The Curse (Belador #3)(76)

Storm stopped his stomping back and forth.

She said she’d borrowed a weapon from Nyght, which hadn’t sounded like a romantic interlude. She had come to find Storm and even figured out where he lived in spite of the mistyped address.

She might want help hunting Svarts, but that hadn’t been her main reason for coming to his house.

If Evalle really went to see Isak only for a weapon, then seeking me out to talk was a first.

What an idiot he’d been to miss that fact.

He wanted to kick the daylights out of someone’s butt, namely his own. What had happened to the calm he always held around her? He wanted to rewind that conversation and try it again.

She wouldn’t listen to him right now.

Let her walk off her own anger, then he’d go track her down and … tell her what? To stay away from Isak?

And it’s not like I have anything to offer her, not as long as that witch doctor has my soul.

He had to get over this obsession with Evalle.

If she wants Isak, who am I to stop her?

Storm shook his head at himself. As if he could even pretend to be that noble. He wanted Evalle regardless of how many obstacles kept getting thrown in his path.

But what about that kiss with Isak? She’d acted like it had meant nothing. But what else would any woman say when faced with irrational jealousy?

He headed to the shower to clear his head. It was time to make up his mind and either stake a claim or let her go. Once he insured the witch doctor no longer presented a threat to Evalle, he’d be able to make that decision.

She’d had enough pain in her life and he wouldn’t stand in the way of her happiness.





TWENTY-FOUR




Why had she ever thought she meant something to Storm?

Evalle pounded her way through inky darkness to the sidewalk in front of his house. She’d parked her bike along the curb two houses down and had made it halfway there when she stopped under a streetlight.

Her heart punched her chest with painful beats.

Why did Storm have to be so hardheaded? She’d meant to fit an apology in there somewhere, but things got all jumbled up. She slapped a hand over her forehead.

That hadn’t been the way she’d worked things out in her mind on the ride over.

Storm was supposed to open the door and tell her he didn’t like seeing her kissing Isak. Then she’d say she hadn’t meant for that to get out of control. She’d only kissed Isak as a thank-you, not the way she kissed Storm.

Then Storm would have smiled and forgiven her, saying he knew nothing was going on. He’d always been so understanding. What happened? Why hadn’t he pulled her into his arms and soothed her and fixed everything with one of his unforgettable kisses?

That whole yelling part had never been in the script.

She fisted her hands and shook them in the air as she walked three steps back and forth. Go back and try again? No. That seemed too much like groveling.

Yes, she had kissed Isak.

Storm did have reason to be angry.

But not that angry.

Why couldn’t she get a computer program that would explain men? She could find out how to write music, how to rebuild her motorcycle engine or how to perform brain surgery somewhere on the Net.

Seemed like someone would have posted Men 101.

Or, in her case, Men for Dummies.

Her feet started moving back toward Storm’s house, which didn’t mean she intended to see him again so much as she needed to move around and think.

Standing still had never worked for her.

She’d reached his driveway when she realized someone was following her. Glancing around, she sized up the dumpy little guy with thinning hair, accountant glasses and a misfitting dark suit who trudged along in front of the house next to Storm’s.

But energy from someone or something had shimmered across her skin, alerting her of a nonhuman close by.

Nightstalker?

Across the street a craggy, white-haired woman pushed a grocery cart over the uneven sidewalk. She moved along in the world of a bag lady, in no hurry to get anywhere since she had nowhere to go and no one waiting on her.

Evalle had felt like that most of her adult life until Feenix. Until Storm.

The lights were still on in his front room, where a sheer curtain covered a large picture window. If she sat on his front steps and waited a bit, would he eventually come out and sit down, maybe talk to her?

While I’m at it, I might as well hang a sign around my neck that says Pathetic Party. She would not humiliate herself by sitting there waiting. No, she would not lower—

A growl from behind reached her ears.

She swung around.

The human across the street still meandered along.

But the little business guy dropped his glamour and changed to a huge troll. He had to go over ten feet tall, had demon-yellow eyes and that strange runic S scar on his arm.

A Svart troll or a demon? Or door number three? Both.

She stomped her feet to release the blades in her boots.

Had he followed her here? Looked like Storm had been right when he speculated about the Svarts hunting her.

Evalle started to circle around the troll to keep the entire area in view, but a second growl rumbled right behind her as two clawed hands grabbed her arms. Where had the second one been hiding? She head-butted backward, forcing the attacker to lose his grip.

The Svart in front of her charged forward.