Page 3 of The Death Dealer (Sentinels of Magic Book 2)

Trevor wasn’t quick enough to catch Soleil when she collapsed, but he was a damned sight faster when it came to stopping the blood flow from the wound on the side of her head. She’d connected with the sharp edge of a rock as she fell, and now, Trev’s life was forfeit if he couldn’t heal her before Dethridge found out. The Aether would assume he’d attacked her.

Irritated with his new charge, Trev lifted her into his arms, surprised it didn’t feel like an effort, and teleported to her greenhouse. After placing her gently on the cushioned bench serving as a daybed, where she liked to read, he squatted next to her and smoothed the burnt-chestnut hair from her wound to examine it. It was nothing to provide the healing touch that came naturally to him.

Soleil wasn’t going to suffer undue injuries on his watch. Not as long as he was forced to answer to the Aether. He could dance around anything the Authority threw at him later.

Trev heard her sharp inhale followed by a hiss of pain, but he didn’t stop until the gash was sealed. He was finishing up as her lashes fluttered open, and he made the grave mistake of eye contact.

Those eyes!

Round, with milk-chocolate irises, they were large and warm, but they saw through him in an instant. Never before had a woman looked at him with trepidation or disdain—not without reason. Soleil had none.

She awoke spitting mad and shoved his hand away. Glancing wildly around, she calmed somewhat the instant she recognized her surroundings. Still, she kept a safe distance from him, with her back pressed against the greenhouse wall.

“Thank you,” she said. Grudgingly, at that.

Trev almost smiled, but years of maintaining a poker face helped hide his amusement. “Death Dealers don’t heal strangers without consequence. Please keep this to yourself.”

Her eyes flared wider in her alarm, but she nodded her agreement.

Needing a diversion from his standard boredom, he studied her workspace. Things looked different up close. Homier instead of chaotic, as he’d first suspected. Benches and bistro tables were scattered about, tucked in alcoves thick with palms. Newly potted plants dotted a stained wooden table running the length of the greenhouse. The overall effect was rustic and charming. Sure, not his style, but nice, all the same.

“Why is a Death Dealer spying on me?” Her voice wasn’t tentative, as he might’ve suspected, but neither was it one-hundred-percent back to normal.

Trev paused in his inspection of an orchid. If he didn’t miss his guess, it was extremely rare.

“Is this a Rothschild’s Slipper Orchid?” He shouldn’t be surprised Soleil owned one, but he was. “These go for upwards of five thousand dollars on the black market.”

Her brows shot up as astonishment lit her face, and Trev noticed for the first time that her brows were almost black. Next to her soft brown eyes and milky skin, the contrast was extraordinary. Much more interesting than the orchid beside him.

“I know what it is and where they are grown, Trevor… or, er, Mr. Blane.” Her forehead crinkled delightfully in her confusion. “How do you prefer to be addressed?”

“Trevor or Blane. You can leave off the mister.”

“Hmm.”

Because her reaction was odd, he felt the need to question why. “What’s wrong with my first name?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

He cocked his head a fraction. “What’s not right with my name?”

“It’s just all the Trevors I’ve ever met are complete assholes,” she blurted, missing his shock as she warmed to the subject. “Total jocks with nothing better to do than to terrorize shy, overweight girls in the—” The instant her diatribe caught up with her brain, her hand flew to her mouth and her skin turned the scarlet shade of the Spanish Dress rose blooming on the bush beside her.

“Seems your schoolmate has given all the rest of us Trevors a bad name,” he managed with a straight face. “Should I kill him?”

Her skin turned parchment white, and she frantically shook her head.

He presented his back to hide his grin. “I don’t know. I have strong standards, and the smearing of so honored a name?—”

A clump of dirt hit him in the back of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to get his attention. For the first time in his entire adult life, he was shocked speechless by a woman. He spun around and looked at her with new eyes.

Apprehension was in every line of Soleil’s round face, and her lips were compressed as if she was attempting to hold back a plea of forgiveness. But her chin, surprisingly pointy, considering, lifted in the air, and fierce determination was reflected back at him from those expressive eyes.

“What the fuck, lady?”

“I don’t want you to kill bullies named Trevor.”

He crossed to where she sat with her shoulders back and her fingers woven tightly into the sofa throw she mostly rested on. Her white knuckles gave her away.

Trev allowed a small, wicked smile. “What about bullies not named Trevor?”

It sunk in he was joking, and her relief was palpable. She closed her eyes, and he wanted to beg her to open them again. The thought shook him.

