He’d just thought he could retain control. Now he wasn’t so certain.
He felt Julia jolt upright. “God,” she gasped.
“Easy now,” he murmured. “The base chakras are open. Hold on.”
Her fingers gripped his hands like talons. The burning moved to his throat in a burst of vivid blue. “Fifth chakra open,” he said, working to keep his focus.
“Don’t tell me there’s more.” Her voice was strained, husky.
He couldn’t even answer. He was struggling with the shocking revelation that handling this was pushing him to the limit. And he was a Sanctioned. The clamoring of his physical body almost overrode the spiritual, demanding that he haul Julia down on the couch, strip her naked, and bury himself in her lush body.
It took immense will to resist those base demands, for his intellect to dominate. He held the line—barely—as an arrow point of intense pressure filled his head, showcased by a blanket of indigo. The pressure increased, pulsing toward his forehead. A firework display of violet colors shot in every direction.
“Adam!” came Julia’s distressed cry.
“Crown chakra open,” he managed. “We’re in. Hang on.”
Energy rocketed back down through the lower chakras, and back up, back down, back up. It felt like his body was rocking from the force. His third eye linked with Julia’s in an audible pop, colors changing from violet to indigo and back again.
Images began flashing at split-second speed. He shoved everything else aside—the pounding sexual need, the shattering g-force of the racing energy, the feeling of his body being tossed around like a leaf in a tornado—and concentrated on locking the images into his brain.
Even as he did, on another level, he was aware of Julia, of her labored breathing and pounding heart, of the sharp edge of panic. “Stay with me, Julia. I need to you to hold on.”
“I’m here,” she whispered.
“Good.” He returned his full attention to processing the images. Gradually they began to slow, then to fade. As they did, the energies ebbed, swirling away like water down a drain, until only a faint tingling remained.
Feeling like he’d run a twenty-mile race, Adam opened his eyes and released Julia’s hands. She stared back at him, her chest heaving, her eyes dilated, her skin flushed. The scent of arousal, the heat of excruciating sexual desire, hung between them. He could see her breasts were swollen beneath her suit jacket, could see the imprint of her nipples, and his body responded in a primitive rush that had his dick throbbing.
He wanted to feel the weight of those breasts in his hands, to explore the taste and texture of her skin, to learn how it felt to be inside her. To possess her completely, in the most primal way a man could claim a woman.
Shaken, he had to forcibly derail his thoughts of seducing her, of proving she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, that she could enjoy sex again and Bennett couldn’t control her life any further. It stunned him again, how the physical needs of the body could almost overcome even a mind as powerful as his. He had a new respect for his Sentinels as he forced back his body’s frantic demands.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“That’s relative,” she replied, still breathing hard. “I’m alive—I think.”
He could feel the residual energy radiating from her. He had automatically begun channeling the excess in his body back to the elements, something he did routinely after meditation. That didn’t apply to the acute horniness inundating his body, but then there weren’t many options for dispersing that. “Here, give me your hand again.”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to take still being alive and cut my losses.”
He leaned forward, grabbed the closest hand, which sent another jolt though his system. She was trembling, and his protective instincts kicked in. “I’m just going to release some of the energy still charging your chakras.”
She let him channel it off, and he felt some of the tension leaving her body, felt the tremors easing. “That is better,” she said. “Got anything for a killer headache?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He moved to sit beside her, placed one hand on her forehead, one on the back of her head. He resisted the urge to lean down and breathe in her natural, intoxicating scent.
“Take some deep breaths.” He pulled healing energy into her head, dissipating the pressure and heat built up there. “Is that better?”
“Much, thank you.” She shifted, crossed her legs.
He didn’t have to look any further than his own lap to guess why. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about the excess hormones, except suggest a cold shower and/or certain battery-operated appliances. Unless you’ve changed your mind about having mind-blowing sex with me.”
“Not going to happen.” But her gaze went south, lingered on his straining erection before shifting away. “Oh. Well. I guess we’re both in the same boat there.”
“As I’ve already mentioned, it’s a new experience for me,” he said wryly. “Now we need to shift focus and work on the images we just saw. That’s the most crucial aspect of this conduction. Can you remember any of them?”
She shuddered. “Only too well. Some of it was similar to last night’s vision, but other things were different.”
“The images were surprisingly clear and smooth.” He closed his eyes, mentally triggered a flow of the images, like a slide show. “Yes, very clear and more like watching a movie . . . or a vision.”
He opened his eyes, looked at her. “From what I understand, this isn’t what Sentinels usually see during a conduction. They see disjointed, jerky pictures, which they have to go back and piece together. I think we’re looking at one of your visions, which I’ve never been able to see before now. But apparently the amplified third-eye link of the conduction not only triggered a vision, but allowed both of us to see it.”
“That makes sense. This was like my other visions, except it wasn’t exactly what I saw last night,” Julia said. “This time, it was like I was watching through someone’s eyes. Do you think that was the Belian?”
“My guess is yes.” Adam closed his eyes again, reengaged the images. “It’s moving along the Riverwalk. There are a lot of people. There’s a police officer ahead.”
