Silver Storm: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally, completely lost his mind.
    Inside his sick and twisted head he heard the theme music from the Mission Impossible movies cranking at top volume and then the voice… “ Your mission, should you choose to accept it…”
    All the while her eyes held him captive and the flesh of his scar burned anew, like someone had taken a branding iron to it in the exact shape of that strange Mark beneath her ear.
     
    Sarah studied the man before her and tried to reconcile what she’d been told with the fierce, hard-core, tough-as-nails ex-soldier who was supposed to help her. He wasn’t soft. He didn’t inspire thoughts of gentle wooing or sugar-coated realities. She couldn’t imagine him running around at the beach playing volleyball and flirting with the over-exposed, too-tanned, summer beach bunnies. He didn’t fit in her sunny-side-up version of the world.
    He was dark, brooding, and grumpy. Not at all what she had in mind for a husband. She’d always envisioned herself marrying a happy-go-lucky blond who loved to laugh, had a dimple in his cheek, and had an optimist’s cheer always near the surface. She needed that lightheartedness.
    She was dark. She was intense and competitive, always driven to do more, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, constantly fighting the fire in her gut pushing her on because, as a rule, people either disappointed her or died. Both outcomes hurt like hell, and she worked her butt off to make sure neither would permanently cripple her.
    Now she had no choice. The newly shining Mark of the Shen was still hot to the touch on his thickly corded neck. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and he moved like a cagey predator, always watching his back, analyzing every sound. Constantly alert. That was how she would describe him. She doubted a spider could crawl across the floor even half a room away without him noticing it. Judging by the tense lines around his eyes, she doubted he slept much either.
    He was a few inches taller than she, which was saying something. And he had to outweigh her by at least fifty pounds of rock-solid chest and bulging muscles showcased to perfection by soft denim jeans and a snug, wet, molded-to-every-muscle, jersey cotton T-shirt. His head was shaved, and she guessed this chosen hairstyle had something to do with the jagged scar about three inches wide that began behind his right ear. The scar traveled down his head to curve around the side of his neck, across his collarbone and disappear beneath his dark green T-shirt.
    He’d been hurt at some point, burned. The thought didn’t sit well with her and she found herself fighting the urge to trail her fingertips over the pale pink skin and trace it with her lips.
    Once she’d explored there, she’d start on the tattoo playing peak-a-boo with her from beneath the shirt’s collar on his left. If he’d had hair, it would probably be coffee colored to match the arrogant flare of his eyebrows. Startling gray eyes assessed her every move, studied her face. Stared at her lips. How utterly ridiculous that she would be hungering for a kiss, wondering how it would feel to be in his arms while he was most likely thinking of a hundred important, relevant, tactical questions that she couldn’t answer.
    Turning away from temptation, Sarah tried not to stare at everything around her, but it was all so strange. The Archiver had warned her that things had changed. She’d scoffed. How much could things really change in just a few years? But looking around Tim’s basement at all the bizarre boxes, gadgets, and remote controls, she was out of her league and too exhausted at the moment to figure it all out.
    Tim mumbled something about getting them both some dry clothes and disappeared up the stairs again, leaving her free to explore. She wrapped the blanket around herself as best she could and prayed her legs wouldn’t collapse as she wandered toward the large black rectangle hanging from the wall directly across from the