She pulled away, remained just inches from his mouth. “I’ve only been with my ex. That’s all.”
He didn’t say anything. His breath came out in hard gasps.
“Can you? I mean, are you capable—“
She could tell by the part of him pressing against her that he was more than capable.
He kissed her again, his tongue taking away all rational thought. It would be so easy to let him make love to her. And it wouldn’t be like she’d have to feel guilty for it. He wasn’t—
She pulled away. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You’re too young for me. How old did you say you were again?”
Nathan reached for her again. He looped his fingers in the belt loops of her pants, easily pulling her back toward him. “I died at twenty-three.”
“You see? I’m thirty. You’re too young—“
“Today I would be 247 years old,” he whispered. “I’m 217 years your elder.”
“You’re very good at math.”
He nodded and started to kiss her again.
“No, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” She crossed the room putting a few yards distance between them. “I want to. You have no idea, but I—I just can’t.” When he just stared at her, she asked, “Do you understand?”
Nathan headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
He held the door for her. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“Fishing.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Holding back branches for Sarah to pass, Nathan made his way toward the streambed. He’d fashioned string to two branches to use as makeshift fishing poles. Sarah had refused to carry the fishing basket and hooks because he had conjured them with his magic.
He shouldn’t have created them in front of her. She was frightened of his abilities, though he supposed most things about him just automatically scared her. He wanted her to regard him as a man, a normal man. And right now he didn’t think he’d ever felt more normal since dying.
He reached the stream, and tossing the fishing supplies aside, he kicked off his shoes and waded in up to his calves. The mountain runoff was a shock to his system, like knives stabbing him, but right now, watching Sarah on the riverbank, he needed it.
Sarah had removed the bottom part of her noisy breeches. She had unfastened them with something he once heard her call a zipper, and now her knees and calves were exposed. It wasn’t proper to stare, but there was no way he could not. There was something about the way she moved about. The sway of her hips were like butter on warm bread. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.
He plucked a crawfish from the bottom of the stream, waded toward Sarah, and held it out to her. She backed away.
“Are you scared?”
She made a face. It was carefree, full of innocence. His reaction was intense, building straight to his core.
Chilled to the bone now, he dropped the crawfish and walked to shore. He watched her as she seated herself on a rock. She stared at him. Her gaze was solid, intense, and he wondered what she was thinking.
He’d never wondered what was on a woman’s mind before. The thought was strange and foreign. Women were always a mystery to him. Even after knowing Jane for so long, there were parts of her that surprised him, maybe even scared him. There was always a part of him that didn’t dare get too close to her. He didn’t feel that way with Sarah. Perhaps it had to do with his situation, but he didn’t feel the slightest bit scared of Sarah. And as far as getting close to her, he wondered if he could ever get close enough.
With boldness he never knew he had, he came up behind her and put one of the fishing poles in her hand. He sat down behind her, his legs on each side of her frame.
Working over her shoulders, he wound the string onto the branch, cast it into the water and watched it drift downstream.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. He half expected her to pull away. Instead, she leaned back against his chest.
Something very close to peace settled upon him. He wondered how it would be if he were to stay here on this mountain with her. He supposed it would be something close to heaven.
“Tell me about your family.” Her voice was barely audible, making him wonder if she was nervous.
“I already did.”
“We talked about their deaths. Tell me about their lives.”
He tried to think of something other than the scent of her hair. He inhaled deeply and sighed. “John and I used to fish a lot. After Pa died.”
“You’re talking about death again.”
He supposed he was, but how could he not? Death had become who he was. “Pa died when I was ten.”
“Of what?”
“Consumption,” he answered. “But you didn’t want to talk about death, remember?”
“Sorry.”
“Is your father living?” He passed her the fishing pole. He rested his arms on her shoulders.
“Yes, but I don’t see him much. We were never really close.”
“You should talk to him. Someday it might be too late.”
She shrugged.
“Do you want to talk about your husband?” he asked.
Sarah turned to look at him. A mask of hardness painted her face cold. He’d crossed the line again, and Sarah had put up a wall. It was permanent and unyielding, refusing to come down no matter how hard he knocked.
“He’s not my husband.” Her tone was defensive.
“He used to be.”
Sarah said nothing.
“He should not have come to you the other day.”
When she still didn’t answer, he added, “He should not have brought his new woman with him, and he should not have treated you badly.”
The wall wasn’t going down anytime soon.
“Sarah, do you agree with me or not?”
Her look was incredulous. “Do you think I’m going to argue with you? No, I don’t wish to be treated badly.”
She pushed the handle of the fishing pole down into the sand and turned to face him. “You think I don’t stand up for myself, is that what you’re saying?”
He stared at the hurt in her eyes. He wanted to apologize for not confronting her former husband, for not rendering him unconscious that day. He wanted to tell her that he would have never thrown her away for another woman.
He ran his thumb under the curve of her jaw. “Tell me about Michaela.”
