He froze in shock.
God almighty.
With her autumn hair floating on an unseen breeze and her eyes glowing with a pure ebony, she didn’t look entirely real.
She was . . . magnificent.
A beauty beyond his comprehension.
Giving a sharp shake of his head, Roke struggled to think beyond the dazzling, near destructive sight of his mate. He’d worry about her sudden ability to glow later. For now all that mattered was fleeing from the seemingly indestructible Brandel.
Pronto.
Shifting his attention toward the demon who Sally continued to hold around the neck, Roke prepared to launch another attack. He’d even taken a step forward when he realized that Brandel wasn’t fighting against Sally’s hold.
In fact, his black, crimson-slit eyes were stretched wide and his pudgy face frozen in an expression of horror.
Was the light hurting him?
It was impossible to tell with a creature who didn’t have a solid physical form.
Muttering a curse, Roke clutched his dagger and took another step forward. There had to be some way of disabling the demon long enough to get Sally away.
Brandel made an odd noise as the light burned even brighter, the heat becoming nearly unbearable.
“Roke, stay back,” Sally hissed between clenched teeth.
He scowled. Did she truly expect him to stand aside and watch her fight the demon on her own?
Meeting the dark gaze that blazed with the unearthly light, he was forced to accept that was exactly what she expected.
His fangs ached, his entire body trembling with the fierce need to leap into the battle, but he leashed his primitive instincts.
This wasn’t Sally being stubborn. Or trying to assert her aggravating independence.
In this moment she was a warrior giving commands that were meant to be obeyed.
Feeling as helpless as a damned dew fairy, Roke forced his feet to carry him backward, his gaze locked on her beautiful face until the light grew so bright it surrounded her and the petrified Brandel behind an incandescent aura.
Christ. He couldn’t see her.
The earth shook beneath his feet, the nearby highway buckling beneath the stress of his brutal terror. Then, when he knew he couldn’t stand and watch another second, there was a sizzle in the air followed by an explosion of heat that sent him flying.
Roke plowed into the side of the Land Rover with enough force to crush the passenger door, but ignoring his broken ribs and punctured lung, he untangled himself from the twisted metal.
“Sally,” he roared, surging to his feet to discover his mate lying on the ground.
He hissed in shock as he caught sight of the terrain that had been flattened and charred by the explosion. In several spots the grass had been seared away to leave nothing but blackened dirt. And in other places deep gouges scarred the landscape.
Holy shit. It looked like ground zero with Sally collapsed in the center.
Stark fear clutched his heart as he hurried toward his mate. At a distance she appeared unhurt, but he needed her in his arms.
Nearly at her side, Roke grimaced as he leaped over the large, greasy spot of . . . sludge. Christ, was that all that was left of Brandel?
Roke knelt on the grass that remained unharmed around Sally’s body, gently wrapping her in his arms and pulling her against his chest. The brilliant light had faded, but her skin remained warm to the touch and the scent of peaches saturated the air, reminding him of the power she had so recently wielded.
Not that he gave a shit that she’d just proven she was one of the most dangerous creatures to walk the earth. All he cared about was holding her tight as his senses swept over her, searching for injuries.
Finding no wounds, he frowned as he studied her pale face and the shadows beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes. Had she burned herself out with such a large burst of magic?
And if she had, what did he do to help her?
“Sally?” he urged softly, relief shooting through him as her lashes fluttered up to reveal her dazed eyes.
“Roke?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she instantly denied. “Just drained. I’ll be fine.”
His hand wasn’t entirely steady as he smoothed a strand of golden red hair away from her face.
“What the hell happened?”
She wrinkled her nose, her lashes lowering to shield her eyes. Almost as if she couldn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m not entirely sure. The magic just—”
“Exploded?”
“Yeah, something like that.” She pulled herself out of his arms, silently taking in the devastation that surrounded them. “The demon?” she at last demanded.
Roke rigidly squashed the need to pull her back into his embrace. She was obviously rattled by her . . . volatile surge of magic.
He got it.
Although it’d been centuries since he’d been a foundling, he could still remember his shock the first time his powers had manifested and he’d collapsed a tunnel on his head.
It’d taken him hours to crawl out of the rubble and a few decades to become comfortable with his destructive talent.
“There,” he said, pointing toward the pile of grease, determined to make her proud of what she was becoming.
She shuddered, rising to her feet to take a step away from the charred remains of Brandel.
“That’s all that’s left of him?”
“That’s it.” He kept his tone light as he straightened to stand at her side. “You were quite impressive.”
“She was brilliant,” Levet pronounced, waddling forward to offer the box to Sally. “Truly magnifique.”
Sally clutched the box in a white-knuckled grip, still staring at the scorched ground that surrounded them.
“We need to return to Chicago,” Roke abruptly announced.
Ridiculously, Sally frowned at his announcement. “Why?”
“You’re tired.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Growling with impatience, he moved to stand directly in front of her, his hand cupping her cheek.
“You can’t lie to me, Sally,” he reminded her. “I can sense your weariness.”
“I want to be done with this.”
His brows drew together, his shoulders squaring as he prepared for yet another battle of wills.
“The demon is dead. What does it matter if you continue your search tonight or next week?”
“We don’t know if he was the only demon after the box,” she said.
“All the more reason to return to Chicago until you can recover your strength.”
She reached up to grasp his wrist, pressing his fingers tighter against her face as she studied him with a pleading expression.