And then like always, the pain became too much, and her body did what it needed to do to protect her. It shut down.
Everything went black.* * *Upon arriving at the shabby, dank flat in Budapest, Conall had detected Thea’s scent immediately. It was floral and fresh, like summer back home, but there was also a touch of something heady and sweet. Similar to toffee or molasses but not quite either. In fact, it was a scent he had never come across before and it marked Thea as different.
As soon as he inhaled the remnants of her presence in the shithole flat, Conall closed his eyes and let his mind take him to her, tapping into that internal GPS of his. Like a magnet, he felt his mind, his body, tugged northward.
He needed to travel north.
Following the otherworldly pull of his gift, Conall followed Thea’s scent through Slovakia and into Poland.
Sensing her nearby, Conall opted to sleep first and paid for a room at a hotel in Kraków’s Old Town. Refreshed and more than ready to grab his murderess and get the hell back to his sister and pack, Conall felt Thea’s presence grow nearer to him as he ate breakfast in the hotel.
His nose led him to the restaurant on the street just off the main square, and peering into the bottle-green windows, Conall spotted his prey.
At first, the look of her struck him, the impact far greater in reality. Watching her move through the increasingly busy restaurant, the male in him was sorry that her outside did not reflect her inside.
Thea wore her long dark hair pulled high into a ponytail that swished in rhythm to the sway of her sweetly curved arse. She had the kind of body he loved. Slender in the waist and legs, but fuller in the hips, arse, and breasts. Her body moved with so much grace, it gave away her supernatural status. At least to those in the know.
Ashforth was right. Conall scowled as Thea turned to flash a barely there smile at a patron. Everything about Thea Quinn was a weapon, even her beauty. Despite her dark coloring, she reminded him of summer, just as her scent did. Light, almost ethereal.
The darkness within her was well hidden.
As if she sensed his study, Thea had turned to look out the window and Conall had moved out of sight just in time. He cursed himself for staring at her like a prepubescent pup glimpsing his first naked woman.
A cold determination coiled around Conall. That woman in there was the key to saving Callie. Nothing about her, nothing she said or did, would stop him from dragging her back to Scotland.
He waited.
Trying to watch as inconspicuously as possible as people walked by or into the restaurant wasn’t easy when he was built like a brick shithouse. Thankfully, just as he thought he might need to move along, he watched the scene with the American couple unfold. When the arsehole crooked his finger at Thea, Conall had focused, using his heightened hearing to cut through the chatter of the other diners. Although muffled, he made out the proposition and watched with distaste as the man slid his hand over Thea’s jeans-clad arse.
For a moment, he forgot whose side he was on, cheering his prey on when she shoved the man’s hand off her and suggested he leave.
But then she stole his wallet and as much as the guy was a prick, thievery was dishonorable. Murdering innocent people made you scum. Thievery just made you scummier.
Watching her disappear into the kitchen, Conall followed her scent and soon detected her in the alley behind the restaurant.
When he’d come upon her hiding the wallet, he felt a moment of disgust before he shut his emotions off completely. When Thea turned to him, Conall had smelled no fear, which surprised him considering most people were afraid of him before they even knew him.
He hadn’t enjoyed watching the supernatural fall to the ground in agony from whatever fucking drug he’d injected into her neck. Ashforth hadn’t mentioned that part. Conall had just expected her to pass out.
Instead, whatever pain she was feeling strained her features as she crumpled to her knees. Her eyes had turned from their natural warm cognac to a supernatural bright gold, as a hoarse sound rattled in the back of her throat. And Conall saw it. First the recognition, followed by intense fear.
She knew who’d sent him.
And he’d smelled the musky odor of fear, like fresh sweat, sharpen to an intense coppery, blood-like tang. So strong, Conall could taste it on his tongue.
Terror.
Not fear.
Terror.
Conall refused to overanalyze it. It would terrify anyone to face a man whose wife you’d murdered, knowing what awaited you.
However, he couldn’t ignore the determination and grit he saw in her eyes. She wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. And as much as he tried, Conall couldn’t help but admire that just a little.