Reluctantly, because he’d rather not do something he knew would pull him not just physically, but emotionally, closer to her, Steele recalled her scent—light, fresh, earthy and tempting. Breathing in deeply and letting the breath out slowly filled his body with that aroma. The beast stirred, lifting its head to take in the scent, as well. It grumbled and shifted, already opening to its magick in an attempt to find what it sought. The tingling began at his toes and moved slowly, as if someone were pouring water through a tiny spout into his body, up to his ankles and then his calves. The man’s mind drifted past the scent to bring forth a picture of her. She was shorter than him, the top of her head coming in just beneath his shoulder. Her skin was a rich umber hue, her lips—the bottom was a little plumper than the top. Her body was slim, fit, ample breasts and a tight ass that called to him on a more primitive note.
His dick jumped and he swallowed deeply.
The beast stretched, pressing almost painfully against the human form as the tingling increased, swirling in his groan at this moment.
Focus.
The word was whispered in his mind and his thoughts were immediately yanked back to earlier yesterday when he’d seen her in the pawn shop and then going into the antiques shop. He’d left her for a while, returning later to an alley he’d watched her walk down almost nightly in the past few weeks.
He’d watched her disappear down that alley on many nights, but hadn’t followed because in his dream she’d been on a roof when she died. His fingers wiggled as the tingling continued to rise until it filled his chest and sifted slowly up to his mind. His eyes snapped open and in the next blink he was gone.
Steele knew he was in the right place because her scent was no longer just in his mind, it was everywhere. Although there were no lights on, he could see everything. A full-sized bed was in the center of a fifteen by fifteen space. The frame was made of fresh wood, comforter and sheets were a soft rose color, numerous pillows were slightly askew. Stone walls were painted an industrial-type gray and the cement floor was covered with different sized rugs in pastel colors. That was all the softness in this space. There was a utilitarian desk and chair with a closed laptop to one side of the room. To the other side was a black barn-style door, a six-foot-tall cabinet to its left. This was where she lived.
He stepped farther into the room, going straight for the bed, where he rested a hand on top of one of the pillows. His palm grew warmer as he touched the cool fabric. Steele ignored the niggling of something at the back of his neck and pushed the pillow aside. The dagger glowed against the pale linen. When he’d seen it sitting on top of the green fabric in the pawn shop earlier and in each of the pictures Robles’s assistant had shown him at the house, the dagger appeared dirty, ancient, almost defective. Now it shimmered like carefully tended gold. The hilt was encased with diamonds, and the sheath contained Egyptian hieroglyphics pressed deep into the gold.
Just inches away from his hand. Steele could see himself picking it up, taking the dagger and leaving this room without anyone knowing. He could fade back to his hotel and pull up the records about the dagger’s history he’d saved on his communicator. There, he could think more on where this dagger came from and why a human like Robles was in possession of it, because his instincts told him this acquisition wasn’t about the man being a collector—not of this dagger and in this city. Something else was definitely going on and now it involved Ravyn. That, Steele would not tolerate. He was already fighting one death threat against her. He didn’t need another. If he could get this dagger away from her, that threat would be gone. Hopefully, the Reaper had been appeased last night, so that threat might very well be gone too. He could take this dagger and be done with her, forever. Right?
But his fingers only continued to hover over the dagger. For all that his mind had seen him picking it up, his hand hadn’t moved. He pushed his arm forward, yet, his hand still didn’t move. In fact, it appeared the dagger was sinking further into the mattress. The more he thought about taking it, the more it seemed to distance itself from him.
“What are you doing? How did you get here?”
He spun around to see Ravyn standing in front of that now open barn door, light from the bathroom pouring out into the room, surrounding her so that she appeared ethereal.
“I’m here to save you.”
The words were true and pitiful as fuck all at the same time, which was probably why she lunged at him.
“I’ll repeat myself only because you’re standing there looking like you don’t comprehend English. How did you get in here?”
She trembled as anger mixed with fear coursed through her body, a feeling she despised. Her knife was on the other side of her bed, beneath a pillow. There was another one in the top drawer of her desk, but both locations were across the room. Past the man standing in the center of her most personal space in this world.
“I need to take this,” he said as simply as if that would make this situation cool.
Ravyn walked with intent steps toward him. Something inside said it wasn’t necessary for her to move fast, but to simply get closer to the dagger...her dagger.
“You cannot take what’s mine.”
“It’s not yours. It belongs to
