If she had Tzader Burke on her trail, she might reconsider.
Isak keyed the transmitter and told Jones, “Pick your spot and snatch her. If a human interferes, stun ’em. Kill any nonhumans.”
What was Evalle up to that had Tzader Burke searching for her? She’d dodged that question tonight.
He wanted another shot at a straight answer. The best way to do that would be to talk to Evalle before Tzader found her.
THIRTY-TWO
Storm stepped onto the up escalator at the subway station behind Evalle. She moved as though her muscles were pulled tight beneath the windbreaker he’d brought her to wear when the weather had turned vicious.
Her silence needled his guilt. Taunted his control.
Nothing rattled his steel reserve like she did.
He’d pushed the kiss too far, but he could fix that.
Greater problems existed, based upon what he’d learned earlier tonight.
His spirit guide could be a source of knowledge . . . or frustration. When the witch Adrianna hadn’t been able to answer all of his questions, he’d gone to his apartment so he could call upon his ancestors. A withered female shaman who wore her years etched in her ghostly face had answered his questions with mixed messages he’d had to unscramble.
The shaman had spoken of several things, including the female Ashaninka witch doctor, who, she said, was not today’s worry. But he hadn’t been able to decipher if that meant the witch doctor he hunted would be tonight’s worry or next week’s worry.
Precise time had no more relevance in these conversations than precise meaning.
Except for one warning his spirit guide had given him.
She’d said Storm would lose Evalle before he won her.
Out of instinct to protect her, he lifted his hand to place at the small of Evalle’s back, but he pulled away before touching her. If he’d kept his hands to himself downstairs, she wouldn’t be so tense right now.
Where had all the years of learning how to stalk a skittish prey gone?
You didn’t put moves on a woman who had been hurt by a man.
Especially when he’d caught the signs of sexual abuse.
But finding her beaten to hell and running late on top of the spirit guide’s warning had left his jaguar teetering on the edge of violence. Tristan had been wise not to return after dropping off a battered Evalle.
Storm shouldn’t have touched her with a dangerous animal raging inside him. At the sight of Evalle injured, his animal had reacted violently with a primal objective, demanding blood . . . or sex.
Had Tristan been there, Storm might have relieved his need for blood. Without that, his control had stretched until it was paper thin and taut as tight wire cable.
Evalle had picked a hell of a moment to take the initiative to kiss him for the first time.
Nice way to fracture what trust she’d allowed you, idiot.
When Evalle stepped off the top of the escalator and moved to the side, Storm was a step behind her. Thunder and howling rain waited for them outside the North Avenue MARTA terminal. The earlier thunderstorm had picked up strength, pounding watery fists against every surface.
Would something as simple as rain destroy the yellow haze attacking part of the country?
Evalle paused short of walking out into the downpour and turned to Storm, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I think I know where Tristan is going.”
Between the roar of rain battering the concrete roof and the clatter of foot traffic going in and out of the station, this wasn’t the spot for talking. He guided her over to a wall that protected them from sheets of rain.
Storm spoke loud enough for Evalle but kept his head turned away to shield his words. “Where do you think Tristan’s headed?”
“To get his sister.”
