She tilted her head to the side, confusion all but rolling from her. “So you’re basically harmless to me.”
He chuckled, even pissed off. “Oh, I didn’t say that.” She’d tell him everything he wanted to know, but he’d never punch a woman. He turned back toward the immediate problem.
“Daire, please do not kill him,” she whispered.
He sighed. “Why the hell not?”
“There’s been enough death, don’t you think?” She pushed the glasses up her head again, her eyes onyx jewels. “No more.”
The war had ended a little more than a year before, and too many immortals had died. Yet when he again glanced at the bruise on her face, he wanted to draw blood. He needed to harm the witch on the ground. But it didn’t have to be today, and it didn’t have to happen in front of Cee Cee. His chest hitched. “Well now, what kind of deal shall we strike?” he asked.
She swallowed. “I’ll return your deeds and surveys to you, as well as the documents taken from Simone Brightston.”
He smiled. “I assume they’re in the backpack you’re still wearing, and I believe I can get them if I so choose.” He faced her fully, more than a little curious how far she’d go. What would the little temptress offer?
Her nostrils flared, and a little color returned to her angled cheeks. “Fine. How about I don’t melt your brain out of your skull?”
He slid the knife back into his boot. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you unleash a demon mind attack on Vegar here?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. It takes energy to shoot pain and terrible images into somebody else’s head, especially a witch’s. You must know that.”
Aye, he did understand her people’s gifts and the toll it took on them. “You were about to get your ass burned.”
She scoffed. “Hardly. I was just getting started.”
Maybe. Maybe not. He cocked his head to the side. “Heal your face, Cee Cee.” Her people had just as much healing power as witches, and she should’ve already sent healing cells to her jaw. The bruise was making it difficult for him to focus, and it needed to disappear.
She pursed her lips. “I will when I’m ready.”
What the hell? “Do it now, or I cut off his head.”
She glanced around at the now churning sea, the darkening sky, the silent buildings, and mumbled something.
He leaned in. “Didn’t hear you.”
She exhaled, sparks shooting from her eyes. “I’m too cold.”
The admission slammed him in the chest. Sometimes he forgot not everybody burned with fire inside. Damn it. He instantly shrugged out of the Klim jacket.
“No.” She moved back and tumbled, falling on the snowmobile.
“Yes.” He hauled her up by the arm and shoved the coat around her. “Put your arms in, or I’ll do it for you.”
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m not weak.”
He tilted his head. “Never said you were.”
She cleared her throat, vulnerability darkening her eyes. “Right.”
What kind of land mine had he just stepped in? He couldn’t handle an emotional female at the moment. “Being cold isn’t the same as being weak. Now put on the fucking coat.”
She pushed her arms in, and he zipped her up, noting how the coat dropped nearly to her knees. She ducked her face inside the collar. “Petrichor,” she murmured.
“Huh?” he asked.
“The smell after the rain is petrichor,” she said. “Even in the bar at Titans of Fire, that’s how you smelled.” Her throaty voice seemed to kiss his skin, and he’d give every possession he owned to have her whispering something, anything, against his cock.
He shifted his weight.
Waves crashed into the shore, water spreading over ice. He grasped her arm. “What was your plan here?”