STEP (The Senses)

by Paterson, Cindy

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, my help meter is at full capacity right now. Take a number.” Frig, where were the cabs when you needed one.

  “It’s Liam.” Whoa that got his attention. This must be the witch rumored to be hanging at the club. He turned towards her as she said, “The vampire.”

  “Yeah, know who the frig he is,” Jedrik said. Okay, she was scared. At least, that was what her hormones were shooting off like fireworks.

  A cab slowed.

  “He told me to meet him in two nights at the club.”

  Jedrik threw his hands up, shrugged his shoulders and widened his eyes with a “so what?” expression.

  “He’s going to kill me.”

  ****

  A soft knock sounded on the door, and Rayne instantly went on alert. She expected Kilter to come barging in. Suffering through another meal of Kilter’s heaping plates of food was the last thing she wanted to do today.

  “Rayne? It’s Anstice. Can I come in?” Anstice asked politely.

  They were about the same height, although Anstice was wearing one-inch heels. She had a sexy appeal in a white blouse and dark blue jeans that sculpted to her long fawnlike legs.

  Rayne stepped back from the door. Genevieve had a subtle quiet beauty; Anstice was vibrancy and animation with stark features.

  “I saw the bruises on your neck. I wanted to ask if I could heal them.”

  Rayne remained close to the door. “I’m fine really. I don’t need any healing.”

  “Those bruises must hurt. I can take it away.” Anstice paused. “Did you know Kilter dug the bullet out of his shoulder himself, then tried stitching it up? Failed miserably.” She walked over to the bed. “Men. They can be so obtuse and stubborn. Come, I promise it won’t hurt.”

  Yeah, heard that before. “I’d rather not.”

  Anstice nodded. “Oh, okay then. No worries, just let me know if you change your mind.”

  A subtle cough sounded in the doorway, and Rayne whirled around to see Kilter leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe. His brows were lowered over his eyes, and his jaw looked tight. “Let her heal you, babe.”

  Anstice said, “It’s okay, Kilter. She doesn’t have to—”

  “Yes. She does.” He kept his eyes riveted on her, and she wrapped her arms around her chest as if to shield herself from his intense gaze. It didn’t work. Why was he insisting on this? She was fine. The bruises would disappear in a few days. “Anstice, give us a minute,” Kilter ordered.

  “Umm, yeah, sure thing.” Anstice gave her a half-smile, then left the room. Kilter closed the door behind her.

  “I need you to do this,” Kilter said as he approached with long relaxed strides. She forced herself to stand completely still. “It’s important.” His hand raised, fingers sweeping across the bruises on her neck. “She can heal these, babe. In minutes, you will no longer see the purple and blue, nor feel the tenderness on your skin.”

  She raised her gaze to meet his and was astonished to see the anger had dissipated, and instead she saw warmth in his chocolate eyes. His scent wafted across her face, and she sucked in the sweet smell of soap mixed with denim.

  “Jesus babe, I hate the reminder of what he did to you.” Kilter put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “I’m asking. As a favor to me.”

  Okay, this part of Kilter she hadn’t expected. She’d anticipated him demanding she be healed. She couldn’t recall ever being asked if she’d do something for another person. It felt . . . it felt good. She still had the urge to say no. That protective side of her was demanding to stay hidden and prohibit anyone to get close. She hesitated, biting the inside of her lower lip and watching him as he waited patiently for her answer.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Before she knew what he was going to do—or else she’d have run like hell—Kilter lowered his head, his lips touching her forehead with a feathery kiss. When he stepped back, she noticed the quick change in expression as if he realized what he’d done. It was obvious they were both unaccustomed to tenderness.

  ****

  Anstice was telling the truth. It didn’t hurt—actually all she felt was warmth on her neck. She lay on the bed as Anstice hovered over her, eyes closed and hands inches away from her neck, Rayne kept her eyes open and Kilter stood leaning up against the bedpost watching.

