STEP (The Senses)

by Paterson, Cindy

  Delara came up behind him. He didn’t need to see her face to know that something shitty was happening, and it wasn’t just some meeting Waleron called. He felt it emanating from every sweat gland in the room.

  “What the hell is this?” Kilter growled. He tried to enter their minds, but every single one of them was vaulted shut. He looked at Delara, but she stepped back and refused to say anything.

  A cloud of mist appeared. His hands curled into fists. Great, just what he needed—Waleron to ruin his day.

  He was not a fan of their coldhearted Taldeburu, and he sure as shit hated when he morphed into a room. The Big Guy was an enigma and as merciless as they came. He protected the Senses with a steel glove and didn’t take crap from any of them. Even him.

  His good points—he never beat around the bush and lived by the code of honesty and loyalty.

  Waleron matched his six-foot-three height, but was slightly broader in the shoulders. He kept his hair shaved short, just leaving a hint of brown hair, had ice-blue eyes that on occasion had been known to flash red when he was pissed—although he rarely lost his cool—and he had one hell of a tattoo that came up from under his black T-shirt to his neck then curled behind his left ear.

  As far as he knew, Waleron’s Scar remained latched onto him, having never been released since the day he escaped from that bitch Lilac’s lair. It wasn’t exactly known what happened, only that he and his Scar went insane with fury. When he returned to them, he was cool and calm like always, as if he hadn’t been tortured and held captive for sixty-one years. Except it was a different calmness, more like a silence of dead emotion.

  “We must discuss Rayne,” Waleron announced. “She is to be taken to a rehabilitation center today.”

  Kilter jolted, his blood running cold. Every muscle contracted. Over his dead body. He glanced at each of their faces and noticed how they all avoided looking directly at him. They knew. They all bloody well knew. There was no discussion about it, it was just decided.

  He managed two strides towards the stairs before Waleron stopped him. Cold fingers gripped his arm. “No, Kilter,” Waleron said in a bitter warning tone.

  Fuck that.

  He jerked his arm out of Waleron’s grasp and ignored his Taldeburu’s ice-blue eyes, which narrowed with forewarning.

  His own eyes were bleeding with rage, red-hot beams glowing like a roaring fire. He managed to keep his vision in control most of the times, but fury made him react instinctively.

  “Kilter, man, she needs help,” Jedrik said.

  He swung his gaze to Jedrik, and his vision took control as the antique vase behind Jedrik smashed into tiny fragments. Screw control, this was exactly why he never trusted anyone. They went behind his back and did what they thought was best. No consulting. No discussion. Nothing.

  She was not being locked away. An image of her eyes staring up at him filled with fear and anxiety. The betrayal laced with mistrust. My God, she’d never forgive him. He knew what it was like to lose faith in someone’s words and he couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t. Not again.

  Kilter managed two more steps towards the stairs before he felt a hold on him that refused to give way no matter how hard he tried to move his body. Paralysis of his limbs, frozen in place like a stone statue.

  “Let me go, you coldhearted fucker,” Kilter shouted at Waleron.

  A low murmur of voices shifted through the room and everybody went on full alert. Keir stepped forward and gave a curt nod at Waleron. Kilter knew they were speaking telepathically and blocking him.

  “Goddamn it, you have shit to say, say it,” Kilter said.

  Delara turned away and headed into the other room. He suspected she was in disagreement, with Waleron’s decision. One point in her favor.

  Anstice grabbed Keir’s arm, her eyes tearing. “Please, Kilter, don’t do this. Listen to what they have to sa—”

  “Fuck off!”

  Waleron still had a hold of his movements, but the Taldeburu could only do it for a short period.

  “You will let her go,” Waleron stated.

  Kilter fought Waleron’s powers. “You just signed her death warrant.”

  “She will be safe,” Keir said. “We’d never do anything to harm her. You know that, Kilter.”

  A cold fury enveloped him.

  No, goddamn it. No. He promised her. He fuckin’ promised. “No.”

