She pushed up, swept dirt and pebbles from her cheek and stared at him. “Why? I might be able to help.”
“I need you safely here while I find those responsible.”
“And do what? Kill him?”
“Not until we’ve had a talk.” He wanted information. He’d removed the tracker from Shea’s body, so how did the assassin find them? He had to know which agency was funding this hunt. And he needed to know how to stop it.
Shea looked at the conflagration, flames shooting high into the air, sparks lifting, flying in the wind toward the trees, which were already beginning to smolder. She grabbed Torin’s arm and hung on. “Forget about finding him. There’ll be others here soon. Firefighters. Police. Let’s just go. Now. While they fight the fire.”
“Go where? Shea, if we don’t stop this here, whoever is behind it will only follow us.”
“Who cares?” she shouted it, but her voice was lost in the surrounding clamor. “Everybody in the free world is already looking for me, Torin!”
He went down on one knee beside her and grabbed her upper arms hard enough to leave an imprint of his fingertips on her skin. Just touching her grounded him in a way that nothing else ever had. Knowing she was his now gave him strength that even his god would tremble at. He looked into her green eyes and felt love wash through him. Love like he had never known before.
“You are my heart, Shea,” he said, sliding his hands up to cup her face in his palms. “I will do whatever I must to see you safe.”
She covered his hands with her own. “Do you think you’re any less important to me? Don’t go down there, Torin.”
“I have no choice. No one will harm you. Ever.” He leaned in and kissed her hard. “Do you believe me?”
A second, then two, ticked past as he waited, staring into the eyes of the woman he’d hungered for throughout time.
“Yes,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “But—”
“No.” He released her and stood up. He had her belief. He knew her trust wasn’t yet his, but that would come. Provided he could keep her alive long enough for her to become immortal. Thirty days until the mating ritual was complete. Thirty days to find what was lost and return it to safekeeping. Then they would have the coming centuries together and no one, he told himself, was going to rob them of that time together.
“Stay. Here.” Then he flashed into flames and was gone.
“How the hell can we get in there to see the bodies?”
“We wait.”
The first man snorted, then shot a look of pride at the roaring fire consuming the back end of the small motel. “Be like waiting for the fires of hell to burn out.”
“They’re dead,” his friend said, assurance ringing in his tone. “No way they got out of that in time.”
“You best be right. The boss won’t like it if the witch escaped.”
“And just who,” Torin asked, flashing in behind the two men, “is the boss?”
One of the men turned instantly, brought up the shotgun he carried and pointed it at Torin’s chest. Before he could fire, the Eternal had grabbed the barrel and shoved it up. It discharged harmlessly into the air. Torin wrested the gun from the man’s grip tossed it aside, then reached out and broke the shooter’s neck with a quick twist of his hand.
The assassin’s friend looked as though he’d seen a ghost. And he had. The ghost of death coming for him. Torin had no patience for those who would lie in wait and kill from a distance. He had no sympathy for those who killed for money. When he looked at the remaining man and watched the light of the fire dance over his wide, terrified eyes, Torin felt nothing for him.
Only the sheer determination to get what he’d come for.
Around him, the night was alive with sound. The fire. Shouts. Screams. And in the distance, a siren called out, wailing mournfully.
Standing in the treeline behind the motel, they were well hidden. He grabbed the man by the neck, lifted him high off the ground and looked up into small, frightened eyes. “Who is it you work for? Who is after Shea Jameson?”
The man frantically pulled at Torin’s hand, futilely trying to loosen his grip. Nails scraped and scratched but couldn’t help him.
Torin’s hand only tightened around the man’s throat as he kicked his legs wildly, looking for purchase, desperately laboring for air that wouldn’t