STEP (The Senses)

by Paterson, Cindy

  “Do you love her?” Anstice whispered.

  “Yes.” His voice was so soft that she wanted to get him to repeat it, but knew that would push him over the edge.

  “Then why, Waleron? Why?”

  It was then that she saw his eyes, the coldness gone and in its place a sorrowful blue that read despair. As quickly as it came, it disappeared, and he became the cold Taldeburu they all thought they knew, but really had no clue who he was.

  “She deserves more than I am capable of giving. And now this conversation is over. Don’t ever bring it up again.”

  She paid attention to his tone of voice this time. She’d pushed him to the limit. Keir said she didn’t know when to stop—yeah, well, she was a bulldog when it came to her friends.

  “Then unclip the leash and let her go,” Anstice said. Because Delara was spiraling out of control, and if she continued down this path, she’d hit the dead end at the highest possible speed.

  Chapter 3

  Kilter jolted awake to a haunting scream. It was the same horrid sound from the rooftop. One he swore he never wanted to hear again. He leapt off the chair he’d fallen asleep in, knife drawn as he scanned the room. Rayne was frantically trying to wrestle her legs free of twisted sheets. He reached her just as she tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs.

  “Jesus Christ,” he roared.

  She scuttled back on her palms until her back hit the nightstand. Kilter ignored her reaction and hovered over her. She shrank back and his eyes narrowed with displeasure.

  “Damn it, woman, I just saved your fuckin’ life. You think I’d kill you?” The morning sun’s rays flashed on the steel blade of his knife. He bent down and placed it back in the strap attached to his boot.

  She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up in front of her like a shield. Like that would stop him.

  He decided a formal introduction might be in order. Maybe knowing his name might help put her at ease. “I’m Kilter.” He gestured to the tray sitting on the nightstand. “I made soup earlier. It’ll be cold by now. Eat the fruit.”

  She watched him, her fingers on her throat as if waiting for him to finish what her husband started. He couldn’t blame her mistrust. Shit, her husband had obviously abused her, how bad he had no idea, but by the look in her eyes it was . . . God, he wanted to rip the pompous-ass into a thousand measly pieces.

  “Shower is over there,” he said, nodding to the door on the left side of the bed. She remained immobile, her eyes watching his every move. “I hate smelly crap, so you’ll have to make do with what I’ve got.”

  “Is he really dead?”

  At the sound of her voice, his heart did a double beat and then settled back down to a steady rhythm. He nodded, eyes remaining fixated on hers. He felt the relief pour from her body, so intense that it made his own body take it in and feel the exact same response. It was the weirdest experience, feeling someone else’s emotion as if it were his own. A Reflection was able to take in others’ emotions. Handy ability, but it could drive you insane if you didn’t know how to block them. Her emotion had to be really strong for it to leak into him.

  “Take a shower. You’re filthy,” Kilter said, deciding the butterfly needed a few moments of privacy away from the wasp.

  ****

  Rayne turned on the shower then quickly undressed, leaving her clothes in a puddle on the floor. She avoided looking in the large oval mirror, knowing it would only magnify her self-awareness, something she could do without right now.

  She stepped under the hot spray, closing her eyes at the sweet luxury. Every bone felt ready to snap, tendons and muscles strained to their capacity, and every inch of her skin felt soiled.

  Picking up the stone that was meant for the bottom of the feet, she squirted layers of soap on it then scrubbed her flesh, wincing as the harshness brushed against the bruises. It felt good and painful at the same time. Washing Anton off her skin was the most gratifying feeling she’d had in years. It was like scraping his hands off her skin, erasing his memory, his voice. She scrubbed harder and harder, gritting her teeth as the stone scratched and rubbed her skin raw. Her mind screamed “Get him out of me”—but no matter how hard she tried, he was still there. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was waiting for her on the other side of the shower door.

  Her mind shouted and yelled and fought against the hold he had on her as she scrubbed harder, faster, gritting her teeth at the pain. A wrenching scream of frustration tore from her lungs, and then she threw the stone against the tiles.

