The scene in her mind enveloped her and altered, skipping to another similar event. Although the emotion gleaned from this new one was different, calming. She latched on to it, tipping her head back until it rested against something hard.
The odor of wet animal fur mingled with earthy, musky smells in the air. She wrinkled her nose, vaguely aware of the shade line of the tree under which she sat and the rough bark grazing her back. As she wove fingers deep into the wolf’s thick fur, his ribs expanded and contracted on a sigh.
She argued with her senses about what she felt. It wasn’t real. But she had done all this before in a past life. Did her senses lie?
God, the horrific day was taking an exhausting toll.
“Your coffee’s getting cold.”
Venn’s voice caught her attention like a door slamming. She whipped her head around to gaze at him. He held the coffee for her to take, his arm outstretched. A small lapse of time passed as she stared numbly at the white Styrofoam cup in his large tanned hand. Finally, she took the cup and brought it to her lips. He was right—only lukewarm now. But the liquid helped wash down the last of the tears.
“Is there someone you should call? Your mom or dad?”
Her mind rebelled. Did she have to contact her father? “Not yet,” she decided aloud. “I’d like to see how things go first.” She drained the cup and placed it on the table.
He leaned toward her, resting his elbow on the chair arm, his massive shoulders blocking the view of the entrance. The movement brought them eye to eye.
His golden gaze held hers, intelligent and striking. He oozed sincerity and empathy. “Emma, I’m not certain how to phrase this.” He paused. “But I think you should be prepared. Your grandmother is in very serious condition. Perhaps—”
“You can’t know that,” she snapped.
“I do.”
She shook her head. He sounded so positive, but it couldn’t be true.
“The next few hours will tell,” he said.
“Dr. Myer will treat her. She’s a fighter.” Emma rose, taking the blanket with her, and began pacing.
“True. But at her age, it may not be enough,” he said softly. “You have to be—”
“No. You’re wrong. She’s healthy. You’re not qualified to make those calls… You’re a—” She glanced around then leaned closer to him, whispering, “You changed into a wolf.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “Which is precisely why I know about her health.”
Confused, she leaped back as if struck. What was he saying? He confirmed he’d changed into a wolf. Her heartbeat escalated. She ran a hand over her face. No, she hadn’t seen what she thought she had. She’d just been upset over her grandmother’s ordeal. Or her visions had somehow warped reality. Venn Hearst had not changed into a wolf to save Grams.
Shape-shifters were creatures of novels. They did not exist.
She paced in a circle, ending back at her seat where she collapsed onto the cushion. She wrapped herself cocoon-style. “Go away.”
But her words had no heart to them. She knew Venn and the wolf were genuine.
“Some animals have a sixth sense. They can tell when another is injured, dying. I think you should call—”
Enough. She stood and threw off the warm length of flannel. “Where’s the restroom?”
He pointed in its direction, giving her space.
It was all she could do not to run, and dammit, he knew it. She felt his intuitive eyes follow her as she bolted for the hall.
As she turned left, the passageway narrowed. Inside the bathroom, a weak light shimmered above a mirror, and she rested her hands on the porcelain sink as her eyes adjusted.
Venn was wrong. No way was she calling her father. He probably wouldn’t set foot in Georgia, anyhow.
She didn’t need anything else to complicate her life. Venn may be a man from her past, who can also turn into a wolf, and her grandmother might be dying. That was enough for any one person to handle.
With the world closing in on her, Emma considered her pale reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. She splashed cool water on her face. Two weeks ago she’d been sitting on her balcony overlooking the Seine where the most important decision she had to make was what wine to have with dinner.
She dried her face with a paper towel. What if Grams needed surgery? What if she was incapacitated for any length of time? What if she died?
When Venn had alluded to as much, denial had hit her like a blast of a blowtorch, hot and furious. What she needed was someone to show her the positive side of the situation, not pummel her with negativity.
She took a deep breath. She had to go back out there.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the hall, nearly running into a strange-looking man who was a little rough around the edges. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had a volunteer badge pinned on his jacket.
“You’re Claire’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said warily.
“I’m so sorry about your grandmother, dear. I’m Venn’s friend, Seth. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
Turning back the clock would be nice. Emma narrowed her eyes, glancing around, looking for answers. Who is this guy?
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” She started to walk on. “Where’s Venn.
The man hitched his thumb in the direction of the corner and gave her a tight smile. He moved past her down the hall.
Venn was getting more coffee when she returned to the waiting room, and they had both just sat down when the doctor arrived again. She checked her watch. Had it actually been an hour and fifteen minutes?
Her stomach did trampoline-style flip-flops as Dr. Myer crossed the space. He swung a chair around and sat, looking dog tired.
She raked her gaze over Venn, noting that despite the rescue and carrying her grandmother to the car, he didn’t appear fatigued. The implications both fascinated and worried her.
“All right,” the doctor began. “This is where we stand. The blow to her head caused some damage. How much, only time will tell. Right now she’s in a coma. Her oxygen levels are also too low, so she’s on a ventilator.”
