That sizzle became a spark that ignited her blood, had her thoughts going hazy for a moment before she snapped herself back to the world and shut it down.
She blamed the elf for her out-of-control libido and imagination, put it down to his good looks and incredible physique, and the fact it had been far too long since she had taken the time to scratch her itches.
She wouldn’t let herself get distracted by him.
It would be a death sentence.
He was the enemy and he had clocked her in the square, knew they were after the same mark. He was probably aware of her right now and was leading her to her doom. Well, it would be his doom that awaited him at the end of this dance.
Mackenzie tailed him, studying everything he did, learning all she could about him, right down to which foot he favoured as he pivoted and turned down another alley. The more she knew about him, the more likely it was she would survive a fight against him.
And they would come to blows.
She felt that in her gut.
She peeked into the alley. He was still a good fifty feet ahead of her. She slipped into the narrower space, hating the way the two dark stone buildings seemed to close in on her to steal all the light. The strange burn he had ignited in her blood turned to ice and she breathed through it as her chest constricted. She was fine. She focused on the electric lamp mounted on the wall at the end of the alley, using the soft light it emitted to banish the darkness.
The memories.
As the momentary panic passed and her senses came back online, she swore under her breath.
The elf was gone.
“Damn it, Mackenzie,” she muttered and frowned as she hurried forwards. “Losing track of your targets now?”
It wasn’t like her. She prided herself on her skills, on her dedication to her work and how professional she was compared with a lot of other assassins. She had never lost track of a mark and now she had done it twice in one night.
She slowed her pace, catching herself. Rushing headlong after the elf was a foolish move. Whether the male was Hartt or Fuery, he was a merciless killer. Darkness made flesh.
And sharp as a blade too.
The tales of them were legendary. More than one account glorified how quickly they could think on their feet and how intelligent they were. She supposed skills like that came with the territory when you were thousands of years old.
She took a moment to breathe, to focus her mind again. She was quick and clever too.
He wasn’t going to get the jump on her.
She brought her guard up again as she slipped a dagger free of the sheathe at her waist and stretched her senses around her as she exited the alley onto the main street that cut through the heart of the demon district. She palmed the grip of the blade, her pulse picking up as she scoured the area.
Nothing.
Had he teleported back to Hell?
She squeaked as a hand suddenly appeared around her throat and hauled her back against a rock-hard body, and shivered as his deep baritone teased her ear.
“Looking for me?”
Chapter 3
Hartt was enjoying himself. A strange but true fact that unsettled him in a way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much… fun.
He held back a grin as he led the flame-haired female into an alley, as he felt her pause at the mouth of it and wait before following him. She was cautious, but curious. Didn’t like to be beaten. Might even be considering attempting to kill him.
He pieced together more about her as he strolled along the alley, as females looked him over. He didn’t pay them any attention, was too focused on his tail to care whether they were coming onto him. He felt as if she was coming onto him too as her gaze lingered on him, as the intensity of it seemed to grow as he turned down a particularly bold female.
An odd feeling settled in his chest, a weight that felt uncomfortable, made it feel too tight. Made his skin feel too tight. He wanted to put it down to being hyper-focused on the little assassin, but instinct decided to label it as something else.
Interest.
None of the females in the alley triggered that feeling in him, but she did.
Why?
She was competition, the enemy, nothing more than that. She couldn’t be anything more than that. This dance he was leading her on was just a way of luring her to her demise, bringing her somewhere quiet where no one would attempt to intervene when he fought her.
He was sure she had the same plan.
Although. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he found an alley that was empty and turned down it. She did seem more intrigued than out to kill him. She was studying him. He didn’t miss how her incredible golden eyes fell to his right boot as he pivoted, how her red lips quirked into a tiny, satisfied smile that said she had noticed he favoured that foot and was filing it away for later use.
She didn’t intend to kill him here then.
Because she needed more weapons than the dagger that sat snug against her tight dark red leathers to take him down?
Or perhaps she didn’t like to kill openly.
Maybe she was the type who preferred poison or spells, employed subtlety in her kills. He could appreciate the art of that, had a few assassins in his employment who liked to kill people quietly rather than participating in an all-out brawl to the death.
Hartt preferred the latter.
Stealth kills had been fun at first, but he had quickly grown bored of them. They didn’t satisfy him. He liked a good fight. A dance with death. Nothing sated the darker part of him more than violence.
He frowned. She had stopped moving.
Hartt looked over his shoulder at her and found her staring straight over his head, her eyes wide and lips parted, her chest heaving against her corset. What was she looking at? Her golden irises slowly brightened against their reddish-brown backdrop, beginning to glow in a mesmerising way. He cast his gaze around and frowned at the lamp mounted on the wall at the end of the alley, and then back at her, charting the trajectory of her gaze.
She was looking at the light.
The scent of her fear reached him and he slowly smiled. She was afraid of the dark. It was almost amusing, but he couldn’t bring himself to find pleasure in it. For some reason, the sight of her locked up tight and panicking provoked a startling feeling inside him.
A need to go to her.
To do what?
Protect her from the invisible foe she was battling?
He shook off that urge and teleported before she broke free of the grip of her fear. He landed on the rooftop above her, watched her as she came to and frowned at the other end of the alley where he had been.
She muttered something he didn’t catch, and then added, “Losing track of your targets now?”
He stilled right down to his breathing, unable to control the reaction as her voice reached his ears, as the sweet melody of it caressed and teased them, had his focus slipping once again. He snapped it back into place with a low growl.
She huffed and unsheathed a dagger as she stalked forwards, the subtle fragrance of smoky sandalwood and sweet vanilla he had come to associate with her taking on an acrid tang as her mood soured.
Since she was upset that she had lost him, it seemed only fair that he let her find him again.
He teleported into the alley behind her, closed his hand around her throat and tugged her back against him.
“Looking for me?” he rumbled into the shell of her ear, and gods, this close to her, she smelled divine.