  Anstice’s hands went a deep orange color and then changed to a bright red. She kept her eyes closed, and Rayne noticed her flinch several times, then cough. Her eyes clenched and her body looked as if it was in pain, tension and strain in the subtle lines of her face. She suddenly gasped for breath, her eyes flying open and her hands going to her throat.

  There were tears pooled in her eyes. She glanced at Kilter. “He was a cruel man. You did good.” She squeezed Rayne’s shoulder and then quietly left the room.

  Rayne sat up and rubbed her neck. She felt nothing, no tenderness, no swelling.

  “Come,” Kilter said, holding out his hand.

  He guided her into the bathroom and placed her in front of the mirror. With a gentle caress of his fingertips, he swept her hair back over her shoulders while he stood behind her.

  The bruises were gone. She turned her head from side to side and not a single reminder of Anton’s handprints remained on her neck. “Amazing,” she whispered.

  Kilter’s hands rested on her shoulders, and he gave a gentle squeeze. “Anstice’s healing is that.”

  She continued to look at the mirror, Kilter standing behind her, his hands intimately on her shoulders and his eyes gazing at her through the mirror. They looked . . .

  Kilter’s grip tightened and his brows lowered over his eyes. “Babe, do you see how thin you are?”

  She quickly shrugged him off and walked from the bathroom, her hands rubbing her arms as a shiver of discomfort rushed through her body.

  “Rayne? We need to talk about this,” Kilter called after her.

  She ran out of the bedroom before he had the chance to stop her.

  ****

  “Fuck,” Kilter said. She ran like a frightened rabbit at the first opportunity. He’d read the damn book; knew she’d avoid talking, but it still pissed him off. He was a man of action, progress, and had very little patience. Getting her to admit she had a problem was the first step.

  According to the book, which he finished in under an hour—a Visionary bonus was being able to read in hyper-speed—if her body weight was twenty percent below average—Rayne’s was—then she’d be a potential client for a rehabilitation center. He was no therapist and reading one book was not going to make him one. What Rayne didn’t realize was that he was a persistent asshole and when he had a mission, he saw it through.

  He found her outside walking down the cobblestone path through the gardens. He watched from a few feet away as the rain sprinkled her face, slid down her forehead to her cheeks and then dripped off her chin to soak into her sweatshirt. She stopped, closed her eyes and tilted her face up towards the sky. She licked the dampness from her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he felt almost guilty for interrupting her moment of peace.

  Their gazes collided as he came up beside her. “You like the rain,” Kilter said. “Most women would be worried about ruining their hair.”

  She began walking again. “I’m not most women.”

  “Yeah, got that,” he murmured.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, just the sound of their feet splattering in the puddles that had gathered along the path.

  “You should have a jacket. You’re cold,” Kilter said, scowling. She just took off for no regard for her own well-being. God, that pissed him off. He might have no care for anyone else, but at least he looked after himself. Come to think of it, that was all he cared about.

  Until her.

  She shook her head and a strand of wet hair latched onto her mouth. Kilter raised his hand and gently pushed it aside. The tender gesture made him stop short and he sudden
ly remembered why he had come after her. He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. “You need help, babe.”

  She yanked her arm free and kept walking. He took a deep breath instead of blurting out a profanity as he usually did and matched her stride. “Rayne, I want to help you.” She kept her eyes downcast. “Jesus Christ, woman, you’re dying,” he finally exploded. He ran his hand through his disheveled hair, expression tight and filled with frustration.

  “I know,” Rayne whispered and it was the sweetest words he’d ever heard, because if she knew, then there was hope that she’d help herself. Her steps slowed, hair billowing in the breeze. “I know something’s wrong,” she whispered in a barely audible voice. “I shouldn’t feel this way all the time, but getting out of this is scarier than staying where I am.”

  Her back was stiff, and her hands were curled in the sides of her jeans. He understood what she meant—well, kind of—it was simpler to continue what she was comfortable doing, easier to keep her emotions hidden rather than face them. It terrified her to have to face the truth and seek help.

