War of Hearts (True Immortality) - S Young Page 0,17
a sign of fear. Not that it mattered. Thea knew wolves could smell fear.
Staring up at the powerfully built supernatural that stood at least six and a half feet tall, Thea should’ve probably felt fear and would have if her danger signals had been blaring. A deep scar cut through the werewolf’s left cheek. He looked battle-hardened. Cold determination blazed out of his startling pale gray eyes.
Despite the simplicity of his clothing—T-shirt, jeans, and hiking boots—everything about him screamed warrior. It was the scar, the scary ruggedness of his countenance, and the aura of power that emanated from him, caressing her skin like a hum of energy. She would bet her life he was an alpha.
What the hell did an alpha werewolf want with Thea?
His gaze flickered to the wallet under the wheel and his upper lip curled into a sneer. “A thief too.” He looked back at her in icy regard. A shudder rippled down Thea’s spine. “I shouldnae be surprised.”
He sounded Scottish.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
And then something happened Thea never expected. The hulking werewolf moved faster than she knew werewolves could. As fast as she’d seen a vampire move. It was too late to react, to respond.
Something pricked her neck.
Fury blasted through her as she glared up into his cold eyes.
Determined to teach the wolf a lesson, Thea readied herself for battle … and then she finally noted the almost-empty syringe in his hand just as the burn began. A familiar substance clung to the base of the syringe.
No!
He’d found her.
Ashforth had found her.
The burn spread and Thea’s knees buckled as a familiar agony rushed through her. She could almost visualize the concoction merging with her blood, heating her cells to the boiling point. Refusing to scream, she fell to her knees and curled in on herself, choking back the misery.
And then like always, the pain became too much, and her body did what it needed to do to protect her. It shut down.
Everything went black.
Upon arriving at the shabby, dank flat in Budapest, Conall had detected Thea’s scent immediately. It was floral and fresh, like summer back home, but there was also a touch of something heady and sweet. Similar to toffee or molasses but not quite either. In fact, it was a scent he had never come across before and it marked Thea as different.
As soon as he inhaled the remnants of her presence in the shithole flat, Conall closed his eyes and let his mind take him to her, tapping into that internal GPS of his. Like a magnet, he felt his mind, his body, tugged northward.
He needed to travel north.
Following the otherworldly pull of his gift, Conall followed Thea’s scent through Slovakia and into Poland.
Sensing her nearby, Conall opted to sleep first and paid for a room at a hotel in Kraków’s Old Town. Refreshed and more than ready to grab his murderess and get the hell back to his sister and pack, Conall felt Thea’s presence grow nearer to him as he ate breakfast in the hotel.
His nose led him to the restaurant on the street just off the main square, and peering into the bottle-green windows, Conall spotted his prey.
At first, the look of her struck him, the impact far greater in reality. Watching her move through the increasingly busy restaurant, the male in him was sorry that her outside did not reflect her inside.
Thea wore her long dark hair pulled high into a ponytail that swished in rhythm to the sway of her sweetly curved arse. She had the kind of body he loved. Slender in the waist and legs, but fuller in the hips, arse, and breasts. Her body moved with so much grace, it gave away her supernatural status. At least to those in the know.
Ashforth was right. Conall scowled as Thea turned to flash a barely there smile at a patron. Everything about Thea Quinn was a weapon, even her beauty. Despite her dark coloring, she reminded him of summer, just as her scent did. Light, almost ethereal.
The darkness within her was well hidden.
As if she sensed his study, Thea had turned to look out the window and Conall had moved out of sight just in time. He cursed himself for staring at her like a prepubescent pup glimpsing his first naked woman.
A cold determination coiled around Conall. That woman in there was the key to saving Callie. Nothing about her, nothing she said or did, would stop him from dragging her back to Scotland.