“No.” He released her and stood up. He had her belief. He knew her trust wasn’t yet his, but that would come. Provided he could keep her alive long enough for her to become immortal. Thirty days until the mating ritual was complete. Thirty days to find what was lost and return it to safekeeping. Then they would have the coming centuries together and no one, he told himself, was going to rob them of that time together.
“Stay. Here.” Then he flashed into flames and was gone.
“How the hell can we get in there to see the bodies?”
“We wait.”
The first man snorted, then shot a look of pride at the roaring fire consuming the back end of the small motel. “Be like waiting for the fires of hell to burn out.”
“They’re dead,” his friend said, assurance ringing in his tone. “No way they got out of that in time.”
“You best be right. The boss won’t like it if the witch escaped.”
“And just who,” Torin asked, flashing in behind the two men, “is the boss?”
One of the men turned instantly, brought up the shotgun he carried and pointed it at Torin’s chest. Before he could fire, the Eternal had grabbed the barrel and shoved it up. It discharged harmlessly into the air. Torin wrested the gun from the man’s grip tossed it aside, then reached out and broke the shooter’s neck with a quick twist of his hand.
The assassin’s friend looked as though he’d seen a ghost. And he had. The ghost of death coming for him. Torin had no patience for those who would lie in wait and kill from a distance. He had no sympathy for those who killed for money. When he looked at the remaining man and watched the light of the fire dance over his wide, terrified eyes, Torin felt nothing for him.
Only the sheer determination to get what he’d come for.
Around him, the night was alive with sound. The fire. Shouts. Screams. And in the distance, a siren called out, wailing mournfully.
Standing in the treeline behind the motel, they were well hidden. He grabbed the man by the neck, lifted him high off the ground and looked up into small, frightened eyes. “Who is it you work for? Who is after Shea Jameson?”
The man frantically pulled at Torin’s hand, futilely trying to loosen his grip. Nails scraped and scratched but couldn’t help him.
Torin’s hand only tightened around the man’s throat as he kicked his legs wildly, looking for purchase, desperately laboring for air that wouldn’t come.
Torin shook him like a dog. “Who sent you here?”
Fury spat at him from the man’s eyes. His face was red, mottled. His hands continued to tear at Torin’s grip, hoping to ease it. Torin easily turned and slammed the man into a wide tree trunk, rattling the man’s head so hard his eyes jittered. “Talk to me, bastard, or die right here.”
Wildly, the man nodded. Frantic eyes rolled back in his head, feet kicked against the tree.
Torin eased off on the pressure slightly to allow the faintest whisper of air to enter the man’s starving lungs. “Talk.”
“Orders,” he said, still sounding strangled even as he hissed in one small breath of air after another. “Over the phone.”
“From who?”
“Don’t know,” he insisted, slapping now at Torin’s hand, locked firmly around his throat. “Didn’t ask! Stop!”
That last word came out on a wheeze as Torin’s hard fist squeezed more tightly again. All around him, the fire roared and humans scurried, trying to save something of the burning motel. The siren continued to wail, closer now, and he knew that in moments there would be even more humans cluttering up the scene. He had no time to waste with this scum.
“You take blind orders to kill a woman? No questions asked?” The black fury inside him was growing, spreading.
“Not… woman…” the man managed. “Witch.” Hatred fueled that word and glittered in the man’s dying eyes. There was no remorse. No regret. Only a determination that burned as fiercely in his soul as the flames that ate up the motel behind them.
“I cannot let you live,” Torin told him flatly. “No woman is safe-witch or human-while men such as you walk free.”
Worry darted across the man’s eyes but a moment later was replaced by resignation and a kind of fanatic pride. As Torin’s grip eased, he spoke again in a hoarse voice. “Killing me stops nothing. She’ll never be safe. Witches should die. They’ll find her. They’ll kill-”
Torin snapped the neck beneath his hand and let the man fall. If no one moved the body, it would be consumed by the spreading flames of the fire he had caused. There was justice in that.
Either way, the threat was gone for the moment and Torin shifted his gaze to the trees where his woman waited. He’d wasted enough time on this task.
He called on the flames and flashed to Shea’s side.
Kellyn felt the stars beginning to align.
She even gave the desk clerk at the Renaissance Mayflower Hotel a coy smile as he tapped his fingers across the keyboard.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he said finally, and to give him his due, he did seem disappointed, “but our Presidential Suite has been reserved in advance.”
A quick whip of impatience sliced through her, but Kellyn smiled through it. Leaning across the marble counter, she took the young man’s hand and squeezed gently. The sparks flying from her touch went unnoticed by anyone else. “Check again. I think you’ll find the room is in my name.”
He stared at her, his eyes blank, his mouth slack. Her spell countered his objections and as she waited for his response, she whispered, “Do for me what I will.”
The young man blinked, took a shaky breath and nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice as robotic as his movements. “You’re right, of course. The room is reserved for you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Kellyn smiled again, relishing the sweep of power she felt. How did humans manage to stumble through their lives without the electrifying pump of something magical inside them? What boring, tiny creatures they were. And yet, she told herself, oh, so helpful when properly motivated.
“See? I knew you’d find the mistake,” she assured him graciously. “Now, I’d like champagne and strawberries delivered to my suite in an hour. Please be sure the champagne is very cold. I’d hate to be disappointed.”
Again her power crackled against the young man’s skin and he nodded quickly. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“Aren’t you kind?” When he produced a sign-in sheet for her signature, she simply waved her free hand at it and it disappeared. He went through the motions of filing the nonexistent paper away and then handed her the key cards. “You’ve been very helpful”-she paused to read the name tag pinned to his suit jacket-“Michael.”
“Thank you, miss. My pleasure.”
“I’m sure it was,” she said, releasing him at last. As she did, his free hand swept to the spell-charmed wrist she’d held and idly scratched at his own skin. He would feel the burn of her spell for a few hours, but would remember nothing else about this encounter.
And should the original party show up to claim his reserved Presidential Suite… well, she would deal with them in the same way.
Turning, she walked down the long marble lobby, enjoying the quiet click of her Ferragamos. Power. It was all about power, really.
At the elevator, she waved one hand at the closed doors and they opened instantly. She stepped inside, leaned languorously against the wall and smiled to herself as the doors swept shut.
“Good to be a witch,” she whispered to no one.
She’d waited through lifetime after lifetime for this and now it was all within her grasp. It was all coming together so nicely. As if it were Destiny. Preordained. And she believed it was. How could it not be?
She had a plan. More, she had powerful backers. Yes, she was being forced to deal with humans, but when the stakes were this high, she was willing to put up with some aggravation.
