Chapter Two
How long she slept, she didn’t know, but when she finally opened her eyes she lay on the back seat of a moving car. Outside, the regular lampposts of a motorway flashed in the night sky through the side window, and the thrum of the engine reverberated through her.
She sat up, exclaiming at the sharp pain in her shoulder and knee, remembering how she’d crashed onto the concrete as the wolf tangled in her legs. Rubbing her shoulder, she glared at the back of the driver’s head. The mysterious blond stranger sat in the driver’s seat, his left hand resting on the wheel, his right arm on the sill of the window.
In his rear-view mirror, his dark blue eyes glanced at her.
Abruptly, she leaped for the door. She wasn’t quite sure what she planned to do with the car speeding at over eighty miles an hour, but before she could touch the handle he took the wheel with his right hand and flicked the fingers of his left hand toward her. A heavy weight pinned her to the seat. She couldn’t see it, but she had a sneaky feeling it might be wolf-shaped.
“Let me go,” she whispered, panic sweeping over her.
His eyes met hers again briefly before returning to the road. “Don’t worry—you’re not a prisoner, in spite of what it might look like.”
“Oh really?”
“Really. Although you may not know it, you’re actually in grave danger and I’m here to help you. We’re on our way to a special house in Devon. There are people there who need to talk to you—they won’t harm you, and once you’ve spoken to them, you’ll be free to go, if you wish. But until then, Storm’s not getting off you until you promise me you won’t try to escape.”
Danger? What danger? What was he talking about? Hot breath wafted over her face, and she grimaced. So it was the wolf sitting on her lap. Why couldn’t she see it now? She tried to move and it shifted, squashing her with its sharp, wolfy paws. She wanted to yell, to scream, to bang on the windows and get someone to stop the car and drag her out, but the way the man had sent her to sleep with a wave of his hand—and the weight of the wolf—told her she wouldn’t even make it to the door.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her quietly.
“Could have fooled me.” Her shoulder throbbed, her knee stung, and she felt close to tears.
“That was your fault,” he said, amused. “You ran away. Promise me you won’t try to get out, and I’ll release Storm. I have a muesli bar here. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“I’m not,” she said immediately.
“Rubbish. You’ll be ravenous after that surge. If you eat something, it will help ground you. But it’s up to you.”
Her stomach growled in response, and she scowled. She was starving.
She sat stubbornly though, refusing to give in to him. He said nothing more, keeping his eyes on the road, glancing at her occasionally in his mirror.
Why couldn’t she move? It couldn’t really be an invisible wolf sitting on her lap. She didn’t believe in such things. And yet she could smell the dampness of its fur and feel the heat of its breath on her skin.
She studied the guy resentfully, knowing she should be frightened of him, wanting to hate him. He’d kidnapped her and restrained her, and he was somehow responsible for the strange events that had occurred in the nightclub. She should be doing everything she could to force him to pull over so she could escape.
A prickle on her skin made her sit still, however. She’d learned to rely on her intuition over the years, especially since living on her own in London. Sometimes it came as foresight—realising who was on the telephone before she picked it up, or an unerring way of knowing what someone was thinking before they spoke. At other times, it appeared as goose bumps telling her to be wary of someone, or a warm feeling in her stomach that usually meant the person was going to be a friend. This time, it came like a sensual whisper of soft silk over her skin, a gentle reassurance that she could trust him. She didn’t understand it. But she would follow her gut feeling, for the moment.
“Get him off me,” she said eventually. “I don’t want to smell of dog all evening. And what the hell is he, anyway?”
He grinned and flicked his fingers again. Instantly the weight lifted, and she gasped, her limbs suddenly light. “He’s my animal spirit guide,” he said.
She stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding me?”
“No.”
“Spirit guides don’t exist. Angels and the afterlife—that’s all bullshit.”
He met her gaze briefly. “If you say so.” He sounded amused again.
She went quiet, confused. She’d seen the wolf, and then he’d vanished. She couldn’t see him, but she’d felt him sitting on her. She couldn’t explain it. And what about the events in the nightclub? How could she make sense of that?
He must have seen her puzzlement, because he said, “I’ll explain everything in time, I promise. Climb into the front with me and eat the muesli bar. It’ll make you feel better.”
She hesitated, then sighed and rose, squeezing herself between the two front seats, wincing as she grazed her shoulder on his headrest. Sinking into the left-hand seat, she buckled herself in, scowling.
“Are you sore?” he asked.
“I fell onto a concrete pavement. Of course I’m sore.”
“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”
She shifted, aware she was being surly. “I hurt my shoulder and my knee,” she said sulkily.
He glanced across at her. “Will you let me help?”
“Have you got some painkillers?”
He laughed. “Sorry, no. Something better, though.” He held out his hand toward her, and she flinched away from him automatically. He looked over at her again and gave her a smile. “I won’t hurt you—I swear.”
