Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  “Well, Drew, mission accomplished, and I have to say, well done.” I reach my hand to shake his in a congratulatory gesture, and Drew extends his own in response. Rafe tenses beside me, watching us both carefully.

  Drew’s cool clasp over my warmer Were-blood-infused hand sends my mind racing into the pool of his hidden wants and desires. On the surface of the swirling mass of thoughts, I see a cool blue thread snaking in and around a larger, darker, writhing nest. The cool blue reflects the desire Drew shared with us both earlier. Touching on it, I see his request to join our seethe appears forefront in his mind and it was an honest one. What hides beneath it?

  I stare into his brown eyes while plunging deeper into his private thoughts. I must get to that darkness and unearth it for what it truly is, and propriety won’t get in my way.

  Past the surface desire, I delve further into the nest of twists and turns. Pain reaches back through our connection and grabs my heart like a vise. The crushing strength of anger mixes with grief and hate. Bleak, dark solitude and the loss of a spouse trigger a chain reaction in my own mind.

  Pictures of a beautiful, brown-haired woman overlay a buried memory of my first husband. Her pale, freckled skin appears ripped and torn, so like my Aidan’s. Body parts are scattered in a bloody mess of death and destruction. The shock of seeing this death in Drew’s memories, wrapped around his desires, is like nothing I’ve ever encountered.

  The waste of life and the despair of the moment freeze me in place. I see what he wants above all else. I intimately know the same desire. I have felt it in the past, and the pain I initially experienced in our union is nothing compared to what’s fully inside him.

  A sharp smack reverberates through my body and the brown eyes are ripped from my vision, but my hand still holds Drew’s. A small cry reaches my ears and I feel a wetness course down my cheeks. The pain pulls me in and I know I must let go of his hand, but I can’t.

  Our entire exchange takes place in only a second or two. It ends abruptly when Rafe pushes Drew back from me to break our connection. The force of Rafe’s thrust drives the slight vampire across the room, crashing into a wall. Drew’s back on his feet in a moment and striding back toward us, with his hands held out in supplication.

  “I don’t understand. What happened to her?”

  Strong arms slip down to lift me up from my kneeling position on the rug; the smack I felt must have been my knees hitting the floor.

  Rafe’s voice booms above me. “What did you do to her?”

  Drew stops in his tracks, not coming any closer. “Nothing, I swear. She held my hand.”

  Rafe picks me up as if I weigh no more than a child and cuddles me close to his chest. Whimpering sounds reach my ears again. I think they’re coming from me.

  Rafe slips into my pain-filled mind. What did you see? What is he hiding?

  I speak aloud, my mind a confusing mess of thoughts at the moment. “He desires revenge… He wants to kill the one responsible for murdering his wife.”

  Drew draws in a sharp intake of breath. “What’s she saying? Is she talking about me?”

  Rafe turns to leave the room, still holding me in his arms. Let me get you away from him. Hold on for a few more minutes.

  Drew’s voice follows as Rafe’s powerful strides take us toward the stairs. “What happened to her? Will she be okay?”

  The blood, Rafe. All the blood. So much hate…

  Rafe ignores him and I close my eyes to the blackness and sink into peaceful oblivion.

  The softness of our bed enfolds me as Rafe lowers us both to the mattress. My eyes flutter open and I feel like I’ve gone twenty rounds with Mike Tyson. I’m not so sure I was victorious in the last encounter and the old wounds the experience re-opened have left me raw and shaken.

  “Are you ready to talk yet, Dria?”

  Give me a minute. Can you hold me for now?

  Strong arms wrap tighter around my slender frame and the warmth of his body sinks into my own. Thoughts I hoped long buried are front and center in my mind. My first husband, Aidan, and I were married in our small village in Ireland. We were both sixteen at the time and we had four years together before a horrible monster broke into our home.

  I did not know it had been watching me for weeks while I cared for our farm doing chores. The night the blood-crazed monster came in and tore Aidan limb-from-limb in front of me haunted my every hour for years to come.

  The shock of his death fought side-by-side with the drive to survive. I was preoccupied with both during the years I was held captive in that sick bastard’s seethe.

  “Are you thinking about Mikov again? I see the hate in your mind. It’s glowing red and dark.”

  “Yes, I am. Sorry. Drew’s wife was killed exactly like Aidan and I wasn’t expecting that punch to the gut.”

  “Understandably so. If you had seen that coming I’m sure you wouldn’t have touched him.”

  My head hurts, like one of the migraines from my time as a human. Only this one is brought on by the flood of pain and anguish rekindled in my mind, not from constricting blood vessels in my brain. I snuggle deeper into my mate’s thick-muscled chest, pressing my face in. “Mmm… ”

  I don’t really want to talk about what happened, but I’m betting Rafe won’t let this go. Most guys hate to talk about feelings. While I wouldn’t say Rafe loves to, he won’t back down from a task just because it’s an unpleasant one. “Mikov is dead, dear. You saw to that long ago. That bastard and his followers deserved everything you did and then some.”

