The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland

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       Chapter 4

      Dylan crouched in the bushes outside Ethan’s house. There were no lights on inside, but a red, new-model muscle car sat in the driveway. Given the earthy scent he picked up from the perimeter and the brush of power he’d felt moments ago, it had to be the warlock’s.

      He rubbed his hands down cargo-clad thighs. His face paint was oily, his shoulder holsters chafed and his scalp was tight. Nothing felt right about this. The need to unfurl his own magick, to feel out the house, skated down his arms and burned his fingertips. Reality shifted, blurring his hands. What the hell? Something was messing with his control, ramping up his tenuous hold on the aether.

      Ever volatile, his magick didn’t come only when called, like some elemental lapdog he commanded to heel. Aether demanded more recognition than that. If he didn’t exercise the magick regularly, it forced his hand. He’d leak power in a steady drip, drip, drip. Then he’d blow. Surroundings would be fundamentally changed. From the animate to the inanimate, nothing was safe.

      The breeze shifted, and the woman’s scent flirted with his senses—lavender and vanilla. Yet underlying that was something dark, a faint smell as pungent as burned hair that tainted her natural fragrance. It hadn’t been there earlier. The warlock’s green, earthy smell confused things.

      He refocused on the house as a shadow moved by a window, one that was decidedly too tall to be...her. His chest ached and he cursed long and low. She was his mark. Nothing more, nothing less. He’d carry out his duties as he always had—with cold precision.

      The warlock scanned the bushes where Dylan hid.

      He wondered for a moment if Ethan could sense his magick. If he could, he’d be more of a contender than Dylan had originally given him credit for. The Assassin in him almost wished for that. His need to take back the control he’d lost this morning in letting the woman get away made him slightly reckless.

      The curtains shut abruptly, and he had the distinct sense his wish was about to come true. He did a quick physical inventory of his weapons—short sword, daggers, gun, taser, garrotes, injectable sedation, smoke grenades, tear gas, extra bullets, both plastic and steel cuffs. It was all there. Sidling up to the front door, he used the deep porch shadows to hide and wait.

      No one emerged.

      Slinking around the side of the house, he scaled the fence and dropped into the backyard. Dylan slipped closer to the house. French doors on the lower patio were the most logical means of entry, but he’d likely be forced to work his way upstairs at some point. Being trapped in a stairwell with a warlock flinging elemental magicks at him would put him on the defensive, and Dylan didn’t operate that way.

      He took the steps to the deck, edging up to the glass slider. Going to one knee, he peered around the corner. Few adversaries expected a man his size to come in low.

      Unfurling his magick, he let it flood the house like smoke, filling every crevice, nook and cranny. They were there. The feel of them tickled his overstimulated senses. Her scent moved through him, unleashing an altogether different kind of desire in him. Damn her. Damn her for mixing this up.

      Need coiled in him like a giant snake, and he cursed her under his breath. It was as if she’d bewitched him. From the moment he’d seen her the first time in his dreams, he’d wanted her. The reality of the woman was far more potent, fueling an irrational desire that called to him to toss duty aside, go to her and forget both obligation and honor.

      Dylan pulled back and thumped his temple hard with the heel of one hand. He’d never failed an assignment, and this wouldn’t be his first. СКАЧАТЬ