  She leaned against the back of the shower wall and slowly slid to the floor. She dragged her knees up to her chest, put her head in her hands, and for the first time in years she cried.

  ****

  “Rayne?” He tried the bathroom door handle. Locked.

  He knocked. No answer.

  “Rayne?” She’d been in there too long. “Damn it, open the door.”

  He tried to unlock the door with his mind—normally it would take him two seconds—but with his lack of sleep over the last four weeks, his abilities were shutting down.

  He slammed his good shoulder into the door and it groaned under the force. He drew back and did it again, this time it gave and wood splintered as it flung open.

  He stormed in and quickly came to a dead halt. Rayne sat on the floor of the shower stall, knees bent, face covered by her hands leaning against her thighs. The water sprayed over top of her head as she huddled in the corner, body trembling. God, she looked like a pathetic lost kitten caught in the rain.

  He walked through the fog of steam, grabbing a towel on his way, and opened the shower door. Heedless of the water instantly soaking his jeans and T-shirt, he crouched in front of her and put a towel over her raw, naked body.

  Without raising her head, she gripped the edge of the cloth and clutched it to her neck.

  He reached forward, put his finger under her chin and raised her head to meet his eyes. He almost fell back on his ass the moment he saw her expression.

  Tears mixed with droplets of water streamed down her cheeks. What he saw was fear, pain, and haunting desperation within the depths of her eyes. Lost. She looked so fuckin’ lost. She obviously was so driven inside herself that she was afraid to say anything. His jaw clenched and every muscle contracted. If he had the chance, he’d spin back time, draw and quarter her husband, and then he’d sick his Scar on him.

  He was so not good at this nicety shit, but this chick sure needed some. “You’re safe here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” Shit, she looked even skinnier wet. He could see her collarbone protruding and every vein in her arm. She had several puncture marks in the crook, and his eyes narrowed as his gut wrenched with wrath. He grabbed her arm and pulled it towards him. “What drugs?”

  She drew back and he let her. She covered the marks with her other hand.

  “Silent treatments don’t work for me, so spill it,” he ground out.

  She avoided his eyes. “Valium. Ketamine. Both. It depended on how much I fought.”

  Kilter made a grunt-growl in the back of his throat, trying to keep it contained, but his body half refusing to. The water pounded on his back. His jeans were soaked and heavy, white T-shirt now see-through from the water. He stayed silent and still, waiting until his rage calmed so he could speak again with frightening the shit out of her. He detested any sort of drugs, whether it was nicotine or cocaine; they were for the weak and feeble. Occasionally, he had the odd alcoholic beverage, but never did he overindulge. He couldn't afford to lose control and let the past come back into his life.

  He noticed his razor on the tile floor beside her and picked it up, shoving it into his back pocket.

  “I’m not going to kill myself if that’s what you think,” she said as water droplets slipped from strands of her hair to fall to her shoulders. “Remember, couldn’t do it.”

  Damn, he hadn’t considered her taking his razor and slitting her wrists. Would she do it? Could she? She’d a
sked him to kill her and yet seeing her sitting on the tile floor so childlike, and alone, he knew that a part of her was already dead.

  He refrained from reaching out his hand as her husband had done that day on the roof, and instead put his hands on her upper arms and urged her to stand. She had no choice, unless she wanted to let go of the towel, and he had a feeling that would be the last thing she’d do.

  Once she was on her feet, he turned off the taps and reached for a fresh towel, wrapping it around her shoulders.

  “Get dressed.” He grabbed another towel from under the sink and put it on her head like a scarf. He caught a whiff of her natural scent and inhaled, breathing in the sweet captivating smell.

  He rid himself of the thought of her by getting mad. “You’re too freakin’ skinny,” he said. Grabbing his own towel from the hook on the wall, he walked out of the bathroom.

  ****

  Rayne thought she was numb to emotions. Ha, instead they were tearing through her veins like missiles. Quickly throwing on her clothes, she ignored the scratches the stone left on her pale skin and pushed her hair back with her fingertips before walking out of the bathroom.

