realized that there was really only one possible explanation for what had happened here.
Teresa hadn’t drawn the same conclusion he had and he wouldn’t tell her his suspicion. But Rune knew that only an Eternal could have done this kind of damage so precisely.
Could one of his brothers have gone rogue?
Fury pumped raw and fierce throughout his huge body as he considered it, then denied it again immediately. He refused to believe that one of them was capable of such things.
And yet …
He locked his misgivings away for now. He would contact Torin as soon as there was an opportunity and talk about this. But at the moment, his witch needed him—and didn’t need more to worry about.
This Teresa was a revelation to him. In the last couple of hours, he had seen only the warrior side of his woman. Fierce, furious, ready to charge the doors of hell itself with no more than a glass of water with which to defend herself against the roaring flames. She had defied him, cursed him, made love with him, healed him and infuriated him.
Now, she had touched him more deeply than he would have thought possible. In her vulnerability, he saw the witch of his heart. His mate. The woman he would do anything for. The woman he would kill to possess. And he wished with all of his soul that he could somehow grant her the miracle she needed so desperately.
“Teresa …” He didn’t know much about the other dimensions beyond this one. His knowledge was based on centuries of existence. Of seeing countless millions of humans live, love and finally die. He knew of shades, the spiritual essence of those who refused to move on to the next life, instead clinging steadfastly to the one that was over. But Elena was not one of those. She would not be a ghost of herself, futilely trying to speak to the ones she had left behind.
She had moved on already.
“She’s gone, Teresa,” he said, his voice as gentle as it could be when dealing a shattering blow.
They had to leave. Her friend had been killed as a message to Teresa. Rune’s gaze snapped to the wide windows overlooking the narrow rain-drenched street beyond the glass. Somewhere out there, agents—hunters—were tracking her. Planning on locking her away or doing to her what had been done to this harmless woman.
His guts churning with a boiling cauldron of fury and the need for retribution, Rune deliberately kept his voice calm as he said, “We have to go. Now.”
At that moment, her bird flew down from the overhead light fixture to land on her shoulder. Rune couldn’t even seem to mind. It was as if the little creature sensed that its owner needed comfort.
Seconds ticked past until at last Teresa laid Elena’s hand down with a final stroke of her fingertips. Then she turned to Rune. The shock and pain still shone in those chocolate-brown eyes of hers, but the tears were drying and a flicker of anger rose up. “I want to find them. I want to hurt them like they hurt her.”
“I know.” Rune pulled her to her feet and she went, reluctantly. Pushing his fingers through her hair at her temple, he cradled her head in his palm. “And I feel the same. Your friend didn’t deserve this. The bastards who did it will pay, Teresa.”
She nodded, lifting her face to meet his. Fascinated, Rune watched her expression shift and change with the fleeting emotions that were charging through her. Misery, despair, hope and determination all showed themselves briefly on her features. And his admiration for her rose higher as she put her pain aside.
“We’ll go to Mexico. See my grandmother. We’re going to do what we have to do and then I’m going to find who did this to Elena and make them wish they’d never been born.”
“We will find them,” he corrected her.
She studied him for a heartbeat or two, then nodded again. “Yes, Rune. We.”
He pulled her in close and wrapped his arms around her.
When she whispered, “Take me away from here,” he called on the flames and granted her wish.
Chapter 19
On the other side of the country, President Cora Sterling, first female president of the United States, was having afternoon tea with a group of would-be radicals. As her thoughts wandered, she smiled to herself and wondered if Nixon had felt as out of place when he met with Elvis Presley at the White House. Of course, she thought,