It's not often a man is sent to assassinate the love of his life.
Major Cameron Hawke waited in the shadows, still and silent, icily calm. Almost invisible with his black combat suit and jet-black hair, he studied the doorway of the motel unit where the ex-girlfriend he'd hunted halfway across the world had finally gone to ground. How ironic—and yet fitting—he'd been the first to track her down. Wanted for murder, and for treason against the British Crown, she'd also broken his heart. It was only fair he'd be the one to put a bullet through hers.
He touched the space between his eyebrows and activated his second sight. The midnight scene sprang into color, the orange and lemon trees pulsing with a green glow, while smaller, red auras showed nocturnal animals hidden in the undergrowth. But Hawke kept his attention pinned to the motel door. The frame glittered with scarlet dust, illuminated by the protective seal she'd placed on it.
Normally, he would have cursed, knowing any magical seal set by Imogen was going to be impenetrable. However, the glitter appeared dim, not as vibrant as it should be, dull patches indicating the seal's age. Obviously, she hadn't bothered to renew the spell, had no doubt thought she'd be safe for several days. But then she hadn't known he was tracking her.
The phone on Hawke's belt vibrated against his hip and he removed it, dropping to his haunches, keeping one eye on the door. The message on the display came from headquarters—the New Zealand branch of the S.U.—the Supernatural Unit of the British Army. They wanted to know if he'd found her yet.
Hawke studied the text for a moment. Then he hit reply and quickly thumbed in: Nt yet, posibly n range, LMK wen ur near. He hit send and slid the phone back onto his belt. He lied easily enough. Even without the seal on the door, he would have known she was in that room. He sensed her, knew the pulse of her aura as well as other, ordinary men knew their girlfriend's perfume. But he didn't want to report her as found. Not yet. He'd be damned if someone else came in and spoiled his moment of victory. He wanted to take her down himself.
She'd led him a merry dance, no doubt about that. He'd tracked her across Europe, lost her temporarily in Rome, then picked her up in Prague. He'd trailed her to India and across the seas to Singapore, then finally followed her to the other side of the world, to the two islands comprising New Zealand, adrift in the Pacific Ocean. There, he'd had trouble pinning her down; she'd left the main cities and holed up in a tiny town in the tropical Northland, and she'd clearly thought she was safe, for a while at least.
Hadn't she guessed he would be sent to find her? Perhaps she didn't think she was important enough. She obviously hadn't realized practically the whole of the S.U. was on the hunt for her under the orders of the major-general herself. Then again, it wasn't often a captain of the S.U. defected—in fact, this was a first, as far as he knew. And not just any old captain, but the most powerful Nature Witch the S.U. had seen in a long time. To lose her to Chaos was a catastrophic disaster for the forces of light. He wasn't surprised the whole of the magical army was hunting her.
Hawke stood and crept up to the building. The unit was one of eight belonging to the motel, scattered in a grassy park surrounded by mandarins, kiwifruit and lemon trees. Having never been to New Zealand, Hawke found he liked the tropical palms and the warm, humid weather. Even now, at midnight in the middle of January, the sultry air caressed him with warm fingers. In better circumstances, he might have enjoyed the trip, but now he focussed on the task at hand and barely noticed his surroundings. The resentment and anger that had boiled inside him since the day Imogen left stirred once again, and he harnessed those feelings, feeling them stroke their way through him, heating his blood. Good. He would need every ounce of power he possessed to fight the witch. He could use the negative feelings she aroused in him against her. The thought made him smile.
He stroked the doorway from the top of the frame to the bottom. A silvery light radiated from the places he touched and spread to the edges, eating away at the sparkling red seal. Within seconds, he dispelled the charm.
Hawke put his palm above the handle. As a Warlock skilled in the Lore of Metal, he had no trouble forcing the door to unlock. When the mechanism clicked open, however, he paused. A seed of doubt lodged in his chest—the first bit of hesitation to enter his mind since he'd been given this mission. Had she changed since he last saw her over six months ago? What would he feel when he finally faced her? Could he really kill the one woman in his life he'd truly loved?
