“Who are you?” she needed to know. Years of Jackson telling her what to do if she found herself in danger worked up to the surface, and she drew a sharp breath.

“Ram. I am your guide, my queen. Your protector during this vulnerable transition period.”

Docia laughed. Actually, she kind of snorted through both nostrils at once. Very attractive.

“You know, I am having a sudden appreciation for how Alice must have felt after dashing down that rabbit hole.”

“Alice, however, never appreciated the danger she was in at any given moment during most of her travels, allowing her to adapt to each situation with that childlike openness and skill only the young possess. You are not as fortunate.”

Was he trying to tell her that she was in danger? Well, that had to be one of those things that were stupidly obvious. Right? If the past events of her life had proven anything to her, that most certainly had to be the ringing truth of it.

“I don’t understand it,” she found herself confessing to this stranger in a way she hadn’t been able to admit to her law enforcement sibling. “What did I do? I’m no one special. Why would … ?” She tried to look back over her shoulder again, but this time he held tightly to her arm and encouraged her to remain facing forward.

“Your specialness is not a matter up for question,” he said, the tone he used almost scolding. “Every breath you presently draw is proof enough of that. That and, I do not doubt, all the rest will become clearer to you over time. For the present we must move from under the watchful eye of the night sky.”

Before she could even think to form an argument, she was being swept into her own home and he was crossing her threshold and closing the door behind them. He took a moment to pull aside the beads she had acting as a sidelight curtain, that attentiveness sweeping the street once again. He was beginning to make her paranoid. Or perhaps he was just making her aware of how paranoid she ought to have been all along, considering the evidence to date.

But now he was in her home. In her safe space. By virtue of taking his strange, strong golden self over her threshold, he had somehow taken the dangers of out there and brought the awareness of them in here.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, resenting that she was letting herself be swept so passively into this situation. She backed into her living room, feeling suddenly nauseated as she stumbled toward the receiver for the landline. The only way to fix this, she knew, was to call Jackson and get him here ASAP. But just when she turned to pounce on the phone, a powerful brown hand was covering it, pulling it out of her reach.

Choking on a screech, Docia looked up … and up … and up … the length of a male body seemingly twice as huge as the already impressive man behind her. The breadth of his shoulders loomed over her, making her feel like an ant scrambling over a picnic blanket that was suddenly spied by an enormous human who hovered over it, blocking out the sun and most of the world.

“Don’t be afraid,” the warmer, safer of the two evils said to her from behind, a hand of what she could only assume was comfort resting at the side of her neck. Either that or he was getting ready to snap her head off. “Asikri looks imposing, but he is harmless.”

“Fuck you, Ram,” the giant man spat at the other, clearly taking offense at being labeled “harmless.” He needn’t have worried. Docia didn’t believe it for a second. Size and bulk aside— could those things ever really be an aside? she wondered— the blackness of his eyes, seemingly larger than was appropriate for the white space of the sclera surrounding them, and the blue-black sheen of straight, flat hair pulled back tautly in a high-set braid were more than enough to countermand the ridiculous claim. Even the soft tip of this brute’s baby finger couldn’t be considered harmless. The deep burst of his voice as he spoke profanely to his companion confirmed all conclusions that this man was very, very dangerous.

“Asikri! Respect for your queen,” Ram demanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Asikri looked Docia over coldly and ruthlessly. “There’s no way in the great night that this is my queen.”

The level of insult and contempt must have been the final straw somewhere in the damaged parts of her bruised brain, because it was the only way Docia could explain what she did next. She reached out and grabbed the beast by his middle finger where it lay over her phone and wrenched the digit back as far and as hard as she was able, the knuckle cracking loudly in her tiny living room.

The giant roared and fell to his knees as Docia twisted and twisted, forcing agony onto a creature she was sure could snap her in two with just a thought.

“Whatever I am, queen or no, you will show me respect, you oaf!”

Oaf? What the … ? Since when did she use a word like “oaf”?

“My apologies, mistress,” Asikri grunted out, making his kneeling position mean something as he bowed his head to her in acquiescence. Even when he was kneeling, his head came to nearly her shoulder line.

Impressive indeed.

Docia realized she was still holding his finger, and as if awakening from a half-numbed sleep, she comprehended she’d just committed an act of violence. She let go and jumped back, appalled, only to slam into the hard body of the other strange man in her house. Hands, large and strong, lean fingers cupping her rib cage on either side, steadied her. She felt his breath against her ear as he made a long, sibilant sound of comfort against the back of her half-shaved skull.

“Peace, my queen,” he said with that tone again, the one that made her feel like an easily spooked filly under the masterful touch of a man who could break her to his will with just the right amount of time and patience. “You know Asikri.”

No. She didn’t know Asikri. He knew that. She’d never met either of them, yet he spoke as if she should be long familiar with him. As though Ram were already a close and trusted friend.

“No, I don’t know him! Or you! Why are you here? Who are you?” she demanded, trying to turn but finding herself unable to with the way she was tucked into his body and held by his hands.

“You do,” he insisted softly. “And soon you will remember that. You will begin to remember who you are. But for now you must come with us. It is our duty to protect you, and we will do so at all costs.”

Docia watched the bigger man climb to his feet, those overlarge black eyes looking at her with a disgruntlement that was palpable. But she saw … she felt … there was a new edge of respect in his regard of her. Still, Jackson’s years of warnings welled up in her head.

“No way. If you’re going to kill me or something, you do it now. Here! I know what moving to a second location means for a female victim. I’ll be damned if I’m going to survive what I just did only to have you all rape and murder me in a cold ditch somewhere.” Well, that, and if she kept them long enough, Jackson might walk in on them. She had hope if she stayed right where she was. If she left … if she let them take her …

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Ram reassured her. “Look at him,” he urged her, making her look at the other stranger. “Do you think you would even be conscious right now if we meant harm?”

