The Curse (Belador #3)(103)
“This isn’t cold. You’d like it if you were doing something fun like camping or hiking.”
“No way,” she grumbled. “Anyone who’d hike up a mountain in the winter for fun would go to hell for a picnic.”
“It’s not even winter yet.” He tugged her around onto her knees and snaked an arm inside her jacket, pulling her to him.
She snuggled up close, welcoming the heat that surged off his powerful body. The man was a natural furnace and smelled like the outdoors and … male. Very male. He cupped her face and kissed her as if he had every right to do so.
As far as she was concerned, he did.
His lips played with hers, teasing, inviting her to do things her body wanted to go all in on. Her heart kept yammering at her to take that leap with Storm. Make a decision.
But her mind had not climbed on board with her heart yet.
He had more patience than a man should need. And to be honest, she was sick of letting her past rule her future. But she had good reason to hesitate, even though she knew Storm would be an amazing lover. Her worry stemmed from fear of losing control, which might end with her killing him.
A very realistic fear for an Alterant like her.
His fingers curled around her neck, softly massaging her tight muscles as he kissed her ear and chin. “Stop stressing over the small stuff, sweetheart.”
His endearment spawned a silky swirl of heat in her stomach, as if he’d planted it there with his kiss.
When he pulled away, he dropped his forehead against hers, his deep voice rumbling against her skin. “I miss having you wrapped against me in front of my fireplace. I want you back, and rested. I’m getting damned tired of sharing you to help a renegade Alterant, but I’ll do this to get Macha off your back. And when we find Tristan this time, he is coming in to meet with Macha, even if I have to drag his miserable carcass all the way there.”
That sounded more like the Storm who’d clashed with Tristan since their first encounter. To be fair, Storm only told the truth … if you looked at Tristan’s past actions in strictly black-and-white terms.
But her job often required dealing with the gray areas in between.
Such as right now, when everything about this situation had taken an unexpected turn. From the looks of that group below, this had trouble written all over it with blood for ink. She’d asked Storm to come only to use his exceptional tracking skills to follow Imogenia once the coven meeting ended, not to put his life at risk to help someone he barely tolerated.
How was it right for her to always accept the comfort and support he offered when she couldn’t even meet this man halfway to the bedroom?
A place any woman would rush to for someone as considerate, attractive and sexual as Storm. Raw masculinity that women ogled everywhere they went.
Like I’m doing right now. Mind back on business.
She broke the contact, twisting around to scan the growing crowd in the valley. He did too, but not before a light stroke of his fingers across her shoulder.
If Imogenia did show up, Evalle would not let the witch walk away without telling her how to find Tristan.
Storm tensed, leaning forward. “That’s got to be her.”
Evalle searched the odd mix of figures milling around for someone who matched the description and zeroed in when she found her. Torchlight reflected off a gold mask that adorned the face of a medium-height woman with white hair. Not silver, not blond, but white curls that fell past her shoulders. “At least the description I was given appears to be sound. But what has she got chained that’s standing next to her?”
“I’m thinking demon with its head covered and the metal collar, but I don’t understand why a witch would need to chain something if she has it under her control?”
Evalle fingered the top of her boot where she kept her dagger, the one with a spell on the blade she’d used more than once to kill a demon. “Does seem odd since he—it—whatever, looks puny. He can’t be six feet tall, and a skinny sucker the way his clothes hang off his body. Think he’s a sacrifice?”
“No.” Storm rocked back on his heels, the movement hidden from the gathering below by the rocks they hid behind. “I need to stretch.” In one fluid move, he was on his feet, offering her a hand that she took. He walked backward, drawing her into dark shadows created by a stand of pine trees. “This changes the plan from observe and track.”
“Why? We can still wait for her to leave and follow her.”
“That was when we thought this was a group of witches getting together. Imogenia has been impossible to find up to this point and—” He paused, nodding toward the bright pocket of torchlight and the strange group below them. “That’s not a meeting of her coven, people she’d trust. With that many dangerous beings in one place, she probably has a way to disappear once she leaves so that no one can track her. Maybe not even me.”
That was saying something. Storm had tracked Evalle to South America when no one could find her. With the exception of someone who’d teleported, he could follow a majik trail across the globe.
Evalle assessed the scene again. “And you don’t think this is some sort of sacrificial ceremony?”
“No.”
“Then what’s your guess?”
“Don’t need to guess. I know what’s going on.” Storm leaned forward against a tree, stretching his calves.