzzling her throat. "You shouldn't say those things. Don't you know that only makes me want to show you why you're wrong?"