On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(41)
Author: Gena Showalter

"So the Synestryn can’t get to us here?"

"Oh, no. They can get to us, but it’s harder to find us here than in other places, since Gilda has woven some magic that helps shield us here."

"Gilda? Who’s she?"

"A powerful Theronai. She and her husband, Angus, have been together for centuries. She’s the one who told me about the gadget. She has amazing power."

"And she uses it to protect these Gerai houses?"

"Among other things. But yes, I can sense her touch on this place. Unless we do something to attract attention, we should be safe here."

"That sounds nice."

Neal heard fear wavering in her voice. "I don’t want you to be afraid, sweetheart. You’re safe with me. I’d give my life to make sure of it."

"I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t want anyone else to die because of me."

He set the food on the coffee table and sat next to her, taking her hand in his. Her skin was smooth and flawless, unlike his own scarred hands. Her bones were delicate, her limbs breakable. He had no idea how he was going to keep her safe long enough for her to learn to wield his power, but he knew he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

Neal made sure she was looking in his eyes. He couldn’t stand knowing she was being eaten up by guilt. "The professor didn’t die because of you. You have to believe that."

"Would those things have come for him if I hadn’t given him the artifact?"

"How many people have you allowed to study your collection?"

"Several."

"Were they attacked?"

"No."

"Then there was no way for you to know what would happen. You can’t blame yourself for the evil of another. All you can do is use the power you now have to stop them from doing it again."

"Is that what you do?"

He shook his head. "I can’t do a lot with magic. I can use a little bit, but nothing compared to you.

The best I can do is cut them down."

"You’re good at that."

"Nice of you to notice."

She was silent for a long moment. "What’s it like living in your world?"

"Normal. It’s all I’ve ever known."

"Killing monsters and fighting demons is normal? I don’t think I could ever get used to that."

"There’s more to being a Theronai than killing. We have a home where we take care of humans—orphaned children, mostly. We’re helping rebuild a stronghold in Africa that was destroyed. And we stand guard over the Gate."

"Gate?"

"To Athanasia, the place where our magic originated. Chances are good your father was from there."

"Where is it?"

Neal shrugged. "Another planet, I guess. I never really worried much about the details. I fought when I needed to, protected when I needed to, and in the meantime, I spent every second looking for you."

She scoffed at that. "That’s hard to believe."

"It’s true. I mean, I didn’t know your name, but I hoped you were out there. And here you are. My own personal miracle."

"You make it sound so easy—like you already know how things will end."

"I’ve had over four hundred years of watching unions between our people. They’re not all easy, but the luceria picked you to be with me for a reason. I know enough to trust that and let the rest work itself out."

She looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. Neal let it drop, refusing to cause her any more upset tonight. There would be time for her to come around. He could be patient.

"Would you like to try to find the gadget?" he asked.

"I think I can feel it. It’s faint, but if I concentrate, I might be able to get a stronger impression of its location."

"You do that. The sooner we find it, the sooner I can take you home."

Neal hadn’t come on to her. They were alone together in that cozy house, in front of a roaring fire while the wind blew snow all around them, insulating them from the real world. It was the perfect setup for romance and yet Neal hadn’t taken advantage of that.

Part of her was disappointed. Her body was humming with a frenetic energy—an achy need to run her hands over him and let him do the same to her. The saner part of her was relieved. Too much had happened tonight and she was having trouble digesting it all.

Neal was a member of an ancient race. So was she. From what he said, they were destined to be partners in a war against evil monsters—ones she didn’t even know existed outside of her dusty books.

And yet, as hard as all that was to believe, what she really had trouble believing was the part where he needed her. He was a big, strong, strapping warrior. He didn’t appear to need anyone. If she hadn’t felt that need through the luceria, she still wouldn’t believe it.

He wanted her, and not just for the night. The impressions she got through their swiftly growing connection were ones of permanence. Forever. He wasn’t afraid of commitment, like most men she knew. He craved it.

Not that she knew him well enough to agree to that kind of relationship. For now, she was content to stay with him, see how things went. He might not appreciate her caution, but that was too bad. Caution was all he was going to get.

For now.

The thought whispered in her head, summoning images of the two of them together, making love. She could almost feel the power of his big body moving over hers, driving them both higher.

He’d be a demanding lover. She could tell that by his personality. But it was his grace that made her toes curl in longing. A man with that smooth kind of power would drive her crazy. Neal would take her to places she’d never been with a man before, and deep down, she wanted that more than she’d ever wanted any ancient trinket.

Neal came back out of the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her. His jaw was tight and she could see tension straining his body. He pulled in a couple of deep breaths before he managed to speak.

"I heard that," he whispered.

"What?"

"Your thoughts. The things you’d like me to do to you."

She’d been getting brief flashes from his thoughts since putting on the luceria, but had brushed it off as her imagination. The things she’d felt coming from him couldn’t be real. No man had ever wanted her like Neal did.

The proof of that want was straining the front of his worn jeans, making her mouth water.

He took a measured step forward. Viviana didn’t move. She didn’t want to encourage him to do something he wasn’t ready for, and yet the thought of him backing away left a deep ache in her chest.

"I’m more than ready," he told her. "You’re the one with questions about the two of us. Not me. I already know how I want it to end."