Xavier watched from the far side of the street as the four men surrounded Vallon Drake’s house. They waited as the little man—the dangerous one—went inside. Down the street another man—unGifted—observed the house. If she’d called them, if she told them, Creation, when she told them he’d been there, the search would be on.
Not what he wanted. Not what he wanted at all, for secrecy and the ability to be unnoticed were what had kept him safe through all that had come before.
The infernal rain pat-pat-patted his head and the shoulders of his leather trench, and he impatiently brushed away the droplets that ran into his eyes. He reached into the blessed earth for warmth against the near-freezing weather and yearned for the sunshine of his homeland.
A stirring behind the front curtains of the house brought his attention back and he readied himself to leave should they come for him.
The damned fools thought they knew everything when they knew nothing. They groped around like blind men in brilliant sunlight, but he could see. He could see everything, and the pattern sent anger rippling through him.
His coat still smelled of the woman’s ashes-of-roses even though he’d dumped her vellum and inks in the back of his SUV. Her house had been warm, but too filled with her scent and the vibrations that came with her secret use of power.
Secret no longer, judging by the four men. If they took her, then regrettably it was over—at least as far as she was concerned.
And if they didn’t?
He curled his fingers into a fist and grabbed more earth power against the cold that dwelt within.
If they didn’t he would do what he had always done. Deal with the threat.