  Kilter was pacing back and forth, his hair standing on end as if he had swept his fingers through it a zillion times.

  He stopped. “Are you ill? Dying? Some disease? Or did he just not feed you?”

  She shrugged. Dying? Did it matter anymore? She was so numb to the idea of living.

  “Can’t you just answer me? Christ!” Kilter’s voice rose with frustration.

  Rayne turned away. Panic crept up on her like a stalker, slow and deliberate, knowing exactly where to hit first—heart, breath, then limbs losing feeling . . . Kilter’s hands touched her shoulders.

  “Don’t touch me.” Rayne tried to knock his hands off her shoulders and failed.

  “I swear, woman, when will you listen? I said I’d never hurt you,” he said.

  Her chest felt as if a thousand-pound dumbbell was sitting on it, making her breathing come in short gasps which led to familiar waves of dizziness. She hated these attacks; it was debilitating, embarrassing and terrifying all at the same time.

  His calloused fingers gripping her shoulders softened, then he let her go, but he didn’t step back.

  “I’m not ill,” Rayne answered.

  “Why are you so thin?”

  Would he stop saying that? “I have trouble eating sometimes.” Okay, all the time, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Why?”

  The smell of wild roses permeated the room, and Kilter tensed. Rayne looked around for whatever had shut him up when she noticed a mist near the door. She stared in awe, her mouth dropping open as the swirling blue mist slowly solidified and in its place a woman appeared.

  Kilter stiffened when he met the woman’s eyes before giving her a curt nod. Someone had control over these guys and Rayne was surprised to see it was a beautiful blonde woman who had the skin of an angel and a seductive body that screamed I work out daily.

  Her walk was like a whisper, feet gliding across the floor as she approached them. Rayne had learned at the compound that there were many different kinds living among them, yet this woman was unique in that she appeared out of nowhere.

  “Genevieve,” Kilter acknowledged.

  Her smile was a breath of fresh air as her eyes perused over the two of them. “Rayne, is it?”

  Rayne nodded.

  “Welcome. I am Genevieve.” She cast a quick glance at Kilter and then continued to speak to Rayne. “You have been through much. I apologize for that, and I wish to help in any way I can. Perhaps we may speak in private?”

  “No.” Kilter placed his arm around her waist, his fingers gently squeezing her side. “Why are you here, Genevieve?”

  The tension went from ten to a thousand in a millisecond.

  “The Wraiths sense this woman is important. Tor requested I see for myself.” Genevieve’s smile never faded, but her voice deepened and she punctuated every syllable with clarity. “I will forgive your insolence once, due to your unusual state of mind, however, if it happens again I will retaliate. Our prison in the realm is rather . . . displeasing. As is being sent to Rest.”

  What was that? Like sent to bed without dinner? Was she serious? It had been a long time since she felt laughter build inside, and suddenly she wanted to giggle. The only reason she held back was Kilter’s scowl intensifying at the woman’s words and the pressure around her waist tightening.

  “If you thought her important, you should have got her out of that hellhole years ago. You’re too late. You have no business here, Genevieve.”

  “We didn’t sense her until Ryker returned and she—” Genevieve nodded to her, “—was felt all around him. We will not interfere, Kilter, I wish only to speak with Rayne.” The woman smiled, her kind eyes shining a brilliant blue light. “Come, we’ll take a short walk while Kilter changes his . . . attire.” The white angel glared at Kilter then held out her hand, palm down, long slender fingers revealing silver rings on each one.

  Rayne hesitated. Kilter had yet to let go of her waist, although the pressure diminished. Did he trust this woman?

  She tilted her head to look up at him. The scowl immediately softened as their eyes met. His fingers slowly caressed her hip, and the urge to escape the touch had lessened somewhat. She guessed it was how gentle he was being.

  Do I go with this woman? Do I leave you? I don’t know who I can trust. As if reading her mind, he brought his free hand up and stroked her chin with the rough pad of his thumb.

