Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Immortal Redeemed

Thinking that someone had called her name made McKenna reevaluate the current state of her health. Certainly her brain had been through a lot after being grazed by a bullet. Still, voices?

This time when the light changed, she made it halfway between the curbs before an odd sensation of being shadowed forced her to take a second look at her surroundings. Like most big cities, Seattle could be dangerous if people weren’t careful. Single women out alone at night were wise to be on guard. No one knew that better than a cop.

Former cop.

Another look around showed no one suspicious and gave her no cause for alarm. Yet the sensitive skin at the base of her neck tingled. Strange fluttering sensations deep down inside her body forced her to briefly shut her eyes.

If this weird shit kept up, she’d be better off calling a cab or taking a bus the couple of blocks home. Hearing imaginary voices was scary stuff. The psychiatrist who had cleared her at Seattle PD after her incident wouldn’t like this new turn of events any more than she did.

Not that clearing her had helped, since hopes of returning to the force had been lost with that damn bullet. The Seattle PD demanded retirement after an injury like that. Her next choice had been to finish the nursing degree she had started right out of school.

McKenna walked on. After hopping the next curb, she paused to search the street again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She saw the usual long line of parked cars and the vague outline of a guy on a motorcycle pulling over.

Her smile was a symptom of feeling silly, because there was nothing unusual here. Plus, she had options. She could turn around, go back to the hospital, find a bed and sleep this off. A short nap might put things into perspective.

The stubborn tingle on her neck was a persistent sucker, though. She muttered a choice four-letter word she’d picked up on the force and tried to convince herself she was making things up.

“Where are you?”

McKenna whirled, nerves prickling, sure she heard that voice. If she was making it up, she had one hell of an imagination. That voice seemed real, even when logic told her the question couldn’t have been addressed to her. No one waited for her or wondered where she was. She had no family left. The few people who mattered to her knew her schedule and were busy elsewhere at this time of night.

So why did the voice sound familiar?

Steadying herself with both hands on the nearest signpost, McKenna worked to calm herself down. This didn’t have to be a premonition or a warning sign of disaster about to strike...though she distinctly remembered how the bullet entering her skull two years ago had spoken to her just before taking her down. As if that bullet had her name on it. As if that shot had been meant for nobody else.

She had experienced the same flutter of nerves back then, too, seconds before the bullet struck. She hadn’t told anyone about those things. Cops weren’t supposed to be crazy. She’d kept her mouth shut about premonitions and perceptions, though the nightmares persisted to this day.

She looked around, reliving a moment of uncanny connection to her surroundings, wanting to duck, but standing tall to await whatever was to come.

Nothing did.

No bullet arrived, though her weakening knees defied the notion of an all clear.

Holding on to the post, McKenna again scanned the sidewalk, fighting the impulse to cover her ears and block any further sound.

“Who are you?”

The question came again from out of nowhere, so real that she almost replied. Determined to ignore this, McKenna headed for the garage with a retort on her lips. “Not talking to you today, my invisible friend. I won’t be admitting to the crazies anytime soon.”

Under her breath, she added, “Definitely not today.”

Before she finished the remark, her finely honed cop intuition set her teeth on edge. Someone was watching. Someone was there. She knew this.

Swaying slightly, shaking off the chills slipping under the collar of her thick wool coat, McKenna turned to stare at the guy on the motorcycle.

Chapter 2

Kellan got off the bike. His heart rate spiked as he eyed the woman on the corner. He waited out several more beats of time before breathing, each of those beats measured by the tick of the clock in the tower above him.

She was looking at him. Staring openly. Was she answering his call? If not, why the sudden interest?

The strange stirring sensations inside his chest didn’t have to be meaningful since the odds of finding her just ten minutes after entering town were a million to one, or more like twice that.

Shaking off his disappointment, Kellan turned away.

Then he turned back.

The wind carried a trace of perfume—faintly floral, fresh, rich. He detected no hint of death in it, such as a Reaper might possess.

Tamping down the rise of anticipation, Kellan observed the woman closely. He had the advantage, of course. She would have no idea how effortlessly he could see every detail at this distance. She wouldn’t know about the hunger behind his scan.

Her hair was fair, long, and hung past her shoulders. Although there was no rain tonight, the golden strands appeared to be wet. She had big eyes in a small face, high cheekbones and delicate features. She was tall and lean, her overall shape narrow. Faded blue jeans peeked out from beneath the knee-length tweed coat that didn’t seem to warm her. Both of her arms were crossed over her stomach, as if that would help.

She was attractive, but not perfect. The eyes were a bit too large and her skin too pale. While she looked young, she possessed a worldly gaze. To anyone else, her bold stare might have been unnerving.

As their gazes connected across the distance, Kellan’s nerves bristled. His muscles twitched. Strange as it was, after just seconds of scrutiny, he had an uncanny and urgent physical need for this woman.

Still, though she smelled delicious and stared back, she could be the wrong soul. Because he was immortal and a loner by necessity didn’t mean he was immune to every temptation that came his way.

Under the scrutiny of his unwavering gaze, the woman turned from him with a small object clasped tightly in her hand. Cell phone for emergencies? Her steps stuttered on the sidewalk before she whirled again. Unbelievably, she wasn’t running away. She didn’t make any calls. After pausing to consider her next move, she walked straight toward him.

He hadn’t used his power to influence her decision, so the move was all hers. Why, though? He was a stranger. Danger lurked on every street corner these days. Case in point, he caught a whiff of one lone werewolf to the south, potentially only half as deadly without a full moon overhead. And something dark-hearted with fangs perched on a rooftop halfway down the block.

Those things should have made him move. They should have been the center of this focus. He’d been blessed—or cursed, as he often thought—to feel the presence of these kinds of anomalies. He not only smelled them but saw into the shadows where they hid. He did his best to keep the monsters in check.

This time they weren’t drawing his attention from the woman coming his way. They had nothing to do with his sudden sense of elation.

She was his focus.

His attention was riveted.

As she approached, Kellan’s heart began to pound. Streaks of adrenaline created tension in muscles designed for fighting, as if she might pose a threat to those old vows. But the only fight here was for him to remain calm, because waiting for her wasn’t easy. Meeting this woman could turn out to be a distraction he didn’t need if she wasn’t the woman he sought.

She stopped several feet away with a question.

“Do I know you?”