Evie Burne - Bound by Blood

His mother cut him off. It was just as well, because he was maneuvering to make a left and had to pay attention to the road. “This woman is not bound to you. If you ignore her, if she is lost, you give up your best chance of happiness.”

“Look, I’m in a hurry…” He saw a break in traffic ahead, opening the way for his left turn. He might escape after all.

“Gregor, your skull is like a rock. Always it has been this way. By the time you are in the mood, she will marry someone else, or be hit by a bus—”

Gregor gunned the left turn, and a woman appeared out of nowhere, right in his path. He had not seen her crossing the street, despite his excellent night vision. And despite his preternatural reflexes and all the expensive German engineering in his car, he hit her.

Each moment of the accident flashed in front of him like a series of stills, images he would never forget. The woman was wearing a huge puffy red parka that went down to her knees. It made her look like a beach ball in his headlights. When the BMW’s bumper hit her legs, she did not fall, she flew.

Fuck, shit, fuck. Gregor said something to his mother as he hung up, he didn’t even know what, leapt out of his car and threw his arms wide to stop oncoming traffic. A chorus of angry car horns and shouts followed him as he ran over to her body, praying she was alive.

A little crowd had already gathered around her. He pushed the bystanders aside. The woman was lying in a tattered heap in the gutter, which was running with water from God knew where. He smelled blood, but she was moaning and stirring. He almost wept with relief.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” He felt like an idiot the moment he said it. Well, no Gregor, I’m feeling a little unwell, a little like I’ve been run over.

The woman groaned again and raised her head. A tangle of wet hair fell over her face.

“Maybe you should hold still.”

“I’m…I’m okay I think.” She hoisted herself onto her elbows and looked around blearily.

“Are these yours?” He fished a pair of bobbing glasses out of the gutter and shook them dry. She took them from him and put them on. They sat on her face at a comic angle, but the lenses were whole. She blinked twice, focused on him, and her eyes widened in recognition.

“You’re the son of bitch who ran me down!”

He got the feeling she would have yelled if he had not just knocked all the breath out of her. Instead it came out a hoarse whisper.

“Well, yes…”

“You motherfucker! You could have killed me!” She cringed away from him, dragging herself backward through the flowing gutter.

“Uh huh.” A woman standing nearby folded her arms and stared down at Gregor. “I saw it all. It’s the Lord’s own mercy that she’s alive. You’d better get on your knees and thank Jesus.”

Gregor shot the woman a look, and then turned back to his victim, who was snarling up at him from the gutter.

“Look, lady, it’s not like I came over here to finish the job. I want to help you. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“No!” She put her hand on her chest for a few short breaths. “No ambulance.”

“One’s on the way,” said a man on the sidewalk. He was not speaking to Gregor or the woman in the gutter, but the other approving bystanders. Apparently he was running for Good Citizen of the Year. “I called the moment I saw her hit.”

“So did I,” said another woman.

“Shit.” The woman in the gutter—his victim—turned to Gregor. “They can’t force me to go to the hospital, can they?”

“I don’t think so.” He’d never been to a doctor or in a hospital himself, and none of the drunken, OD’d or bleeding club patrons he’d loaded into ambulances over the years had ever objected. “But maybe you should go and get checked out.”

“No.” She began to struggle to her feet. Gregor helped her up, not sure if he should be pleased she was so spunky after being mowed down by a BMW, or if he should be worried she was in shock.

“Ah!” Midway up she stopped, and would have fallen if he hadn’t kept hold of her. “My foot. Oh Jesus, it really, really hurts. I think it’s fucked up. Oh shit.”

Gregor knelt down in front of her. While she leaned on his shoulder, he ran his hand down her leg, skimming over her muddy, wet pants (a polyester blend, he noted with distaste) and down over her tennis shoes, searching for signs of weakness and damage in her limb. These were things he could sense as a predator, not as a healer, but it worked all the same. The leg felt strong enough to him, and she didn’t scream when he flexed the joints.

“Nothing’s broken,” he said with fair confidence.

“You’re right.” Her voice shook. “I think my ankle is twisted. That’s all.”

The sound of an approaching ambulance made her stiffen under his hands. “Get me out of here. Now.”

Gregor glanced up at her from his place at her feet. “What?”

“Put me in that fancy car of yours and take me goddamn home.”

“Fine. Whatever you want.” Action. Excellent. Action he understood. He scooped her up in his arms. Water streamed out of her parka and soaked the front of his pants as he carried her to his car.

“Hey, you can’t leave the scene!” cried Mr. Good Citizen.

“Pardon me,” Gregor said as he settled her in the passenger seat, “but is this any of your fucking business?”

“Where are you going with her?” said the Lady Who Knew the Lord.

“We’ve got your license number!” said yet another Samaritan.

Gregor strode back over to the smallish mob and pulled out his wallet and threw cards at them. “This is my name. Give it to anyone who cares. I’m taking the lady home.”

He liked her idea of escaping. He liked getting away from the street noise and the mob and the cold. He especially liked having as little interaction with the law as possible. With a last shake of his head at the crowd, he climbed in the car and slammed the door. For the first time since he’d seen her body in his headlights, he drew a real breath and let it out again.

“Where do you live?”

“Queens,” she said. “Jackson Heights.”

He gunned it out of there.

“Speeding like this is why you hit me in the first place.”

The man snorted and ignored her. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and made a call, rattling off orders to someone in a clipped tone—no doubt his assistant. He called her “honey” like it was 1950.

By the sound of it, running her over had really messed up his schedule.

Well, fuck him. At least she had a ride home. Maddy had to admit that riding in a luxury vehicle, was…well, luxurious. It ran smooth and quiet, like a shark in the water. She didn’t feel the road under her at all, and inside it was silent as a tomb. The world outside rolled past the windows, all sparkling lights and city vistas—just like in the car commercials. Maddy found the controls and reclined her seat, settling in for the duration. Her foot throbbed, but more than anything else she just felt tired.

The seats were buttery smooth under her fingers—real leather, she suspected. Pale beige leather, currently being soaked with the gutter water seeping off her ass.

Served him right. Most likely she’d dented his front end as well.

Still talking on the phone, now to someone else, her assailant? — rescuer? — driver? — turned up the heat, his long fingers flicking over the dashboard.

He was gorgeous, in a rough way. Dark, but of European stock. Kind of exotic looking for a white boy, though, with his broad cheekbones and deep set, hooded eyes. She’d guess he was Eastern European, but his accent was local. Probably Brooklyn.