“I saw the policeman, too. That was different from the other vision.”
“The officer is pulling a gun. Shooting into the crowd.” Adam also saw people screaming and running, some jumping into the water to get away from the shots, and blood everywhere. But there was no need to mention that. “That’s different from what you saw last night, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I didn’t see the shooter then, and this time, there was much more blood.” Her voice was low, strained.
He opened his eyes. She looked even paler. “Try not to think about that. Focus on little details.”
She bit her lip, nodded. “I saw the policeman’s hat fall off.”
He closed his eyes again. “I’m seeing that now.”
“But I never saw his face. Does it help that he had black hair?”
He had just realized the same thing. Alarm snaked through him. “Wait a minute. Wait. Black hair. That can’t be right.”
“Why not?”
“Matt has dark blond hair. Something’s not right here.”
“You just said I was probably seeing through the Belian’s eyes,” she pointed out. “Which means he—it—is looking at the police officer. But the officer was the one shooting. That doesn’t make sense . . . does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“There were a number of differences in this vision. It’s hard to identify them, because this one happened so fast, and the lights were so bright.”
“The lights,” he said. “Yes. There were lights all along the Riverwalk. That can’t be right. What you saw last night occurred during the daytime.”
“Yes, the sun was shining. But just now was . . .” Her eyes widened. “It was at night, Adam.”
He’d already come to that conclusion.
A very nasty feeling vibrated in his gut. “It was too clear and vivid . . . like real time.” He was on his feet, reaching for his coat and BlackBerry.
Julia pushed herself up. “So the Belian is going to change the time of the attack?”
“I’m afraid it already has.”
There was a sudden pounding on the door. Adam whirled, reaching it in three strides and throwing it open. Miriam stood there, her eyes wild. “Sean sent me to tell you there’s been a shooting on the Riverwalk. It happened just minutes ago. There’s so much on the scanner, it’s hard to get the details. He’s listening for more information.”
“Oh, no,” Julia said.
“Damn it!” Adam clenched his hands. “We’re too late. Miriam, go tell Sean to get his weapons and meet me in the lobby immediately. After that, come back here, and bring the scanner with you. Think you know how to use it?”
“Yes. I watched Sean operate it.”
“I want you ladies to stay together, and to monitor the scanner, in case there’s anything else. If there is, call me immediately. Do not leave the hotel, keep the door locked, and wait to hear from me. That clear?”
They both nodded, and Miriam started back to the other suite. Adam forced the fury and frustration away. He felt himself slipping into full Sanctioned mode, calmness and power descending. He was going to track down this Belian and dispense it from the Earth plane.
He only hoped Matt wouldn’t be a casualty.
ELEVEN
HE surfaced slowly, an excruciating headache pounding in his head, and his body feeling battered and weak. He felt like he’d been beaten. Worse, he was confused and disoriented, like . . . before. He looked around the unfamiliar room, vague memories struggling to surface. Why couldn’t he think? Was he sick, had he been in an accident?
He got to his feet, swaying as he took in his surroundings, obviously a cheap hotel room. Where the hell was he? He didn’t remember this place, yet it looked familiar. A feeling of déjà vu came over him. Buzzing in his ears turned into a harsh whisper.
You don’t want to be awake. You don’t want to remember. Susan is dead. She was killed, and it’s your fault. You’re responsible for her death. But you don’t want to think about that. You want to drink, to forget. To go back under . . .
The spear of pain was like a shock to his mind, forcing some clarity in its wake.
Drink, you want to drink. There’s a bottle by the bed, the voice hissed in his ear. It will help you forget about Susan.
Oh God, Susan. Susan! He turned toward the nightstand, saw the bottle there. It was so tempting. He didn’t want to remember. To feel. To see the image of her grave. He took a step, but the sudden roiling in his stomach sent him around and to the bathroom. He was wretchedly sick, throwing up until there was nothing but dry heaves. He heard his phone ringing in the other room, but was too weak to get up to answer it.
He stayed on the floor a few more minutes. The purging seemed to make him more alert, but it didn’t diminish the throbbing in his head. He pushed himself up and to the sink, stared in the mirror. The image looking back shocked him. A gaunt, pale face, bloodshot eyes, filthy uncombed hair. That wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him. Hell, did he even know his name?
He had to get a grip. He leaned down, ignoring the sudden dizziness, and splashed cold water on his face. He came up to look in the mirror again, heaved a shuddering breath. I’m Matt . . . Matt Stevens, he told himself. I’m a Sentinel. I—Jesus, what was going on? He had to call Adam. As if on cue, his phone rang again. He turned and started out of the bathroom.
You don’t want to answer that. You don’t want to call Adam. Because then you’ll have to remember, the voice taunted. Susan is dead. Susan is dead. Susan is dead.
A new rush of pain brought memory flashes. But these weren’t of Susan. These were . . . a theater, fire, smoke, people screaming. Then more images . . . a policeman shooting into a crowd.
No! He wouldn’t . . . he would never do that. Never!
Oh, yes, but you would. You did. You started that fire in the IMAX, killing three people. Belial was very pleased.