  I let my silence be my answer of agreement. We’ve gone over most of my past numerous times. I’d rather shunt the pain away, deep in my brain. I nuzzle Rafe’s neck. The smell of his blood coursing below the surface of his flesh reminds me of love and power wrapped up in one. My tongue snakes out to lick the side of his throat, right below his chin.

  Distraction can be the best form of coping, also called denial, and Rafe’s usually easy to convince. But it’s not working this time, though. His hand travels up and down my back in a soothing manner but my warm, wet attentions are doing nothing to dissuade him from this conversation. “No chance any of them survived to keep recruiting new vampires as they did with you, is there?”

  My head whips up from my comfortable spot. “No! Why would you even suggest that? Of course I killed every last one of them. Unfortunately, revenge is never the reward one hopes it to be.”

  “It never is.” Rafe’s quiet for a second and I know he’s recalling his own battle with seeking revenge for the death of his wife and baby daughter. Neither of us is unfamiliar with extreme violence in our past.

  “But,” he continues, “killing them gained your freedom and that’s more important than the rest. It still begs to question though. Is it a coincidence that Drew’s wife was killed like Aidan?”

  The fog clears from my mind and now he has my full attention.

  “What are you saying, Rafe? There could be a connection between me and Drew?”

  “I’m not sure. I know it sounds odd. We’re talking centuries later, but who else except someone from the supernatural community would have the strength to rip a person apart?”

  “Drew’s a vampire and we do make enemies along the course of our long undead lives. He could have pissed someone off and they decided to hurt him good.”

  “Did you get a view of his wife in his thoughts?”

  “Yes, but it was quick. Why?” I shudder as I try to push the memory away again.

  “Did you recognize her?”

  “Sorry, but I wasn’t really thinking about her at the time.”

  “Yeah, okay, I see that. If anything comes to you later, tell me.”

  I’m drifting into a calmer state, trying not to let my mind touch on those horrid images again. Sifting through the blood and limbs to find her face does not seem worthwhile right now on top of how much my head hurts.

  Think I’ll try again for distraction. Can you help me undress? I want the warmth of your skin
against my own.

  Rafe sits up without speaking and complies, removing my clothes. His eyes are soft as they linger on my face. I feel him probing gently into my mind to gauge the amount of pain I’m in.

  My boots land on the floor next to the bed with a solid thump, and Rafe encourages me to sit up to work off my jacket. The air hitting my skin helps clear my head and the corset isn’t so tight that I feel confined anymore. The stays must have loosened over the course of the evening.

  Rafe’s warm hand touches the strip of flesh exposed over the top of the leather pants and his fingers open the top button before lowering the zipper. “These things are snug,” he says tenderly. “Lay back and lift your hips for me.”

  I do as he asks; relaxing into the touch of his hands supporting my body as he slowly removes my leather pants. My black thong peeks out in sharp contrast to my snowy white skin. The pants soon meet the fate of the boots on the floor and I roll onto my side, toward the middle of the bed. You’re going to join me and take off some of those clothes, right?

  Rafe stands and removes his things in record time, piling them in a heap by the chair with a casual toss. Before I know it, he’s back in the bed and facing me, reaching to slip the covers over us before pulling me close. My head nestles in the crook of his neck again, filling my nose with the scent of him and nothing else.

  He’s all that matters in the big scheme of things. Only him.

  How is your head, my love? You feeling better? His inner voice sounds soft and tender, like his heart.

  Yes, I answer. It’s not thumping as much anymore.

  I know the best thing to get the pain firmly shoved into its tight little box in my mind, and it’s not blood. I reach my arm up to run my hand slowly down his slightly furry chest. I rest my hand on his stomach, above the top of his boxer briefs and wait.

  His breathing speeds and his heart beats faster. He senses where I’m going but wants me to take the lead, so he’ll be certain it’s what I want.

  Rafe, how can you doubt whether or not I’ll want you?

  Because you’ve had a horrible shock and I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.

  When is feeling my lover’s touch wrong?

  His response is to pull me away from his neck and kiss me deeply. My hand slips below the band of his briefs and his hot arousal greets my eager fingers. His touch moves from my head and he lifts his hips to wiggle his last clothing down with my assistance. When he lowers to the mattress, I lift my right leg to place it around his hip.

  His warm hand rests on my thigh and he presses forward until the hard heat of his crown meets the small scrap of fabric covering my opening. He reaches around and pulls the thong away from between my cheeks to gain entry.

  Tonight, on this night of pain and dark memories, I require no foreplay. I’m ready and wet and want only to be filled by him to drive everything else from my mind. As his thickness presses forward to claim, a sense of rightness flows through me. Blissfully, all other thoughts stop to experience the joy of our union as I let myself go in this moment.

  I reach out and send one last impression, before the passion overcomes us.

  All I ever need is you… forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I could spend endless hours drinking in the sight of this strong, breathtaking man. I enjoy watching him sleep; his sheer, masculine beauty never ceases to amaze me. The hard, sculpted planes of his chest, the soft, sparse hairs, and the vibrant call of his blood beneath taut, golden skin. I still marvel at the fact this delectable man is mine. I don’t need him any more than he needs me. But I want him.