“I don’t—“
“When did you lose her?”
“Seven months into my pregnancy,” she quietly answered. “I was supposed to stay off my feet.”
She pulled away from his touch. A look penetrated her face. It was like a mask of self-loathing.
“Sarah, it wasn’t your fault she died.”
“I didn’t listen. I was supposed to be taken out of work, but I kept going back. There were always shelves to be stocked, customers requesting books.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Nathan brushed it away. “You need to forgive yourself.”
“I’m the reason she’s gone.”
“No, you don’t know that.” He pulled her into his arms. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Moments passed as she openly wept in his arms. He stroked her hair, murmuring to her. “Let it out, it’s all right.”
She looked up at him. “Do you think you could find her…I mean, being—“
“Being dead myself? Sweetheart, I don’t have those kind of answers. I wish I did.”
She nodded, as if realizing the impossibility of what she had asked. “I know, I just…sometimes I think of her, and ever since you came along I wonder.”
“I’m sure wherever she is, she’s at peace.”
“You’re not.”
It was as if she’d just spread salt on an open wound. “I can’t compare my life to an unborn child’s, Sarah. It has crossed my mind thousands of times why I’m here now, what I must have done wrong in life to end up back here. I
know I must have done something.”
“How did you die, Nathan?”
Her question was so personal. Once it was something he thought he could never reveal to her. Now…now everything had somehow changed.
“I was to go to Fort Edward, along with a party of a thousand soldiers and civilians. Fort William had surrendered to the French. I remember never feeling happier. I would be going home by year’s end. I would be going back to White Creek.”
“To marry Jane.”
“Yes, if she would have me.” He wasn’t sure why he added that last part.
“I didn’t even see who shot me. I just remember falling down at the base of a tree, and—“
A picture of Henry Schuyler suddenly entered his mind. Henry was waiting for him. His arms were outstretched, as if he were waiting to embrace him. But it wasn’t a memory.
It had happened after he’d died.
“Nathan, what’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“What is it?”
“I thought I remembered something. Henry…my friend. He must have died about the same time I did. He was waiting for me somewhere. I don’t know if I ever reached him.”
“In heaven?”
“I have no idea.” Frustration knotted his stomach. This was the first memory he’d had since being here, and it had been for only a fraction of a second. It was as if a door inside his mind had been slammed shut and locked. He could remember nothing else. What good did a split second of memory do?
A tug came at the end of the fish pole.
“Sarah, get the pole.”
Sarah plucked the branch out of the sand. She sat back against him. “Is it a fish? What do I do?”
“Easy.” Nathan worked over Sarah’s shoulders. He took her hand, slowly wound the line around it.
“Like this?”
“Take it slow.”
Sarah wound the line until the fish came into view. It was nearly a foot long.
“What is it?”
“A fish, silly.” He stood, pulled the fish to land. “Don’t you have any books on fish in your store?”
“No, I mean kind of fish?” She came over to him. The hurt in her expression had disappeared.
“Um…I think it’s a brook trout.” He unhooked it. A sharp pain knifed the end of his finger. “Ow!”
“You hooked yourself.”
Sarah took the fish from him. She examined it for a moment then released it back in the stream. She went back to him. “Give me your hand.”
Nathan watched as she effortlessly removed the hook from his finger.
She stared at the cut.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were horrified. “You—you don’t bleed.”
Nathan inspected the cut. It was deep enough to bleed. It should be bleeding.
Suddenly, the cut closed up, sealed without leaving any trace of a scar.
Sarah placed her hand on his chest. “Your heart’s beating. I can feel it, yet you don’t bleed…and you healed.”
Nathan watched her. There was fear in her eyes.
Cruel realization settled over him. He would never be on her level. There would always be aspects of him that Sarah would not understand and would fear.
“Nathan, I—“
“Don’t say anything. Please.” He didn’t want her pity. He knew he was different, not normal. He was an outcast in her world. He didn’t need her pity to remind him of it.
“Sarah, I’m going to take you down the mountain now. I want you to go home.”
“You’re angry with me.”
No. Yes. He didn’t want to be. None of this was her fault. She couldn’t help what he was. She certainly couldn’t change anything. He supposed he should be angry with himself for thinking she could make things better for him. Sarah was human. She may make a few years for him something less than hell, but then she would die. She would go on to the place people were supposed to go after death, and he would be left here alone. He might as well leave her out of it and start getting used to solitary.
Wordlessly, he led her back down the mountain.
* * *
Cole had a difficult time tracking down Maggie Webb.
He was surprised. Mortals, especially mediums, were easy to locate. He just followed their energy. Maggie's energy, however, was overwhelmingly strong. He’d learned that today at the old woman’s house. He’d tried to pry his way into Maggie's mind to read her thoughts, but it was like a steel trap door, impossible to penetrate. Maybe that was because his powers were weak.
