“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?”

She glanced down at the prone witch. “He was supposed to pick me up, get us to shelter, and then show me the three remaining mines on the island. The orange one right there is obviously defunct.” A fox yipped in the distance, and she slid her hands into the pockets. Then she frowned. “By the way, a hang glider?”

He eyed the oncoming storm. “I own this abandoned mine as well as the functioning coal mine up beyond the bluff. My employees hang glide for fun, and when I saw you through binoculars, it was definitely the fastest way of getting down here.”

She eyed the far peaks. “How did you get up there?”

“Plane, helicopter, and parachute,” he said easily. From the island, snowmobiling was the only way to get to the coal mine, and that was fine with him. “About twenty years ago, I had a hangar built on the western end of the island. We need to get there and to the helicopter to get off this damn island.” A gust of wind blew in, and she stumbled toward him. Lightning zigged across the sky. He crossed to the downed witch and searched his pockets, getting the snowmobile key. Fire crackled along his arms. “I’ll wake this guy up and ask who offered him money to betray you.”

She coughed. “No need. I already know.”

Daire glanced over his shoulder. “Who?”

Her lips pressed tightly together. Her very blue lips.

He sighed and moved toward the vehicle. “We need shelter until the storm passes.” At which point, she’d finally tell him everything. “Give me the name, Cee Cee. I’m not going to ask why right now, but I want the name.” Getting information from the woman was as difficult as getting money from his cousin, Simone. Women.

She glanced down at the barely breathing witch on the ground. Her shoulders moved forward just an inch. “Ivan Bychkov.”

Daire jerked his head. Bychkov, the damn demon, owned half of the mines in Russia, including a couple that had formerly mined planekite. So he also owned the other two mines on Fryser. Interesting. Daire had traced the ownership through several dummy corporations that hadn’t led back to Bychkov. “The plot thickens,” Daire muttered. For now, he had to get the woman out of the storm. He sat on the snowmobile, his butt instantly freezing, and held out a hand. “We’ve been here before.” It wasn’t a motorcycle, but close enough.

She faltered and then accepted his hand. The wind whipped her hair around, and her beautiful eyes teared.

He stopped her before she could straddle the machine. One more question needed to be answered before he could move on and make a plan. “Was any of it real?” he asked.

“Any of what?”

The looks, the kiss, the fucking need. “Us.”

She blinked snow from her eyes, her gaze down. “No.”

He studied her, noting the vibrations in the air. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She gasped, her gaze meeting his. “I most certainly am not.”

Was she protesting his claim that she was a liar or a terrible liar? “Aye, you are.” He leaned in, not missing her quick intake of breath. “Admit it was real, or I’ll prove it.” Damn, he really wanted to prove her wrong.

Even bruised, her chin was stubborn. She leaned toward him, bringing the scent of female and hyacinth. “There’s nothing to prove. I worked you, Enforcer. Deal with it.”

He moved then, clamping his hands on her waist, and plunking her down, facing him. The handlebars bracketed her, as did his arms.

She sucked in air and tried to lean back and away. The move scooted her core closer to his, and he shoved against her, his dick jumping at the vee in her legs. Her eyes widened. Desire all but rolled off her. Both hands pressed against his chest with impressive strength.

“Admit it, Cee Cee.”

“No.” She didn’t hide her gaze, but her fingers curled into his chest. Anger and denial danced in her eyes, but beneath them, there was something more. Curiosity? She held her breath, not moving.

His gaze narrowed. She wanted to know as badly as he did if the other night had been about tequila and drugs or something else. Yet instead of saying so, she denied any feelings and waited for him to pounce. His biceps vibrated with the need to do exactly that and go deep. So he slid his hands down to her hips and tilted her, rubbing his shaft between her legs.

She gasped, and her lips half lowered. Desire competed with the storm now beating around them.

He leaned in so close his breath brushed her lips. “I don’t play games, sweetheart, and you’ve done nothing else since the first time I met you.”