  Waleron’s tone was calm and cool. “This is not your decision.” Waleron’s hold dropped and Kilter flexed his hands into fists. “She will not be a prisoner, Kilter. If she chooses to leave rehabilitation, she can. But she must give it a chance.”

  “You will destroy her and I won’t stand by and let it happen.”

  “No, Kilter,” Waleron said in his monotone voice. “She needs to find her own way. You are too protective of this woman. It will only harm her recovery. You will not have any contact with her, nor know where she will be located.”

  “What? That’s bullshit,” he shouted. He promised her. Just like he had that day on the roof. He broke that promise. He sure as hell wasn’t doing it again.

  “She needs therapy,” Anstice said quietly.

  Damn right she did, but not like they wanted. He’d search every rehabilitation place across the world if he had to, but he wasn’t breaking his promise.

  “Disobey me and I will send you to Rest. Stay away from her,” Waleron ordered. “She needs time, Kilter. Time to be well again. I will warn you once. Let it go.”

  Kilter didn’t do well with threats and he knew this fight could get him killed, but he never backed down from anything in his life. He was not letting Rayne go.

  “I will not break my promise,” Kilter said with finality, blind rage searing his insides like a razor.

  “You should not have made such a promise,” Waleron said calmly.

  He reacted fast and hard, leaping across the room and rolling on the floor as all hell broke loose. He jerked his head to the side and the entire wall of books tumbled off the shelves and into Galen. He raised his fist and landed a direct hit into Jedrik’s jaw, sending him through the air and into the wall.

  “Kilter, you piss head,” Galen bellowed.

  “Friggin’ hell, Kilter,” Jedrik yelled massaging his jaw. “Cool it, asshole.”

  Kilter rolled as Waleron raised his hands and a bolt of energy came rocketing towards him.

  Keir stood blocking the route to the kitchen and Rayne. He went at him full tilt, eyes blazing. Keir ducked the line of fire and then came barreling at him. Kilter felt the sting of a punch to his cheekbone and then another in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  He shot his legs out and took Keir off his feet with one sweep. Doorway clear. He took one step before he felt his body begin to sway from side to side. He grabbed his head with both hands as his mind swirled with haze. He stumbled into the wall, then fell to his knees.

  He looked up. Waleron stood a few feet away, a mask of disappointment on his face. “I told you, I warn once.”

  Rest. The bastard was putting him in Rest? He felt his body collapse to the floor. How could he do this? How could they?

  “Nooooo,” he shouted, the words ripping from his lungs in an anguished roar. Fear for Rayne coursed through his body as if nails drove into his skin and ripped his flesh apart. His insides were raw and bleeding, his throat no longer able to speak as the roars of fury echoed into deafening silence.

  He fought like hell to keep his eyes open, straining against the heavy weight that refused to give way to his impenetrable will. He tried to urge his Scar to rise and wreak havoc on them all, but it was too late. He was too late.

  What had he done?

  His one thought was of Rayne. “I promised her. Damn it, don’t lock her away again,” he said to Waleron. “Christ, she was tormented. You know what it’s like locked away, Waleron. You wouldn’t survive it again. She . . . she can’t either. It will remind her of . . . another way . . .”

  Kilter slipped into the he
ll of Rest.

  ****

  Rayne vaulted from bed when Kilter’s loud roar came from upstairs.

  Oh, God, what was happening? He was fighting? What was he fighting about?

  When she heard Kilter say, something about ‘signing her death warrant’ then ‘you will destroy her’, she knew. His loud bellow echoed through the basement, and shivers raked her body. There was a loud raucous and a crash. More shouting.

  That was all she needed. She threw on her clothes from the compound and slipped on her shoes.

  The panic was running full force within seconds at the thought of being locked away. There was no choice. She had no choice. She undid the latch on the window and held her breath as she pushed out the screen.

  A solid thump sounded on the ceiling.