Emma swallowed. “Can I see her?”
“Certainly. However, she won’t know you’re there. You may want to go home and get some sleep, though. You’re going to need your rest.”
She lifted her chin. “As soon as I see her with my own eyes, I’ll head home for a while.”
“I’ll see she sticks to that plan,” Venn said, his voice softening and his concerned gaze landed on her.
Emma turned to glare at him but held her tongue. Were Venn and Dr. Myer sharing some kind of men’s-club nod? She thought so. But from what Grams had indicated, he was a recluse, so his manner came across as confusing.
The doctor rose, and they did the same. He paused and looked at Emma meaningfully. “By the way, according to our records, your grandmother has a living will.”
Emma met his compassionate gaze. All traces of humor had vanished from his crinkled eyes. “I’m certain that she does.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The following evening, Venn guided the Explorer through the KFC drive-through line. It was far from the kind of food he liked, but it was on their way back to the Grants’ and his exhausted Emma needed food and rest. He meant to see that she got both.
“I can fix something. It’s no big deal,” she protested.
“Look, believe me, as soon as you let go and relax, you’re going to crash.”
She grumbled something under her breath. Which sounded to his excellent hearing suspiciously like, Know-it-all.
He grinned to himself.
The second day of Claire Grant’s hospitalization had proved long and grueling with no progress for the old lady. The woman still breathed, albeit with mechanical assistance.
“You didn’t have to come to the hospital with me again, you know,” Emma told him. “Even though you saved
us, we’re not your responsibility.”
“I realize that. But I wanted to, and you don’t have anyone else in town, right?”
Her face tightened, and she glanced away. “I’ll be fine. Grams will get better. We’ll do the dedication. And I’ll go home to Paris and put my life back together.”
But nowhere in that scenario had she mentioned him. He planned to change that.
Today, Emma had brought a sketchbook filled with drawings with her to the hospital. She seemed to retreat into another world when she drew. Once, he’d glanced over her shoulder as she worked on a picture of her grandmother lying at the bottom of the well.
Therapy for her, perhaps, but it struck him as creepy.
He paid for the order and drove on.
The aroma of fried chicken filled the car as he passed the bag over for her to hold. They inhaled in unison, and he heard her stomach protest.
“Okay, so it smells good,” she admitted.
Before they knew it, he was parked in the Grants’ drive. He met her in front of the car, and she paused. Obviously, she was just figuring out that he intended to eat dinner with her.
He shrugged one shoulder. “We have things we should discuss.”
With a sigh of resignation, she marched past him. He followed. Halfway up the porch steps, her cell phone rang. She swung around and shoved the KFC bag into his gut. The plastic crinkled as he grabbed hold.
Her face turned ashen beneath the deck lights, and she squinted at caller ID.
Was it the hospital? From her expression, he guessed she was wondering the same thing.
“Hello?” Her shoulders rolled forward, relaxing, and she dug in her purse for the house keys. “Hold on a second.”
Venn dangled her key chain in the air, revealing he’d picked them up from the console where she’d left them. She nodded and he led the way, unlocking the door and heading straight for the kitchen. Each room had a night-light to show the way. He flipped on the overhead light.
“Mr. Price, I’m sorry,” Emma said into the phone behind him, “but I’m not of the mind to discuss this right now. My grandmother is in the hospital. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Venn plunked their dinner on the table. He heard the imperceptible sneer in Io’s voice as he offered his condolences. He wanted to snatch the phone from Emma and slam it into the nearest wall. Instead, he fisted his hands.
The son of a bitch was playing them, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Yet.
But the deadly menace would pay. Soon.
Emma would be crushed when she learned Io had caused her grandmother’s accident as some scheme to get to Venn. Emma and Mrs. Grant were only tools to hurt him and the Divine Tree, and if the blame landed anywhere, it was with him.
But Io continued to badger Emma with the importance of her responsibility to the project. Venn had heard enough. He pulled out a chair and eased Emma into it. It didn’t take much to pry the phone from her fingers.
“She told you she’d call tomorrow.” An unnatural explosion sounded on the other end, and then the line went dead.
Venn savored the wicked satisfaction of knowing that Io was royally pissed. He set the phone on the table and unpacked dinner. Emma slumped in the chair, on the verge of collapse.
“Thanks,” she said tiredly.
“Glad to help. Now eat.” He made sure she had utensils, salt, and pepper. “Something to drink?”
“White Merlot. In the fridge.”
He found the glasses in the cupboard. After he poured them both glasses, he lit a fire in the country hearth and then sat beside her. He unloaded the bag and prepared her a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and baked beans, with a biscuit on the side.
“I’ll never eat that much,” she complained.
“It doesn’t matter.”
As they dug in, he noticed that she ate one item at a time without mixing foods. She’d devoured the chicken first, corn last. He enjoyed watching her bite into the kernels and then flinched when a spurt of juice shot out. A smear of butter trickled down her chin. Squelching the desire to lick it away, he handed her a napkin.
She dabbed her face. “Mmm. I have to admit, this was a good idea.”
