Immortal Redeemed. Linda Thomas-SundstromЧитать онлайн книгу.
had got closer, as well as too many other people who hadn’t received the memo about their lives being safer indoors after dark.
Kellan had to pay some attention to the monsters prowling the darkness because if he hit the road, this woman, in her weakened state, would be easy prey.
Her lashes fluttered again before she briefly closed her eyes, leaving Kellan certain that the ashen pallor of her face wasn’t due entirely to Seattle’s sunless climate. The bold blonde was no longer steady on her feet. She looked as if she could have been a patient at the hospital across from them.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he repeated in a soft, clear tone. “Help of any kind?”
“No.” Her head shake displaced a few damp dark-golden strands that were starting to curl. “I don’t need help. Thanks for the offer.”
She inched backward without turning from him and ran into a post. After issuing a short bark of uncomfortable laughter, she muttered, “Hell, what a night,” and looked up to apologize a second time. “Sorry.”
It could have been the way she issued the apology—the rather forlorn enunciation of two drawn-out syllables—that caused Kellan to stir. He was beside her in an instant, utilizing the extraordinary speed and superior reflexes that had been built into him.
Chances were that not many others on the sidewalk had been paying attention to what might appear little more than a street-side tête-à-tête. Odds were also good that no one had noticed how frail this woman appeared to be, and how menacing he looked by comparison. He was two heads taller than she was and twice as broad. She tilted her head back to look up at him and met his eyes.
Her eyes were blue.
“I had a long shift, that’s all. I need to get home and rest,” she explained. “I used to be a cop, and that’s my excuse for confronting you, as lame as it sounds.”
Kellan’s hand hovered less than an inch from hers. She was in some kind of trouble and trying to make the best of it. He zeroed in on the thin white scar that ran from her right temple to beneath her ear, noting how the fingers of her other hand kept returning to that spot.
She’d been damaged, and she seemed to him like a real woman made of flesh and bone. Up close, he found nothing to suggest she might be a vessel housing an immortal knight’s off switch. She looked nothing at all like a Reaper in disguise.
He eyed her thoughtfully. Are you what my Makers tried so hard to hide so that my life would go endlessly on? Or are you merely a woman who appeals to my baser side?
It was conceivable that she was just a woman, but how could a mistake in identity happen between two souls intricately tied to each other for centuries, or when the termination of his life might be in her hands?
Each Blood Knight had a counterpart soul, though no one expected the two to find each other. They weren’t supposed to meet. Weren’t designed to meet. The Makers at Castle Broceliande had seen to it that the seven Knights could be taken down if they veered too far off track. This had been accomplished by planting fail-safe switches in seven other souls ultimately responsible for turning each Knight off, dealing a final death blow if called into action.
The way they’d do this was top secret. None of the Knights knew what their counterparts might have in store, or where in the world they were. It had taken Kellan years of research to pinpoint Seattle as the hometown of his, plus a lot of underground bargaining with his considerable fortune. Then there was the call he had felt all the way to his bones.
Was it this woman, then?
Is it you?
Will your touch end my existence? As simply as that? I show up and awaken what’s supposed to be off-limits, and you destroy me?
Her closeness produced feverish warmth in him. Yet he was minus the guidebook for unlocking secrets tucked inside someone composed by magical design, so he was on his own. And honestly, he now began to think that exploring this female’s hidden assets, no matter what she turned out to be, would be extremely pleasurable. He might even die a final death with a smile on his lips.
As he stood there, the urge to touch her was becoming an outright necessity. He wanted to trace her facial scar with his fingers and feel firsthand the lushness of her lips. Burying his face in her damp hair would be a luxury. She smelled damn good, and it had been a while since he’d taken the time to enjoy anything of a personal nature.
“I’m willing to help,” he said, gauging her reaction to his closeness. She shook so hard, his hand connected to hers automatically, sending shocking currents of electricity buzzing through him.
His excitement doubled. But was this a further sign?
Kellan smiled. While his sigils seared his skin and his heart beat wildly in his chest, raw physical need was trumping his internal warnings about having to use caution. Hell, he wanted this woman so badly, it was possible that sex held the answer to unlocking the Reaper, and all he had to do was insert a throbbing key into her lock.
“Let me help you...”
Had she heard that silent suggestion, too? She hadn’t pulled her hand away. He watched her lips part.
“Are you a good guy?” she asked.
“Trick question,” he replied. “Would I tell you if I wasn’t?”
“Probably not.”
“Everyone says I’m one of the good guys. Well, most people would, I guess, if they knew me.”
She nodded warily, sighed softly, allowing these moments to linger because of his silent influence on her.
“Where are you headed?” Kellan asked.
“To my car. It’s behind me, in that garage.”
“Do you think you can drive?”
“I’m pretty sure I can’t, but I’m going to try. My legs won’t hold me up much longer, and I’d rather not be seen like this by anyone I work with. Besides, I doubt if I could make it back to the hospital’s front door.”
“If I carry you to your car, will I be responsible for the accident waiting to happen between here and your home?”
She stared at him mutely.
“How about if I take you home and we avoid all those other potential problems?” Kellan suggested.
“You can’t take me anywhere, because I don’t know you.”
“Then I’m not sure what kind of help you need.”
She shook her head, spreading more of her subtle perfume in the wind. That scent was like honey.
“This is seriously embarrassing,” she said. “There’s no need to worry about me. I’ll call my partner for help. I’d be grateful if you’ll just stay here until I do, so that no other...”
“Stranger?” he supplied when her sentence dangled. “So that no other Harley-riding yahoo might approach you on the street?”
“So that no other person dares to come to my aid, and I have to start over, behaving like an idiot,” she clarified, looking up at him. “And so that no one looking out of a hospital window might assume I’m not up to the tasks assigned to me there.”
Currents of electricity continued to slam Kellan through his grip on her fingers. He had to monitor his reaction to each physical jolt.
The woman had palmed her cell phone but hadn’t used it. Kellan wanted to know what she might be thinking. When would she realize that a stranger was holding her hand? This unplanned touch had to be unusual behavior for her. It certainly was unusual for him. He never made physical contact with mortals unless absolutely necessary, and he kept clear of them whenever possible. Too much contact, too much exposure to another beating heart’s welcoming warmth, and a Knight’s blood oath might be called into question.
This woman’s fingers