  Her heart pounded, and her knees trembled as she pulled herself up and out. It was easy enough with the window being ground level. She began to close it behind her when the glimmer of Kilter’s knife caught her gaze. It was sitting on the dresser beside the door. Had he put it there before coming near the bed earlier? A sharp pain shot through her chest and she silently ached inside, afraid to leave him, but knowing from the sounds upstairs that it was her only choice.

  Kilter. I’m sorry. Please understand, I can’t risk it.

  The image of him looking down at her as she sat on the bathroom floor the day he came back for her. The surprise, the relief and then the hope. He had given it to her.

  Yet staying was a risk she couldn’t take.

  The cool spring breeze sifted through her hair, and her heart calmed and her body rejuvenated as if nature was lending its strength and nutrients to survive. She had no clue why she’d always felt so strong in the sun, rain and wind, but it was her savior, her bliss.

  She crept across the yard, hiding behind shrubs and trees. Her legs felt like dried-up twigs as they wobbled in fear and weakness. She knew she was dying. She could barely function normally any longer with the few nutrients she consumed. It had crept up on her day by day then week by week, losing more and more weight. At first she’d stopped eating to suppress her abilities, then it had become her control and reward. It had become her escape—her hiding place where no one could reach her in this empty shell.

  ****

  “Holy be-Jesus.” Galen ran to the falling mass of muscles that crumpled to the ground. “He just completely lost it.”

  Jedrik sighed, running his hand through his blond curls. “His past was just thrown in his friggin’ face. To him Rayne is Gemma all over again.” He actually felt bad for Kilter. He’d been around for the Ulrich thing and knew it still ate away at Kilter’s insides.

  “Who’s Gemma?” Anstice asked.

  “The woman Kilter loved,” Keir said. “His brother tortured Kilter for, oh about ten years, with the woman Kilter loved watching.” Keir rubbed his temples. “Waleron, Rest is rather harsh. He wants to protect her.”

  “Then he should not have attacked us.” Waleron directed his cold unemotional gaze on Keir. “He would never give up and she needs time to heal. She cannot repair herself, if he tries to do it for her.”

  There was nothing more to say. Kilter had chosen his path and gone against their Taldeburu. Bad choice. Waleron never allowed a Senses to go rogue, if he could help it. Kilter had balls; Jedrik would give him that, because none of them would ever risk Waleron’s retaliation.

  “He’s cold as ice,” Anstice said, touching Kilter’s wrist.

  Waleron ignored her. “Kilter will remain in Rest for six months. That will give Rayne time to heal.”

  “Waleron,” Anstice said with disbelief, “that’s so long. He was afraid for her—”

  “He went against his Taldeburu with his ability. That is unpardonable.” Waleron turned to Delara who entered the room with a really pissed-off expression. “I sense movement outside. The girl must have heard the commotion and left.”

  “Yeah, I’m tracking her,” Delara said. “I’ll get her. But don’t expect me to drive her to the rehab center.”

  “No. She will not be going there,” Waleron said while looking at Kilter on the floor. “You will take her to the gallery. She will stay with you.”

  No one said anything, although a few brows rose at the sudden change in plans. Delara gave a single nod and headed for the door. Anstice called to Grim and they walked to the stairs.

  No one questioned Waleron’s actions. The guy looked pissed, even the tattoo that laced up his neck and around his ear appeared as if it suddenly had a red outline.

  “Take him to his room,” Keir said to his brother, then walked over to the bar and poured three glasses of Bombay. The clink of the ice being tossed in the glasses was like a bomb going off in the deafening silence. Jedrik took his glass, chugging back the fiery liquid in one gulp. Keir passed one to Waleron and had one for himself.

  “She will reside at Danielle’s apartment above her gallery. I will speak with a therapist who specializes in eating disorders and have her available to see Rayne on a daily schedule.”

  “And if she won’t? See her, I mean,” Jedrik asked, wishing he had another Bombay to chug back. Waleron merely held his, having yet to take a sip. Did he do anything for pleasure?

  “Then we wait until she does,” Waleron said.

  “You think she knows what went down in that place?” Jedrik asked. “Frig, she’s pretty screwed up. I can’t imagine what happened to her.”