Yeah. And being with her made any ordinary meal gourmet.
His eyes feasted on her sensuous mouth. He could see her color returning, the warm glow to her skin seemed close to normal. And as her strength returned, his concern for her segued to burning need. He longed to possess her. Cover her with his body. Taste her with his tongue. Love her with his hands.
On the table, their wine began to boil, the gravy bubbling. Another sign of how he couldn’t control how she affected him.
She slid her gaze to capture his, lifting a quizzical brow. “That was you at Aunt Fay's? You made the coffee boil over?” she questioned.
He summoned an arctic blast to cool his surging desire. Well, at least it gave him a minuscule measure of control. With a wicked smirk, he said, “Yes. But it’s not like your hot hands. Somehow there’s an energy I can’t control inside of me and it causes liquid in my vicinity to heat up.” His voice grew deeper as he added, “It’s only ever happened when I’m with you.”
“Only with me? Why’s that?”
“Because I’m attracted to you,” he admitted, his body reacting to his words, his heart hammering.
Her face flushed a pretty pink. “I guess that makes sense since you asked me out.”
He straightened. “Are you ready for me to explain some things?” he asked as he moved across the room to get her a fresh glass of wine. The steps back and forth to refill her glass allowed him to control the driving desire coursing through him. At least a little. Back at the table, he handed her the goblet.
She downed her Merlot in one long gulp, then stared at him with trusting eyes that communicated her conflicted feelings, yes and no at the same time. A long moment hung between them, as if she had a choice. “Yes. Tell me.”
* * *
Venn wasn’t the only one who had things to share. She didn’t know how he’d infiltrated her subconscious, but the proof was in the statue. How was she going to explain that, to tell him that they were somehow connected in past lives. Or so she thought.
“Let’s sit over there,” he motioned to the hearth end of the farm table.
“My favorite spot.”
She moved to stand by the fire, seeking its heat, wrapping her arms across her middle. As she watched the flames dance, she was aware of him placing their glasses on the table. The light clink of glass on wood. The creak of oak flooring beneath his weight. Tucked in the corner by the hearth, she craved the warmth and security of his powerful body more than that of the blaze.
He came into her peripheral vision, and she swung around, stepped forward, toe to toe, willing him to hold her. She looked up into his golden eyes, and the feeling of his arms circling her felt so right—part of him touching something deep inside of her. Better than any hug she’d experienced in her life.
She leaned into him, turning her head to rest her cheek on his solid chest. The embrace felt right, not awkward or embarrassing, but familiar.
Her suspicion that he was connected to her past felt all the more right, now.
As the fire flickered hotly, both in the hearth and in her abdomen, she needed, wanted, him to kiss her. What’s more, she didn’t want to have to ask.
She ran her palms up his muscular back, and he reciprocated, dragging her tighter to him, his biceps pressed against her upper arms. A yearning bloomed in her chest, her nipples itching for attention. She tilted back her head.
Slowly, intimately, he touched his mouth to her forehead. Brushed soft kisses along her brow and down her cheek. By the time he captured her mouth, her lips were quivering with anticipation. He dipped his tongue inside, grazing her teeth. When he deepened the kiss, a little moan escaped her throat.
More. God help her, she wanted more.
She sensed his reluctance as he released her mouth
and held her, threading his fingers through her hair, cradling her head into the hollow of his shoulder.
“Is that what you wanted?” he murmured.
“No…yes,” she whispered huskily, willing to own up to that much. “I…I don’t know why I’m not afraid of you, why I haven’t spun on my heels and run, or at least kicked you out the door. You turn into a wolf, for heaven’s sake.”
He pulled back and peered at her as a crooked smile curled his lips.
He’d been kind to her. When she needed him, he’d been there. And he hadn’t dictated what she should do. There were strange things in this world. She knew because she was one of them. And dealing with her own crazy peculiarities—her visions and dreams and reincarnation and hot hands—made her curious, as well as tolerant of others with special talents.
“I can’t say that I trust you completely,” she admitted, “but you don’t frighten me.”
“I know what’s happening,” he said with a small smile. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”
He eased her back until her legs hit the chair, and she plopped down, dissolving into a pile of mush. The weight of her problems felt overwhelming. But at this moment she allowed herself a respite and gave herself permission to discover how Venn could possibly be a wolf. As farfetched as it seemed.
As he settled into the chair beside her, his knee brushed hers and his fine masculine scent drifted over her like a mist. She swayed, dizzy. The wine? She looked at her almost-empty glass.
“There are things in the universe that can’t be explained within the confines of human experience,” he began.
“You’re a werewolf?”
“No.”
“But you changed—”
“I’m predominantly human…with some gifts, abilities.”
“One being that you can shape-shift.”
“Yes. I can change into a wolf and hawk. Technically, it’s a sort of facilitated diffusion, where molecules change and equalize.”
She knew something about that sort of thing. After all, she could essentially change metal molecules with her bare hands.
“I’m an immortal. Something called a Guardian.”
Awakening Fire: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 1) Page 11