No. His powers were getting stronger everyday. He could feel them growing, multiplying, ever since he’d cast the spell on McGraw. McGraw still couldn’t remember anything. The Dark One was pleased, and he was granting Cole’s powers back. He knew this because he’d been able to possess the old woman. He almost hadn’t tried to possess her, his doubt was so strong.
He would succeed at this task. He could feel it. Taste it.
He reached up and quickly dislodged the nine-volt from the smoke alarm. As he waited in her apartment, he studied the surroundings.
Judging by her home, Maggie Webb seemed an average mortal, though she possessed few material things. Why McGraw should be informed of her and who had been the informer remained unanswered.
The thought crossed his mind that McGraw might be tricking him in some way, but he quickly dismissed it. McGraw was stupid. A logical spell, one so ancient, so simple that a mortal could probably conjure it, had rendered his memory useless.
A sound came from the door. Cole quickly made himself invisible. He held his breath as the doorknob turned and the woman entered the room.
Her scent hit him the moment she entered. It was something feminine, yet vaguely familiar, just why he wasn’t sure.
This was the first time he could see Maggie clearly. When he’d possessed the old woman his view had been clouded from glaucoma and cataracts. Not that he could have ever seen clearly anyway. Perfect vision required that he take possession of the soul, and souls weren’t easy to take, especially for a dark messenger who recently had most of his powers taken away.
Very soon, though, he would see though Sarah Price’s eyes.
Maggie Webb was not hard on the eyes either. Even dressed as she was in baggy nurse’s scrubs, he could see that she was the type of woman he’d like to bed. Physically, anyway. There was nothing emotionally attractive about her. She was tired, the kind of tired that could not be cured by sleep but went right to the bone. He saw it not in her mind, no matter how hard he pushed he still couldn’t get inside, but in her aura. She cast it out like a beacon. She was sick of the world and everyone in it.
He watched her as she hurried around the apartment. She threw her tote bag on the sofa, went to the refrigerator, poured a glass of wine from a box, then checked her answering machine.
“Hi, Maggie. It’s Sarah. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me tomorrow. My treat this time. Umm…I saw Nathan and we had a long talk. I’d like to tell you about it…if you’re willing. No pressure. So…that’s about all. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
Maggie erased the message, swallowed half the glass of wine in one gulp. She pulled a book from her shelf and stuffed it in her tote bag.
She stopped, sniffed the air.
Cole quickly conjured an air purifier, and it appeared in the corner. Not that it wasn’t already too late. He hated dealing with mediums. They possessed higher senses, especially sight and smell.
She whirled around, blindly searching the room. “Who are you?”
She went behind the counter which separated the living room from the kitchen, took a knife from the strainer. “You were the same one inside Evelyn Smart, weren’t you? Show yourself!”
Irritation gave way to a strange, heady feeling. He fed off her anger. He tried to recall when he’d last enjoyed an assignment. He couldn’t remember.
What to do, what to do. He wasn’t going to show himself. Maggie Webb was more scar
ed of what she couldn’t see, and he liked that. He wasn’t going to let her meet with Sarah Price either. There was power in numbers.
He settled up close. So close, he felt the hairs on her neck stand.
The scent of her fear aroused him almost immediately. It was intoxicating, dizzying. He could smell the adrenaline surge, her blood pump faster, her heart pound.
Maggie Webb didn’t scare easily. He read that on her aura too. Such a shame what he had to do to her. It was the only way to make someone who was so strong listen.
He rested his lips just above the place on her neck where he felt her heartbeat. Her trembling coursed a wave of excitement through him. His arousal was primal, animal-like, stronger than anything he’d felt in centuries.
He touched his mouth on her throat, clamped an iron grip on her shoulder, and pushed himself full length against her. She dropped her knife.
She was breathing heavy now. Breathing. Swallowing. Trembling.
Excitement grew to hatred. He wasn’t sure what caused the emotion. She was a threat to his assignment, but it was something more. Maybe because she was a medium. They were always prying where they had no right.
He had never hated anyone more than he hated Maggie Webb right now.
He could rape her. It was possible. Perhaps. Sexual assault of a mortal was always encouraged, though he’d never done it. With his good looks women and always been more than willing to please him. But a medium…
He ran his hand under her smock, up her side, stopping just under her breast.
“What do you want?” She was openly crying now.
His hand cupped her breast, which fit perfectly in his palm. Her bra was padded, not that men looked twice at her. When they did, they saw her as nothing more than a cynical old maid and usually ran from her like the plague.
His fingers unhooked the front fastener. His erection was almost painful.
Little whimpers came from her. He struggled to gain access into her thoughts but found it impossible. He’d never scared a medium. He wondered if there were repercussions from raping one. Their talents, after all, were bestowed by a higher power.
He abruptly released her.
She fell forward, landing on the hardwood floor with a thud. Whimpering hysterically, she crawled toward the knife at his feet.
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