  “She is a Wraith. One that is . . . meddling, but compassionate,” Kilter said.

  She paused, watching his eyes. They remained steady, and she knew he spoke the truth.

  She avoided the offer of the angel’s hand; instead, she left the steady support of Kilter’s arm and walked towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder at Kilter, who gave her a reassuring nod.

  The angel woman appeared beside her, the swish of her long silk dress rustling against her legs. Rayne guessed the woman was in her late twenties and had the confidence of a dragon with the looks of a swan. Even the way she glided was as though she floated on a cloud. She wondered if she looked beneath the hem of her skirt, if she’d see wheels of some kind.

  Genevieve nodded to the right where a closed door and a big sign read ‘Hot Women Enter.’ “That’s Jedrik’s abode. A rather boyish charm to that one, but you can trust him. He’s a good man. As was Kilter at one time.” She paused then added, “Perhaps still.”

  What did that mean?

  Rayne paused near the pool table and peered out the windows. The walkout basement had sliding glass doors leading out onto a patio and a garden beyond. The sun beamed across the hardwood floor up onto the fabric of a solid cream-colored pillow sitting on the small bench by the doors. Her eye caught the painting that hung on the wall to the right, and she instantly felt the warmth of the vibrant orange and yellow colors. Just looking at it made her feel tenderness inside.

  “The woman who painted it, Danielle, is new to the Senses. It is a gift for those who lost their lives.” Genevieve gave her a warm smile. “You’re frightened of us, understandably. But the Senses and Wraiths are here to help.”

  Wraiths? She had no clue what that was, but after seeing her go from mist into a figure, she knew Wraiths were not from this realm.

  Anton had said those exact words after her parents died, and she had refused to go with him. In those days, he had been kind and even patient. He said he wanted to help her get through the grief. All lies. Just like everything else he’d told her.

  Genevieve’s voice continued in a lyrical sound as she explained the Toronto house and the Talde, along with a brief explanation as to who the Senses were. “But I suspect you already know about them?”

  Rayne nodded.

  “That is good,” Genevieve said.

  “May I leave here?”

  Genevieve’s laughter was a waterfall of rose petals. “
My dear, you may do anything you wish. No doors are locked here. Although, I must advise against it, until you’re well. He has hurt you a great deal. Not just physically, but he has harmed your inner self.”

  Rayne flinched at her words; it was as if this woman understood. But that was impossible. No one could understand.

  She stared out the sliding glass doors and watched the trees sway in the wind. Off in the distance was a tall tower that looked like a saucer sitting on top of a pole. She wondered what it was. A small brown bird soared past the window to perch on a massive oak tree’s branch.

  Rayne spun around when she felt Genevieve’s hand on her shoulder. How she approached without a sound was a mystery. The woman was like a ghost.

  “Kilter is driven and harsh. His past . . . well, it is one we all failed at, and so he has suffered and endured much. He is protective of you. And I feel his possessiveness.” She paused, her eyes glimmering with warmth. “But he is not your husband. I have faith that he will never harm you.” Genevieve stroked her hair in a soft caress and sighed. “What Kilter will have a hard time doing is continuing to watch you die. I trust you understand what I am saying.”

  She ignored her perceptive comment. What she needed was solitude to calm the chaos of emotions that were going off like a pinball machine.

  “Time can heal the most broken souls.” Genevieve smiled, but there was sadness to it. “I will leave you. Know that I will always be near.” She dropped her hand and turned away.

  Rayne sat on the bench seat, finally away from prying eyes, raging words and emotions she swore died inside her years ago. She wanted to curl up and sleep for weeks. But feeling safe here was too fragile a thought.

  There was a faded memory before her parents died when they lived in Vancouver. She could recall a room all dressed in pink, subtle and soft, like cotton candy. There’d been frills on her bed and curtains with a rocking chair where her mom would sit and read Winnie the Pooh or Curious George. Had it been a dream? Why were so many memories from her childhood gone? Why couldn’t she recall what her parents looked like anymore?