No. His head throbbed harder, and he grabbed the doorframe for support. The phone stopped ringing. He had to get to it. He had to call Adam.
But tonight was even better, the voice said. Tonight, you helped me control that cop, made him start shooting. All those people, all the blood. Glorious blood.
He saw it then, the policeman shooting into a crowd of screaming people, blood spurting, the shots and screams going on and on. No, no, no! Staggering to the bed, he collapsed, gripped his head with both hands. It felt like an ax was embedded in his head, like it would split in two.
“No!” he screamed. “No!”
Yes. And there will be more killings. More blood for Belial. Drink, fool, drink. Get the bottle and drink.
Of its own accord, his shaking hand reached toward the bottle on the nightstand. No, a part of him moaned. He knew he had to stay conscious, had to fight this thing. He tried to focus, tried to hold on.
Yes. You want it. It will help you forget. The voice was relentless, the force on his arm too strong.
He did want it. He wanted oblivion, to be free of the pain. Why should he fight it? Susan was dead. His life was over. He allowed his fingers to be curled around the bottle, for it to be brought to his mouth. Then all resistance was gone as he welcomed the bitter burn down his throat. As he prayed to forget. The phone rang a third time, but he ignored it.
Instead, he sank into unconsciousness.
ADAM and Sean moved through the throngs of people who were all trying to see what was happening. Dozens of police and emergency vehicles were parked on nearby roads, the flashing red, orange, blue, and white lights a visual assault. Voices and radios crackled through the air. The two of them stopped at the police barricades, just behind the hordes of news reporters.
“There’s no sense expending energy trying to slip past the police,” Adam said. “I just wanted to see what I could of the scene.” He glanced behind him. They were south of Crockett and the Hyatt Regency. Ahead of them, the crime scene was along the string of restaurants which had been indicated by Miriam’s pendant. “Looks like Miriam nailed the area.”
“Son of a bitch. So she did.”
Adam forced back his fury at the situation and his inability to stop it. “We’ll walk around the exterior area and see if we can pick up any traces of the Belian’s energy. Then I’ll come back later, when the scene has been cleared, and see if I can get anything else.”
“I want to come with you.” Sean looked calm, but Adam sensed the emotional upheaval beneath the surface.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But consider that I might be able to do more, if I don’t have to work around your fear and concern for Matt.”
“But it wasn’t Matt.” Sean stared beyond the barricades, where police and crime personnel bustled in an intricate ritual of removing the dead and collecting evidence. “You said the shooter had black hair.”
“It doesn’t appear that Matt did the actual shooting.” Adam debated, then decided not to share his suspicions yet, although there was a good possibility that Sean would figure it out. Because it was the only thing that made sense.
A sudden jolt of awareness had him turning, looking in all directions. Matt. He was sensing Matt. The thread was faint, and wavering, as if Matt might be sick or injured. But he was conscious, at least for the moment. “Hang in there, Matt,” Adam murmured, pulling out his BlackBerry and scrolling down the directory to Matt’s number. “Try to fight it.”
“What is it?” Sean asked.
“I’m picking up Matt’s energy.” Adam listened to the phone ring. “Come on, come on, pick up.”
But it went into voice mail. He didn’t bother with a message. If Matt still had the phone in his possession, he’d see who had called. Adam hit Send again, got voice mail. “Answer, damn it!” He put the call through a third time and it went into voice mail. He was about to send a fourth ca
ll, when the light that was Matt’s essence flickered out. There was nothing there now but a gaping void, a hole in the Sentinel network. And the faint, oozing stench of Belian energy.
“Lost him.” Adam slid the BlackBerry back into his pocket. Emotions rolled through him—frustration, grief, concern, and anger. Frustration that all efforts thus far had resulted in failure. Grief for the innocents who had been killed and injured at the IMAX, and shot down in cold blood tonight. Deep concern for a good man who was one of his best Sentinels and who might not survive this situation.
And anger at himself, because he was ultimately responsible for those destroyed by the Belian. By the Light, he was a Sanctioned. Failure was unacceptable.
“Shit,” Sean said.
Adam turned and walked away without another glance at the carnage behind him.
“YOU sure know how to mix a mean margarita.” Julia settled back with her second drink and watched Miriam paint her toenails a deep purple. “That’s an interesting color.”
“I can mix any drink in my sleep. I’ve been a bartender for three years now.” Miriam sat back and studied her toes. “You like that color? I’ve got a matching shade to put in my hair.” She smiled. “That ought to put jerk boy’s Jockeys in a twist.”
On the end table by the sofa, the scanner crackled with an ongoing stream of voices. The television was also on, with news reports giving the same limited information over and over, because the details of the shooting were still sketchy, and nothing substantial had been officially released. Julia and Miriam already knew more than the newscasters, so they were only half listening. Better to tune it out than dwell on the horror.
Julia pushed her half-eaten hamburger and French fries around on her plate, then set it aside. They’d had the con cierge get them the liquor and mixers they needed for margaritas, and they’d ordered dinner from room service. She rarely ate junk food, which might be one reason a burger and fries had been so appealing. But she’d found herself concentrating on the alcohol, hoping it would dull the sharp edges pressing in on her.
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