A moment later, she vanished. The prison shimmered before disappearing, too, and the next thing Falon knew, he was lying in his bed again. As the cool sheets met his clean, dry skin, he rolled from the mattress and stalked to his closet.
Fury, desire, and determination pounded through him. He strapped weapons all over his body, dressed, and stalked from his house. No way he’d allow Glory to use her powers against him. Not again.
He was going to find her. Whatever he had to do, he was going to stop her.
Three
Heart thundering in her chest, Glory kept her eyes squeezed shut and inhaled deeply. The first thing she noticed was how the air no longer smelled of decadent man, sweat, and dark spice. Now she caught the faint drift of powdered sugar and jasmine incense.
Who would’ve thought she’d mourn the loss of sweaty-man air?
Time to check out the rest. Slowly she blinked open her eyes. Her notebook came into view. Everything that had happened was right there, the words staring up at her. She quickly looked away, not wanting to be reminded of her near capitulation. All Falon had done was touch her, for love of the Goddess, and she’d forgotten her need for revenge. The feel of his hands on her body, exploring . . . the sound of his rough voice in her ear, whispering . . . the desire blazing in his eyes, beckoning . . .
Her stomach tightened, and the ache she’d experienced inside the prison renewed between her legs. Keep looking.
Her flat-screen computer came into view, followed by the wall of magazine pictures she used for references and her Hunks of the Month calendar. Trash and dirty clothes were scattered all over her carpet. She hadn’t cleaned since that terrible night; she didn’t know why.
“It worked,” she said, just to break the silence. “It really worked.”
She’d actually sent Falon to an ancient prison, then she’d actually followed him there. Oh . . . my. She sagged against the mattress and closed her eyes again. Falon’s image filled her mind. His eyes, an exotic, come-to-me violet fringed by thick black lashes. His dark hair, a little long. The shadowy stubble that dusted his jaw. The bronzed skin and bodybuilder muscles she’d almost held.
The man had exuded a potent animal magnetism; it had oozed from his pores.
What was he doing right now? Cursing her to the heavens? She laughed, delighted by the thought. He might even be tugging on his clothes, determined to race over here and punish her.
She stopped laughing.
Having trouble catching her breath, Glory scrambled out of the bed. Her jeans and panties floated straight to her ankles. What the hell? Frowning in confusion, she grabbed them, jerked them up, and launched forward. Almost tripped as the clothes tumbled again. Growled. She needed to leave the house, like, now, and the wardrobe difficulties weren’t helping. As she bent to retrieve her stuff, the notebook slid out of her fingers and onto the floor.
She released her clothes and reached out. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of her hand. She was so . . . skinny. Her arm was slender, the bones fine. Her fingers were elegant. Wow. No wonder her jeans no longer fit.
Why hadn’t her slenderness faded with the scene?
The answer hit her, and she grinned. She’d written it a little later. For the next few minutes, she’d be a total babe.
Seriously, she’d never looked hotter. Maybe she should wait here. Maybe she should allow Falon inside. Maybe, as she’d hoped, he would be overcome with lust for her and the real revenge could begin. He would beg her to sleep with him, and she would say, “Hell, no.”
And what if you plump up right before his eyes, huh? What then?
Shit! Glory’s heart jolted into hyperdrive, and she raced throughout her room, kicking off the too-big jeans and panties and jerking on a nightgown. The silky pink material bagged on her, but it was the only thing that would cover her and stay put.
Why was she so nervous, anyway? There was nothing Falon could do to her. Not while she owned the pen. Uh, he could steal it and use it against you.
A knock sounded at the front of the house.
Her mouth fell open, and she straightened. No way. No damn way he’d made it here so quickly. She looked at her bedroom door, turned, and craned her neck to see out the room’s only window. A black SUV sat in the driveway. Damn! He had.
“Glory, Falon’s here to see you,” Godiva called a moment later, only sounding the slightest bit confused.
“Tell him I’m not here.” Glory propelled herself over her bed and to the window. She shoved the glass up and out of the way, never letting go of the pen. Cool air wafted inside, ruffling the thin, gaping gown against her skin as she climbed out. The grass was soft against her bare feet.
Maybe she’d go to Candy Cox’s, she thought, racing through the night. No, no. Candy’s sister was in town or due to arrive in town, and rumor was the woman negated powers of every kind. Worse, Candy’s shape-shifting werewolf boyfriend would be there, which meant more sickening PDA.
She could go to Pastor Harmony’s. Ugh, no, she decided next. Harmony was now a mother. The Desdaine triplets, then? No. The brats were likely to welcome her inside and secretly call Falon and alert him. So where did that leave her?
“Oh, no you don’t,” a male voice boomed behind her.
She gasped, panic infusing her every cell. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. One backward glance—Shit! He’d jumped out her window and was now moving toward her, menacing purpose in his every step. His eyes were narrowed on her.
The forest was a hundred feet in front of her. If she could just—a rock cut into her bare foot, and she fell. Grass padded her landing, but the hard impact still managed to shove the oxygen from her lungs.
“Glory,” he said, sounding concerned.
“Go home.” She grabbed a long, thin stick as she jumped to her feet. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Might come in handy. She jetted forward, taking stock. Heart: still beating. Pen and stick: still in hand. Legs: workable. Aching, but workable. Twigs and rocks continued to scrape into her feet. Worry about the pain later. She just needed to get far enough away from Falon to write him into chains. If not . . .
“I called Hunter,” Falon shouted, closer to her.
She yelped but didn’t allow herself to look back. Already, his masculine scent wafted around her. Faster, woman!
“I want that pen, Glory.”
Shit! He was even closer now. There was no time to hide. As she ran, branches slapping at her, stinging, she began writing on her arm. Twigs reached out and grasped at Falon. The words were barely legible.
Behind her, Falon growled. The rustle of trees echoed through the night.
Was it working?
Several of those twigs caught him and jerked him to a stop.
An animalistic snarl erupted. “Glory!” This time, Falon’s voice carried on the wind. He sounded a good distance behind her. “Stop.”
Glory slowed her steps. Panting, she tossed a look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she ground to an abrupt halt. Limbs had indeed caught Falon. They were wound around him like bands of indestructible silk, anchoring him to the base of a tree. His lips peeled back from his teeth, and he scowled over at her.
“Come here,” he shouted. “Now.”
Despite her wheezing, she was feeling very smug. She turned away from him. One push of her fingers, and she broke the stick she’d grabbed when she’d fallen in two.
“What are you doing? Get over here!”