Kellyn stared at the phone in disbelief. No one dismissed her. No one. Her fingers closed around the phone until the plastic shattered and shards of it dug into her palm. Then she threw the mess at the wall and watched as pieces fell to the floor like black rain.
Furious both at having her relaxation time interrupted and at the clear disrespect, she poured more champagne and quaffed it. Turning her glare on the window again, she stared at the outside world and promised herself that once this damn Awakening was finished there would be some payback.
Her bathwater had cooled by the time she stepped out of the tub, leaving all thoughts of relaxation behind.
Chapter 10
“He’s fried.” Landry looked at the dead MP sprawled across the shattered windshield of a sedan. The kid’s eyes were wide-open as if he were still surprised.
“What the hell happened to him?”
Landry shot the young agent beside him an incredulous look. “The witch happened to him, you fuckwit. You heard the report from the desert. She can throw lightning, for chrissakes. Looks like she landed a hit on this poor bastard.”
While the younger agent muttered to himself, Landry narrowed his eyes against the driving rain and scanned the neighborhood. He knew people were watching him. Knew they were too afraid to step outside and get pulled into a federal investigation. All but one, anyway.
“She ran off down the street there. Just left that guy smokin’ on the hood of that car.”
The boy couldn’t have been more than seventeen and both fear and excitement glittered in his eyes. Landry recognized the look. It was the thrill of the hunt.
“How long ago?” he asked the kid.
“’Bout an hour. I called to report it, but it took you guys forever to show up.” Just a touch of disgust colored his tone.
Landry agreed with him. But the MPs had to call in tips, get approval. Hell, even tracking and killing witches was filled with bureaucratic bullshit these days.
“Fine. Thanks for being a good citizen. Your country appreciates your help,” Landry told him.
“Yeah, can I come with you?” The kid was practically bouncing in his eagerness to get in on a witch kill. “I’ll stay out of the way. Swear it.”
“No. Official business,” Landry told him, then cuffed the kid on the shoulder. “But when you’re eighteen, you sign up for MP Youth Camp. Give ’em my name—Landry—as a reference.”
The kid glowed. “Thanks, dude. Seriously.”
But Landry was already moving off, his mind on the witch. They were in a dark zone, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to trace her magic. His best bet was to return to her house. To join the others already there. He wanted this damn witch.
Teresa was shaken.
She’d gone into this with her eyes wide-open. She was no shy virgin offering herself up on an altar of duty. She’d had sex before and had assumed that this would be no different.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Despite everything her grandmother had told her, taught her, the old woman hadn’t known exactly what a witch and her mate would feel. If just sex with her Eternal was this overwhelming, what, she wondered, would the Mating sex be like? Mate. She would be this immortal’s mate, she knew. Destiny and all that. But Teresa had promised herself that she would do her duty to her magic, to the world, all while keeping her heart separate.
She’d been in love before and that had turned into a misery the likes of which she was in no hurry to repeat. Miguel, her ex-boyfriend, had been a bastard. He’d hurt Teresa in more ways than she wanted to remember—and he was human. Just imagine what an immortal could put her through. No. She knew now that she had given Miguel power over her by the simple act of loving him.
She wouldn’t be making a mistake like that again. Especially with an already extremely powerful immortal.
A flicker of something that might have been fear sputtered into life in the pit of her stomach, then dissolved again a moment later. That was a worry for another day. For now, they needed to get moving.
“My strength has returned,” Rune said, lifting one hand and watching as blue and red flames danced across his skin.
“I see that.” Teresa moved off him and bent to pick up her clothes, but they were soaking wet and cold as ice. She really didn’t want to put them back on.