Van Helsing Rising - Helen Scott Page 0,28

but I’m not going to react in fear, not any more. Or at least, I’m going to try not to.

"The attack is over. Prez wants you back in your room." The man jerks his head toward the door. "Don't run. You won't like what happens if I'm the one that catches you." A soft creaking sound draws my attention to his hands where his fists, which are clad in leather gloves, are flexing at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch me, but can’t.

"I'm not going to run," I say quietly.

His gaze, which has been staring at the rumpled bed sheets, snaps to mine. "I was worried you were going to go mute again," he says, relief coating his words.

This man I didn't know was worried about me?

"If you'd lived my life for the past few years you wouldn't trust anyone either," I mumble.

"Listen," he says as he comes over and squats down next to the bed so we are about eye level. I have to fight to not crawl backward from him. The man saved me, one of his friends just gave me the best orgasm of my life, and though the Prez is kind of an asshole, the other guys seem okay. My gaze skims over his leather vest and latches on to the name patch that reads 'Striker'. When I meet his gaze again he continues, "Every single one of the brothers in this MC have been through hell and survived. If anyone is going to get close to understanding what you've been through, it's us. I know being here hasn't been easy on you, but you have to look at it from our perspective. Most of the people you were with died or turned into some freaky monsters. We weren't sure what was going to happen to you so we had to keep everyone safe. Now that we know you're not going to turn, we can get to know each other a little better." My eyes must have flared because he quickly adds, "Not like that, unless you want to, in which case I doubt any brother would turn you down. I know where some of them have been though, so make sure he wraps it up if you do go that route."

"I, uh, what?" I stutter as I try to wrap my head around what he’s saying.

"Sorry, post-fight adrenaline makes me chatty. Shall we get you back to your room?" Striker asks as though he’s offering me a choice of movies to watch. God, it’s been forever since I've seen a movie.

"You were fighting one of them when I ran past," I blurt as the memories of how I came to be in the basement swirl in my mind. It isn’t that I'd forgotten about them, but my moment with Dragon had distracted me for a while.

"I was," he says with a nod, his tone noticeably darker.

I gulp in a breath of air. "You don't look too injured." There is a little swelling around his left eye but nothing like what I would have expected for someone who had been going hand-to-hand with one of those things. I remember the mess of a man on the floor outside my room. "There was another man by my room. Did he survive?"

"Right now, Tank is alive, but he might not last the night." Suddenly all the adrenaline that’s making Striker peppy seems to leave him, like the wind vanishing from someone's sails.

"I'm sorry. I know they were coming after me, and I wish your friends hadn't gotten hurt in the process."

His eyes snap to mine. "I'm just glad you're okay. When you ran past me, I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to help you. I know that the men who died tonight died doing what they loved, fighting monsters and protecting people. No one would have wanted you to go with those things. They may have come here for you but we would have tracked them down eventually." His tone at the end didn't leave a shadow of doubt in my mind that they are going to go after the cabal, the Necron Order, but I still don't understand why.

Have they been hurt by them somehow?

Before I can ask, Striker pushes to his feet and holds a hand out to help me up. I slip my small hand into his bigger one and he almost launches me into the air with the force of his help. I don't care though, Instead, I’m