  Okay, he was prepared for this. He knew she needed this and still his entire body rejected sharing a part of himself to anyone. But it was vital she trust and the only way to do that was share something of himself.

  He looked up at the clear half-moon sky and counted to ten before opening his mouth. “I used to be terrified of horses.” Fuck. He hated this. “I was seven. Bloody horse reared up, lost its balance and went head over hoof backwards right on top of me. Knocked me out cold. Stupid mule was fine. I had a hell of a headache and a broken collarbone. I swear that stallion laughed at me every single time I walked past its stall after that.” He felt her eyes on him, and yet he couldn’t meet them. “Never got over it. My brother teased me relentlessly for years, but as soon as I came near a horse, my heart would pound and my palms would get all sweaty as if I was facing doom. It was easier to avoid the beasts than face that fear.”

  Rayne moved off the path and strolled across the grass to the cobblestone wall enclosing the property. “Did you ever get on a horse again?”

  The earth was spongy beneath his feet, and it matched how he was feeling inside, vulnerable as shit. “Yeah, sure. Had to. Took a good ten years though.” He kicked at the long grass “Scariest day of my life. I actually threw up on the day I decided to conquer my fear.”

  “Why did you?” She stopped at the wall and turned to face him.

  He half-smiled as he met her eyes. She looked so serene in the moonlight, sweet and innocent like wild lavender swaying in the breeze. Without thinking, he raised his hand and slowly let his fingers trail down her cheek. “It ruled my life, Rayne. I couldn’t do things I wanted because I wouldn’t get on a horse. Since you know about Ryker, I will assume you’re aware that we’re immortal?” She nodded. “Well, back in the eighteen hundreds, horses were your transportation, so it limited where I could go. I was sick and tired of the hold it had on my life, so I set a date and decided that was the day I’d get on that stallion. It was the best thing I could have done.” He let his hand trace over her shoulder, down her arm to her hand where he curled his fingers around hers. “Is it ruling your life, Rayne?”

  She nodded, lowering her head as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  He squeezed her hand. “Then we find a way to get through this.”

  Rayne felt as if a huge lead weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Admitting to him she knew that somewhere, deep down, she was screwed up and scared, was a relief. But it couldn’t last. This. Him. Everything. It was temporary. Eventually, they would discover her secret and use her like everyone else.

  She slipped her hand from his grasp. “I think we should head back now.” It was better this way. If she became too close to Kilter, she’d be trapped in the same life he’d rescued her from, and that was something she’d fight. Never again. Never.

  “Rayne,” Kilter said. “Fuck.” He sighed, and she glanced at him and saw the scowl and frustration written all over his face. Soon, she thought. Already she was beginning to trust him, and that would be her demise. “Babe, I may not understand what you’re going though, but . . .” he hesitated again as if it was difficult forming the right words, “Fuck, I can’t promise to be patient, that’s not me, but, I will be there for you.”

  She looked away and began to walk back up the path.

  Kilter asked, “Why do you like the rain?”

  Would it hurt to tell him? To give a piece of herself to him? Maybe, but he had shared a piece of himself, and she knew that had been difficult for him. “It gives me strength. The rain, sun, moon, wind. Nature is powerful, unrelenting, gentle and kind. I feel its strength, and it lends it to me.” Don’t tell him more, she thought, but it was too late. “It was the one punishment my husband knew would destroy me. He’d lock me up in that room without a window, without fresh air. If he threatened to lock me away, I’d do whatever he wanted. He knew that. I failed myself, letting him discover my weakness.”

  “You didn’t fail anything, babe. He was a cruel bastard and would’ve found out what you loved no matter what.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters if you keep running.”

  She darted a quick look at him and saw compassion in his hooded chocolate eyes. Pity? She didn’t want his pity; she was ashamed of herself already. Having Kilter look at her like that when he had so much courage was debilitating. He knew nothing about her life and why she ran. Nothing.