She watched him suspiciously, but again felt a gentle sweep of reassurance ripple through her, as if someone had whispered in her ear, it’s okay. You can trust him. She didn’t move toward him. But neither did she move away as he rested his left hand on her right shoulder.
For a moment, nothing happened. She was about to wriggle awkwardly when his hand grew suddenly hot.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Taking the pain away.” He said it easily, as it was the most natural thing in the world. After a moment, he lifted his hand.
She rolled her shoulder, amazed to find the soreness had vanished. “It’s better!”
“Good.” He smiled. “Lift your knee up.”
She did so wordlessly, turning in the seat to offer him her left knee. He put his hand on it, and again heat flowed through her. When he lifted his hand back to the steering wheel, she turned back in the seat, shocked to find the pain had disappeared. “How did you do that?”
“I’m a healer.”
“You mean like a doctor?”
He laughed. “Not quite.”
“I don’t understand.”
He glanced over, and his eyes were suddenly full of pity. “This must be very difficult for you.”
She stared at him wordlessly. In the big scheme of things, this was nothing. Years ago at home she’d been shunned, beaten, ignored, and bullied, made to feel like a freak. She’d left at eighteen and caught a bus to London, lived homeless for a few months before getting a job in a cafe, then scrounged a month or two on someone’s floor before finding herself a room of her own. She’d fought off men who wanted to pay her for sexual services she wasn’t interested in having on several occasions, and had cried herself to sleep out of fear and loneliness every night for the first six months, until she forced herself to realise nobody was going to come and rescue her, no matter how much she prayed. She’d felt worthless and unloved all of her adult life, and most of her childhood. So no, in the big scheme of things, this was nothing at all.
And yet, it was everything. In the space of a few hours he’d opened up her world and blown her boundaries and limits to smithereens, as if she’d thought she was living a whole, complete life, and suddenly he’d revealed
she was on stage, acting a lie. It frightened her, and excited her, just a little bit.
“Are you really taking me to Devon?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m not your enemy.”
“You have kidnapped me.”
“I tried to ask you to come with me, but you were too busy running away. Anyway, I haven’t kidnapped you. I’ve ‘borrowed’ you—that’s all.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” she said.
He laughed, and the regular rhythm of her heart gave a little bump at the warmth in his eyes. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to the guy that had abducted her.
Then she remembered the way she’d kissed him outside the nightclub, the desire that had flooded through her when she first saw him. Something odd was definitely going on.
“Eat the bar,” he said.
She peeled off the wrapper and took a bite. The taste of oats and chocolate flooded her mouth as she chewed, and when she swallowed, the light-headed, dizzy feeling she’d had began to evaporate.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Food will always ground you after a surge.” He glanced across at her. “What’s your name, by the way?”
Should she tell him? She sighed as the urge to trust him rippled through her again. “Kimi,” she said irritably. “Kimi Fox.”
He gave her a curious look.
“What?”
“Your name. It means ‘Secret’ in Algonquin.”
“Fox?”
“No, Kimi.”
“Huh.”
“You like that?”
She shrugged. “I guess. Doesn’t say anything about me though—I didn’t choose it.”
“It’s been said that our names choose us and they’re put into the minds of our parents. I happen to believe a name can tell you a lot about someone.”
“It’s an interesting notion.” In spite of the ridiculousness of the idea, it was odd that it did say something about her, certainly since she’d arrived in London, anyway. She wouldn’t admit that to him, though. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Damien.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Secret.”
She refused to shake. “I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”
His eyes twinkled as he replaced his hand on the wheel and said, “That’s not the way it appeared earlier.”
Her cheeks flamed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease,” he said, laughing. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m amazed you managed to control the energy as well as you did. Most women would be flat on their backs under a man by now, trying to sex it out.”
And so would I, if you’d let me. She cringed as she remembered how shameless she’d been. “Well not me,” she told him indignantly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you find sex helps to dispel the energy?”
She said nothing, confused, speechless with annoyance, embarrassed beyond belief. He glanced across at her, surprised at her silence. He studied her red cheeks, her awkwardness, and then his eyes widened with incredulous understanding. “Good grief, you’re kidding me? How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” she said tartly.
“I didn’t think there were any twenty-one year old virgins in this day and age.”
“Well, what would you know—you’re practically a pensioner.”
“I’m only twenty-six,” he said wryly.
“I stand by what I said. Almost Victorian.”
“Thank you for that.”
She studied him, unable to stop looking at the way the light from the lampposts flashing by on the roadside defined the muscles of his arms. She looked at his tattoo, at the black swirls circling his biceps. Something made her reach out and brush her finger along the ink, tracing the pattern. As she did so, there was a loud crack, sparks erupting on his skin as if she’d struck a match.
“Ouch,” he said.
She swore. “I’m sorry. What the hell is that?”
He laughed. “Perhaps you should finish that muesli bar before you explode.”
She flushed scarlet and took a bite of the bar, eyeing him nervously. She remembered the way he’d somehow taken all the energy from her outside the club, and then the golden glitter had dispersed into space. “Aren’t you hungry too?” she mumbled, her mouth full.
