Pirate's Promise (Sentinels of Savannah #5) - Lisa Kessler Page 0,57
the effects were wearing off?”
“Love.” He rubbed his forehead. “Our quartermaster has always wanted a family. He and Skye want to be parents, and no parent wants to outlive their children.” Greyson met her eyes. “I don’t like to think about the days ahead when time steals him from us.”
Would she ever regret her decision not to have a family?
She didn’t think so. Her team at Department 13 was her family. Kingsley, Petra from the occult division, Agent Bale, and a few of the field agents were her only real friends anymore, and she’d never had a burning desire to be a mother or raise a family.
“Has immortality been everything you thought it would be?”
“I’m not sure yet.” His lips started to curve, just a hint of a smile as he looked at her.
She raised a brow. “What’s that mean?”
Her ears buzzed. She frowned, tugging at her earlobe.
Greyson sobered, coming closer. “You all right, love?”
“I…” The world tilted in slow motion, her stomach souring. “I’m not sure.”
A man came around the back corner of the warehouse, walking toward them with a sword in hand. The set of his shoulders and his short red hair were all familiar. Her ex-partner. Jones.
A tiny part of her had clung to the belief that she’d never see him again. Now that he was here, flashes of his tongue burning her skin and his eyes glowing red filled her head, spiking her adrenaline.
She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. Apparently her instinct about the Alpha had been right. Jones or Mamon or whatever he was calling himself wasn’t here to trade anything. As soon as Lennox had told him she was here, his plan was to come for her.
Shit. The wolf pack hadn’t arrived yet for backup. She needed to fight.
Her pulse raced as Greyson drew his weapon beside her. He said something to her, but she couldn’t make his words out through the hiss of loud buzzing in her ears. Her fingers twitched, aching to grab her gun while the whispers assaulted her, like bugs crawling over her skin.
Greyson fired three shots, hitting the man. Not a man, a demon, not of this world. Not her friend. Bits of gore splattered the broken pavement of the parking lot. It didn’t slow his approach.
Aura fought for control of her body, but the mental attack made it impossible. The sun glinted off the shiny steel of the sword. Two blades came together into one enchanted tip.
The Tyrfing.
Come on. Move! But her body didn’t respond. She winced as the hiss of the whispers increased until her head pounded.
Jones came closer, the blade sliding through a parked car like a heated blade through butter. The metal screeched as the top half slid backward.
Suddenly her legs moved, one step, and one more as she stumbled toward Jones and the sword. The fear of seeing Jones again crumbled under the weight of the mental anguish.
The pain was all-encompassing. She just wanted it to stop. She’d give anything to silence the whispers. Death might be the only way.
She lurched forward, but someone grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip. “Aura, no!”
A screech cut through the voices. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice as she struggled to break free of Greyson’s grasp, to get to the glorious blade. The hisses calling for the chosen one mutated into dark promises. Promises to end the pain, to silence the mental torture.
Freedom-rest-peace-chosen-one-come-come-come.
The whispers weren’t coming from the demon. This was the Tyrfing. It called to her. It needed her. She wanted to touch it. To bleed for it.
Jones stalked through the gate and into the parking lot. The buzzing was getting louder. Was she the only one who heard it?
She shivered, aching for the blade as she struggled to break free from Greyson’s grasp.
“Fuck,” Greyson grunted.
And suddenly she was upside down, staring at the ground as he tossed her over his shoulder and ran. The farther he got her from the Tyrfing, the quieter the voices became.
Greyson dropped her into the rental car and raced around to the other side. What was he doing? She was here for the sword. She was the chosen one. It needed her and she needed it. The demon raced toward them, the sun glinting off the cursed blade with every stride.
She clawed at the door, but her trembling fingers couldn’t disengage the lock. Her nails bent backward as she scratched at the upholstery on the door, slapping at it and sobbing