The car raced down the winding road, its engine roaring against the silence of the forest. Elena gripped the armrest tightly, her heart still pounding from the chaos they had just escaped. The acrid scent of gunpowder and blood clung to her senses, refusing to let her forget how close she'd come to death.
Damien's focus was razor-sharp, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the twisting terrain. Despite the blood soaking his sleeve, he showed no signs of pain or hesitation. It was as though his adrenaline overrode everything else.
"You're bleeding," Elena said, her voice trembling as she broke the silence.
"It's nothing," Damien replied curtly, his eyes never leaving the road.
"It's not nothing!" she snapped, her fear and frustration boiling over. "You were shot, Damien. You need to stop, or—"
"We don't stop," he interrupted, his voice hard. "Not until we're clear."
His words cut through her panic, silencing her objections. She turned her gaze to the road ahead, the darkness pressing in on them like a living thing. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound a potential threat.
After what felt like hours, Damien finally slowed the car, pulling onto a dirt path hidden by thick foliage. The road led to a small, nondescript cabin, its weathered exterior blending seamlessly into the forest. It was the kind of place no one would look for them.
"We're here," Damien said, cutting the engine.
Elena hesitated, her fingers gripping the seatbelt. "What is this place?"
"Another safehouse," he said, already stepping out of the car. "It's secure."
She followed him reluctantly, her legs unsteady as she climbed out. The cool night air wrapped around her, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Despite the relative quiet, the tension in her chest refused to ease.
Inside, the cabin was sparse but functional. A small kitchenette, a single couch, and a table with mismatched chairs made up the main room. There were two doors—one leading to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom.
"Sit," Damien said, gesturing to the couch as he moved to the kitchen.
Elena obeyed, her gaze following him as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a first-aid kit. He set it on the counter and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the blood-soaked fabric beneath.
"Let me help," she said, rising to her feet.
"I can handle it," Damien replied without looking at her.
"Damien," she insisted, stepping closer. "You saved my life. Let me do this."
He hesitated, his sharp gaze meeting hers. For a moment, the unrelenting control in his expression faltered, replaced by something softer. Finally, he nodded, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Elena retrieved the kit, her hands trembling slightly as she knelt in front of him. The wound on his upper arm was deep, but the bleeding had slowed. She worked in silence, cleaning the injury and wrapping it carefully.
"You've done this before," Damien said, his tone unreadable.
She glanced up, startled by the observation. "My mom... she's a nurse. She taught me a few things."
He nodded, watching her closely. "Thank you."
The unexpected gratitude caught her off guard, and she felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest. "You're welcome," she said softly.
When she finished, she sat back, her exhaustion catching up with her. "What now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Now, we regroup," Damien said, standing. "We find out who's behind this and make sure they never come after you—or your family—again."
"And how do we do that?" she asked, fear creeping back into her voice. "These people... they seem unstoppable."
"They're not," Damien said firmly. "They just think they are."
His confidence should have been reassuring, but it only made her feel more out of her depth. "What about you?" she asked, her gaze searching his. "Why are you so determined to protect me? You don't even know me."
Damien's expression darkened, and he turned away, his shoulders tense. "Because I failed once," he said quietly. "And I won't let it happen again."
Elena frowned, her heart aching at the weight in his voice. "Failed who?"
"That's not your concern," Damien said, his tone abruptly cold. "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."
He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her alone in the dimly lit cabin. She sank back onto the couch, her mind spinning with questions. Who had he failed? What secrets was he hiding? And why did she feel like her life would never be the same?
As she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were filled with shadows and whispers, promises of danger and the faint echo of Damien's voice calling her name.