Her eyes climbed the massive wall of testosterone in front of her. The big bastard had the temerity to smirk at her, as if the idea of clocking her into unconsciousness had a great deal of merit in his book. He reached to pull his center finger back into place with a snap. The look in his dark eyes said she’d gotten the best of him only because he’d underestimated her and she’d taken him by surprise. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Not with her and, she had no doubt, never again with anyone else.

She swallowed loudly.

Great, Docia. Way to piss off the psychopathic killers. Now Jackson would be walking in the door at any minute and would be taken by surprise just like that. And although they were not hurting her at the present moment and didn’t seem intent on doing so … she couldn’t have the slightest bit of hope that they would be as gentle with a trained SWAT officer. Did Jackson even have his gun? She tried to remember if she’d seen it on his belt under his jacket before he’d gone off to the store. She knew there was a stun gun in the table by the door, as well as one in her bedside table, both gifts from her paranoid brother. Well …

Okay, sorry, Jackson. Maybe you weren’t being paranoid after all, she thought with a wince.

“I’ll go with you,” she said at last, the words falling from her in a resigned sigh. “But we better make it quick. My brother will be back soon. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Ram said, slowly turning her to face him. He reached for her jacket and unzipped her out of it. He dropped it back off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. There was a peculiar sense of intimacy to the action, as if he were undressing her of something far closer to her body than just a jacket. The feel of his fingers and the way he stood with such strong surety before her made a knot clutch at the middle of her throat and made unsure heat burn over her skin. It was a painful idea, the thought that something that looked so gorgeous could possibly hurt her in the worst of ways. She had to put her faith, she realized, in the fact that he had saved her from one danger and did not mean to become yet another.

Then, as he pulled her toward the rear door of the house, she looked back at the old puffy coat and realized that it was streaked brightly with his blood and that he had most likely removed it so as not to draw any attention to them as they went out in public.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jackson plucked up a loaf of bread and a bag of powdered doughnuts, his sister’s favorites— the doughnuts, not the bread— and tore around the corner and into the next aisle. He had not liked leaving Docia alone. It went against his grain, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to get back to her fast. But it would be fifteen minutes until the Chinese food he had ordered would be ready, and she was completely out of food back at the house. Since she’d been hospitalized only a short while, that meant her fridge had already been in the sad state he had found it in, not to mention her pantry. He grumbled to himself under his breath at the complete lack of nutrition in her habits … and wondered if he should be promoting a continuation of that with the stupid doughnuts. But … she was all sad and fragile looking, and he simply did not have the heart to show up without the powdery confection that always seemed to make her smile, crackles of white sugar on her lips.

“Jack!”

Jackson tripped, mainly because someone stuck a foot in the path of his determined feet, almost nailing his chin on the bar of the shopping cart. He recovered and came to a stop so he could punch out the jackass on the other end of that foot.

“Whoa!” Leo Alvarez shot up a strong hand and caught Jackson’s fist just millimeters from his left cheekbone.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jackson demanded, reaching with his opposite hand and shoving at Leo’s shoulder. They both knew Jackson would not have punched him. He was far too coolheaded for that. Well, usually, anyway.

“Just keeping you on your toes.” Leo smirked at him, dodging a second shove by moving out of Jackson’s immediate reach. “What are you doing? You look like you’re shopping on speed.” Leo picked up a box of cereal from the nearby shelf, examined it briefly as he spoke. “I haven’t heard a peep out of you for nearly a week. If I was the sensitive type, my feelings would be hurt.” Leo put the kid’s cereal full of colorful marshmallows in Jackson’s cart as Jackson pushed forward and tried to continue his shopping. He frowned at Leo, a wash of annoyance warring inside him with a nagging sensation of guilt.

“Docia was hurt,” Jackson said a bit sheepishly, knowing that of all the people in the world outside of his blood family and police friends and colleagues he should have called and told about the horrible incident, Leo ought to have been first on the list. That understanding crystallized as Leo suddenly stilled in the act of putting a box of granola bars in the cart. He was a good-sized man, easily beating out Jackson’s shoulder breadth and general height by several inches, and was built as though he spent a good deal of time in the gym. Jackson ought to know … they usually spent that time in the gym together. So when Leo went still like that, it tended to look ominous. Very … scary.

He and Leo were a little like oil and vinegar. They were good together for the most part, but all you had to do was look at them to see they were very different from each other. And not just because Leo was a font of dark, Latino good looks and Jackson was made from a sharper cut of all-American cream cheese. Leo’s scruffy tendencies, with his medium-length black hair, semi-kempt goatee, and well-worn jeans and leather boots, were vastly different from the usually clean, almost military cut of Jackson’s hair and neatly shaven face. But now Leo was narrowing nearly black eyes on his friend in that way he had that made even big, powerful men take a few courteous steps back out of Leo’s way. He knew Leo was assessing him, registering the fact that he hadn’t shaved in several days, that he wasn’t turned out the way he usually was when he left the house, having opted for old jeans and a T-shirt because they had been fast and easy and he’d wanted to get back to Docia as quickly as possible. He supposed by this point, with her recovering so remarkably well, he should have relaxed a little. He should have gone back to work. But he couldn’t shake the memory of them telling him that his sister was dead, and damn them, they were just going to have to deal with it if he needed a few extra days to calm the f**k down and see to it she was well taken care of. They owed him at least that much. They owed it to themselves as well because he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to smack them around on sight.