  And yet he’d understood when he heard her scream from the rooftop and came back for her. He was trying to be gentle and kind when it went against everything he was. He’d shared a part of himself that made him vulnerable. She knew the harsh, honest, crass Kilter who refused to trust the other Senses, but she also knew the gentle side of him that he struggled to display. He understood parts of her, and that was what she had to escape. If he delved any further he’d discover too much.

  They strolled back to the house, inches separating them, and yet she felt his every breath, every heartbeat. It was disconcerting to find his presence comforting. Her walls were crumbling one stone at a time, and she was terrified at what he’d discover.

  Chapter 7

  “Come on, we need somewhere private.” Jedrik went to grab her hand, then thought better of it, and walked across King Street.

  He heard the clitter-clatter of heels behind him as she followed his fast pace. Too bad. It was stupid for her to wear heels. Okay, not true; he loved a woman in sexy shoes, but not a witch who supposedly had a vampire after her.

  He went down Niagara Street, heading for the only place he knew would be closed on a Monday with the added bonus that he had the key: Danielle’s art gallery. Delara was living there, but last he checked she was with Liam. He pulled out his cell and gave her a quick call, leaving a message on her machine that he was Breaking and Entering for a couple of hours. She probably thought he was going to get laid.

  “Can you—”

  “Don’t say a friggin’ word,” Jedrik interrupted.

  And she didn’t for the ten-minute walk, just the annoying click of her shoes on the pavement. What was pissing him off about this woman? Oh, maybe that she’d followed him to the bar and used her looks to get his attention then, wham, hit him over the head with shit he didn’t need. But he needed to hear this, one way or another, because Delara was his best friend and she was sleeping with the vamp.

  Maybe this was no big deal. Little chicky—who looked eighteen, but probably was more like twentyish—had been dumped by Liam and was overreacting. Kosher considering Delara was his new squeeze. Or maybe this chick was a woman scorned and was dying of a broken heart?

  Maybe she thought he was hot and needed a shoulder to cry on after being dumped by Liam. Dream on.

  Okay, he’d listen to her sob story about how Liam was an ass and threatened to spank her butt—which probably needed doing—then put her in a cab with a pat on the back. Then he co
uld get back to drinking the rest of his day in solitude.

  He unlocked the gallery door, left the lights off and waited until she walked in before relocking the door. He strode to the back of the gallery, where Danielle had a small kitchen. He opened the fridge, helped himself to a beer and left another on the counter for Abigail, or Abby, whichever.

  He leaned against the counter, beer sitting between them. “Okay, let’s hear it, sugar, so I can get on with my already pisser of a week.”

  She made no move to take the beer; instead, she was looking at Danielle’s art as if this was a private showing. If Delara hadn’t been sleeping with Liam, Jedrik would have left Abby back on the curb.

  Just when he was going to say screw it, she spoke.

  “I didn’t know who else to turn to. Trinity would—”

  That’s where he recognized her name from, the wild-child Abigail. Rumor had it that Trinity raised this chick since she was a wee kid. Something about the girl’s mother Leona killing herself before some vamps had her for breakfast.

  “Great. Just friggin’ great. Trinity’s wayward witch.” Yank his guts out and cook them over a roaring fire. The one person who hated Delara more than any other person on this planet was Trinity. “I get it, no need to explain. Trinity would put an ugly spell on you if she found out you messed with a vamp.”

  “Yeah, something like that times ten million.”

  “Hence point of stalking me today. You’re beautiful, but usually I like to play that part.”

  “Liam’s woman—” she began.

  Jedrik interrupted with a loud snort. Bingo. Woman scorned, and Delara was the one who stole her man. “Classic. If you had listened in witch class you’d know that vamps are rarely magnanimous.” Okay, let’s get to the point. Delara would not share either, although he was uncertain what Delara would do at the moment.

  “Oh, I’m not sleeping with him. That’s disgusting.”