“No. But I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
“Doing what?”
“All in good time.” He shot her another look from those sensual eyes. Kimi shivered and clamped down on her emotions firmly. She could not send sparks flying again—it frightened her, and anyway, it was just too embarrassing to have physical evidence of her attraction to him.
She concentrated on calming her breathing, aware that somehow the electricity that had passed between them was connected to her emotions. It worked…the rush died down. She sighed with relief.
“Good,” he said, obviously aware of her attempt to rein in her feelings. “You learn quickly.”
She scowled at him. “You sound like my old science teacher.”
“Well I am a teacher, of sorts. I train witches.”
In the middle of finishing the last mouthful of the muesli bar, she coughed. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I train witches. Women—and sometimes men—like yourself, who exhibit special powers.”
“Me?” She blinked. “I’m not a witch!”
“Yes, sweetheart, you are. And a very powerful one, if I’m not mistaken.”
She laughed, flustered and sceptical at the same time. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I left school at sixteen without a single qualification. I’m a waitress at a seedy local cafe, and I live on my own in a tiny one-bedroom flat. I have no skills to speak of… I even struggle to balance my cheque book. I’m not talented at anything.”
He frowned and gave her a curious, almost pitying look. “You really don’t have a clue what you’re capable of, do you? But you must have realised over the years that you’re special?”
Special? No one had ever used that word to describe her before.
“What?” he said, smiling.
Again she felt the subtle urge to trust him. It didn’t come easily. She’d spent the last three years keeping herself to herself, not trusting a soul. But his gentle smiled reassured her. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Okay, I admit maybe there have been things in the past I’ve been able to do that have seemed…different. You’re the first person, though, who’s ever suggested my abilities are anything other than evil.”
His dark blue eyes took on a determined look. “People are always quick to condemn anything they don’t understand. Magic is like electricity. You can use electricity to shock someone with a Taser weapon, or you can use it to power life support. The electricity itself isn’t good or bad—it’s how you apply it. It’s the same with magic.”
“Magic?”
He didn’t answer her at first. Instead, he said, “You said there are things you’ve been able to do that seem ‘different’. Can you describe them to me?”
She played with the wrapper as she looked out the window. Her aunt’s voice rang in her ears. Witchcraft is the work of the Devil! She shuddered. “It’s difficult for me to talk about.”
“Okay.” He thought for a moment. “Tell me about your mother.”
Kimi’s throat tightened. “She’s dead.” She found it hard to say, even after all these years.
His hand rested on hers. She looked down at it, trying to control the rush of emotion that flooded through her whenever she thought about her mother.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. He put his hand back on the steering wheel. “How long ago?”
She looked across at him, surprised at his question. Usually when she told people her mother had died, they got embarrassed and changed the subject. She wasn’t used to talking about it. “She killed herself. When I was eight.”
“Ah.” The answer didn’t seem to surprise him. “And your dad?”
“He left us the year before she died. I grew up with my father’s sister—my aunt and uncle.”
He nodded. “And they didn’t like your abilities?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “That’s the understatement of the year.” She thought of the times they’d beaten her, locked her in her room, and denied her food. He glanced across at her, and she let a smile touch her lips. “Sometimes I’d do things to wind them up. Especially my uncle. I’d make things move when he didn’t expect it. Just little things—ashtrays, salt pots, that sort of thing. Or I’d set fire to stuff, make his newspaper burst into flames.” She sighed. “At other times things happened when I couldn’t help it—usually when I got angry. Mirrors would shatter, or books would fall out of the shelves. Candles would leap really high. I was always good at fire. They thought I’d attracted a poltergeist, some kind of weird teenage hormonal thing, but it was just me, misdirecting energy I guess.”
“It’s very common among untrained witches,” he said. “Control of energy is the first thing we teach. It can be very frightening, and occasionally dangerous, when it’s uncontrolled.”
“Tell me about it.” She shifted in her seat. “I ran away,” she admitted, surprised she was telling him. “I mean, I’d reached eighteen, old enough to leave home, but I didn’t tell them where I was going. I was sick of them punishing me for things I couldn’t control.”
He went quiet for a moment. He frowned, and she wasn’t sure if he was annoyed with her, or at something she’d said. She looked out of the window and waited for him to speak.
Eventually he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Kimi. You’re not the first person to be treated like that because of what you are, and you won’t be the last. If it was up to me, it would be those sorts of bastards who’d be burned at the stake.” He spoke vehemently, surprising her, as up until then he’d seemed so affable. Then he cleared his throat again. “Did your mother have any special abilities?”
Kimi glanced at him, then looked away. For the first time, a smile touched her lips. “She used to help me do tricks. Make a candle burn brighter. Calm a restless animal. She taught me about the herbs in the garden, and about the phases of the moon.”
Midnight Shaman, Fire Witch Page 2