  “Ryker was too drugged to recall anything,” Waleron said. “But I will attempt to read his memories. Once Rayne is strong, she will tell us more. She was vital to her husband.”

  Keir frowned. “Vital how?”

  Waleron set his untouched glass down on the glass side table beside the couch. “I will know more when she is well. Right now, it is impossible to be clear on the signals she is pulsating. Her weight is what hides her capabilities.”

  “No way,” Jedrik said mouth falling open. “She’s a friggin’ Senses? One of us? I didn’t pick up on that.”

  Waleron picked up the glass again and shot the burning liquid down his throat with one swallow. “You would not. In her poor condition, her body is maintaining basic function. But Rayne is a Senses.”

  ****

  Rayne lifted the latch on the iron gate, cringing when it creaked.

  She began to slide through the small space when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. She gasped and instinctively struggled to get back through the gate, but the grip was too strong.

  “Rayne, please.”

  She stopped fighting when she heard Roarke’s voice.

  “Don’t run.” He loosened his grip, but didn’t let go. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

  The ever-present deadly gleam in his eyes had vanished, and in its place was a softened sadness. He looked tired and his hair was disheveled, a rarity for him.

  “Roarke, please. Let me go.” She knew fighting him was pointless, she’d learned that long ago.

  His thumb tenderly rubbed her skin on her arm. “Come here, Rayne.” He tugged her further into the shadows and placed her back against the stonewall. He let go of her arm, but instead put his hands on either side of her head. “I thought . . . God, I thought you were dead.” He took a deep breath and raised his hand as if to stroke her cheek. She tilted her head away and he sighed. “When I came back and saw the devastation . . .” He closed his eyes and took a trembled breath. “I was afraid . . .” He caressed her neck with a single finger. “Ben told me what happened and—”

  Her heart plummeted. “Ben’s alive?”

  “He was when I found him. Burned severely and lost his leg in the blast. I took care of the rest of him.” He killed Ben? “Anton is dead, Rayne. I saw his body.” He put his finger under her chin and raised her head. “He can’t hurt you any more.”

  She lowered her eyes and he stroked her hair as he had often done at the compound.

  “I tracked the Senses to Toronto and to this house. I was watching and waiting until I could get you out
of there but then I saw you at the gate.” He stroked her chin with the pad of his thumb. “Where are you going, Rayne?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Could she trust Roarke? He’d always been kind to her, perceptive to her fears and panic. But he was a GQ who had worked for her husband. He was strong, dangerous and had recruited CWOs for her husband.

  “Come with me,” Roarke said.

  The gate clicked and Roark casually turned around, blocking her with his body.

  A woman came around the corner and Rayne immediately noticed her vivid green eyes and deep skin tone. Her hair was cropped short and in complete disarray with jagged edges and no style. Anton would’ve hated that.

  “She’s not going anywhere with you.” The woman turned to her. “Rayne, I’m Delara, a friend of Kilter’s, and this asshole will be facing a whole mess of trouble if he doesn’t let you go.”

  The last thing Rayne wanted was for anyone to get hurt because of her. Roarke would kill this woman, not only with his immeasurable strength, but with a simple kiss. He was a GQ and could suck the air out of her lungs so fast that she’d have no chance to take another breath.

  Delara and Roarke stared long and hard at one another.

  “Please.” Rayne touched his arm. “Roarke, you have to let me go. There are more of them in the house and . . . Roarke, I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  Roarke glanced back at her. He ran his hand through his hair, eyes locked to hers as he contemplated. Suddenly he stepped aside, unblocking her. She stayed where she was, uncertain what Roarke would do if she moved away. He’d never harmed her before, but she’d heard horror stories from Anton of those Roarke had killed with his ruthless nature. Anton had always controlled him, but now . . . now he was on his own.

  “Want me to kick his ass?” Delara asked.

  Rayne wanted to laugh at the preposterous notion. Roarke did laugh. “Not to worry, Senses. I’m leaving.” Any laughter left his face in a flash. “Harm her and you will have the wrath of many upon your kind.”