“I should go.” But strangely, he didn’t want to. This was the most interesting day he’d had in months, and he was loath to leave. Still, she was beginning to have a bizarre effect on his equilibrium, and he’d always made it a point never to interact with potential targets. Not that she was one after today. Once the all-powerful Aether had discovered Trevor’s surveillance of Soleil, the likelihood of Trev carrying through with a definitive action was nil. The man would approach the Authority directly and take matters into his own hands.

“Wait! I have a question.” She lunged forward and grabbed his arm, falling into Trevor as she tangled with the blanket. Her face impacted low on his stomach, just above the waistband of his slacks, as she fell to her knees. With a gasp and a horrified glance upward, she clung to his hips, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

His reaction was shockingly different. The sight of her—flushed cheeks, mouth parted in surprise, and wild hair tumbling down around her shoulders—turned him on like nothing had in months, perhaps even longer. Of their own accord, his fingers tangled in her riot of curls. To do what? He couldn’t exactly say, but when reason took over, he tilted her head back and away from his thickening dick. To do otherwise would embarrass them both.

“I should go,” he repeated, not recognizing the gravelly voice as his own.

Soleil grippedhis wrists on either side of her face and used the strength of his arms to propel herself upwards. She hadn’t missed the sliver of movement indicating he was going to urge her head toward his crotch before his reason returned. And she sure as hell wasn’t certain what she’d have done had he not changed his mind and shifted her head away.

Humiliation became her closest companion.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I’m not the most graceful of women.”

“Yeah, think nothing of it.”

They still had yet to release one another, and the unknown force keeping their gazes locked disturbed her on a deeper level. She shouldn’t be attracted to a Death Dealer. No good would come of it. She certainly hadn’t imagined his dismissive look earlier, either, and she was pretty sure he didn’t care for her brand of earthy woman. Tearing her gaze away from those piercing blue eyes of his, she did a sweep of his body. Why not, when it was up close and personal?

“Like what you see?” His initial shock had apparently worn off, and he was watching her the way a cat would a mouse it intended to toy with.

“I was simply wondering if you ever left the house in anything other than dress clothes.”

His mouth ticked up slightly on the left side, the only hint she’d amused him. By the time she’d blinked, his expression was once again bored. He had the nerve to glance at his watch, then say, “You have roughly twenty seconds to spit out your question. I have a schedule to keep.”

“Rude.”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Screw you,” she snapped.

“Ten,” he replied. “And wouldn’t you like to?”

“Not in the least, you arrogant beast.”

“Mm.” He tilted up her chin and stared deep into her eyes. All signs of boredom gone. The cat had come out to play. “Shall I prove you wrong, Soleil Stephens?”

Goddess, she wanted him to, but she shook her head.

“Your loss, earth witch.” He checked his watch again. “Time’s up.”

“No! Wait. I?—”

But he was gone, and she was talking to an empty greenhouse. Disappointment and frustration ganged up and tried their best to suffocate her. She shoved them both away. Later, she’d see what Damian could tell her about Trevor Blane and why a Death Dealer might be stalking her. In the meantime, she’d do her damnedest to get her wayward desires under control.

She’d only taken two steps when she felt a foreign presence behind her. Spinning around, she raised her hands to strike. Trevor was too fast. He gripped her wrists and urged her arms out to her sides, but not in a painful way. When his rock-hard chest pressed into her breasts, Soleil did her best not to whimper at the pleasurable contact.

“I forgot something,” he said in a low, seductive voice.

“Wh-what’s that?”

“This.”

He lowered his head to hers, pausing only long enough for her to protest if she intended to—she had absolutely no intention of objecting—and then he possessed her mouth like a fucking pirate of old. Soleil tugged at her wrists, trying to free her hands so she could touch him. But he held her captive as his talented tongue repeatedly delved into her mouth, wringing little mews of pleasure from her.

When he pulled away, unmistakable satisfaction was reflected in his gleaming eyes and a gloating smile she desperately wanted to smack off his face.

“I think that proves all we need to know,” he said with a mocking laugh.

For some strange reason, he hadn’t released her or shied away from the contact with her body. As if he’d just realized the same thing himself, he dropped her arms and stepped back.

“See you around, earth witch.”

“Not if I see you first,” she retorted, angry at herself for wanting a man who was clearly a jerk.

He placed a palm over his heart and sighed dramatically. “I’m wounded.”

Temper stirring, Soleil balled her hands into tight fists. She hated to be mocked, and it appeared all Trevors were punkasses. And because she’d never been great at comebacks, she silently stewed in the face of his amusement.

His gaze dropped to her lips, and he shook his head slightly, as if bemused. “Who the hell knew you kissed like that?” he murmured, almost to himself.

“So maybe you’re the one who would like to screw me,” she taunted with her hands on her hips.

They both winced.

Yeah, she really needed to work on her witty rejoinders.