  Love is a choice, and I choose to love every day. The day I knew that, and that the choice was always mine, was the day I became a strong independent person.

  When the same clarity happened for Rafe is anyone’s guess. At times, I almost think he was lucky enough to be born with an understanding of the universe’s greatest mysteries.

  Four a.m. rolls around and I rise from our bed, deciding to cleanse my body of the emotional trauma of last night through yoga. Rafe has been a master yogi for years, thanks to the teachings of his mother and father. His parents lived in India, and his father, Claude, studied under a master for a decade. At the turn of the twentieth century, only men were allowed to practice yoga. Claude taught his wife, Olga, in secret all he learned. One hundred years has changed the face of the ancient practice irrevocably.

  I change into a pair of black pants with a matching top, and venture to the hotel’s real gym located on the first floor in the north wing. This one looks entirely different than the sex gym Antonio used last night on the third floor. Passing no guests, I’m grateful for the slight respite in hostess duties. I’m not up to being cheery and smiley yet. I nod to Miranda at the front desk and she waves a pink slip of paper.

  “A call came in for you from New York before two a.m. It was Cy.”

  “Why didn’t you alert me?”

  Miranda’s eyes get big. I’m guessing my tone was a little harsh. “Rafe told me last night, when he was carrying you to your suite, that we should not bother either of you unless it was an extreme emergency.”

  In an instant, my guilt flourishes and if I still had the ability to blush with bright pink cheeks, I’m sure she’d see it. “I’m sorry, of course that was the right thing to do. I certainly was in no state to argue.”

  Real concern colors her voice as she asks, “Do you mind if I ask what happened? I was worried when I saw you earlier.”

  Crap! I hadn’t anticipated this scene when I got my happy little ass out of bed a few minutes ago. My brain scrambles fast and I’m desperate to think of some type of valid excuse. “I… er… I think I had some…” I lock gazes with her and push her a bit to believe my next words, “blood that had gone bad. That special old vampire blood we serve in drinks at the bar? One in the last batch didn’t agree with me.” I let up on imposing my will over hers and finish with, “I felt better after lying down.”

  Her tone is light as she responds. “Well, good, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better.”

  She hands me the phone message and I walk down the hall to the gym. It’s a good thing she didn’t disturb us with the call. I’d hate for Cy to worry more and I’m sure he’d have heard the tension in Rafe’s voice.

  Damn, he’d probably send additional young vampires and I really don’t want that. They annoy the hell out of me, wanting more old blood than I’m comfortable giving the whippersnappers.

  I’m not up to calling him back yet. I’d rather wait until I’m steadier before learning whatever information he found. Either way, it’s morning in New York and Cali would be the one I’d speak with.

  Switching on the lights to the vast machine-filled room, I lower the wattage via the dimmer to a more subdued glow. My head no longer pounds like it did, but I prefer the softer light when I want to relax. Mediation has never come easily for me and I need all the help I can get.

  I walk across the vast room, passing free-weights and stand-alone equipment. Rafe enjoys this space and I usually find him in here five to six days a week, even if for only thirty minutes at a stretch. I grab one of my favorite sticky mats from a pile by the wall, placing it near the windows overlooking the same hot tub grotto view we enjoy from our suite. The exercise area fits about six yoga practitioners easily, but we never have more than three or four.

  The windows are dark, and the glow from the subtle rope lighting around the pergolas appears faint. The bright landscaping lights, aimed toward the windows to simulate daylight, are off at this time of morning in imitation of the early pre-dawn hour. We’ve found the fake day helps the companions to stay on a sleep schedule and provides the giddy vampires staying up around the clock with a reference for when they look at their watches.

  Working my way slowly through ten sun salutations, I monitor my form for exact alignment. The movements focus my mind on the day ahead. The facts of yesterday tumble through my head and each pose helps to solidify the information we hav
e.

  I push into my last downward dog and my heels connect solidly with the mat as my hips aim for the far wall.

  Originally, I thought a vampire would not have committed the murder, but who else here could have a motive? None of the companions or servants have been reported missing and I’d know if any of the employees did it. There’s a benefit to them sharing my blood. The link may be tenuous, but it’s there, and I would know.

  I look up between my widespread palms, jump my feet forward to my hands and straighten my legs ‘til I’m in a deep forward bend.

  Okay then, I’ve made some progress—the killer is a vampire. I think.

  I place my thumbs in my hip crease, and root down with my energy as I straighten from the waist. My arms swing out and my palms twist to face each other as I reach for the ceiling.

  Jon scented some unknown vamp on the grounds. A fact that helps solidify my current belief that the killer must be a vampire—one who’s not a guest. What non-native human could come to this resort and be able to survive outside of a building for longer than a few hours? It took Castner’s Cutthroats to save over two thousand ill-prepared soldiers in the Aleutian Islands during World War II. Our modern-day murderer, if human, would need a ton of equipment to live and I’m sure Jon’s half-wolves would have tracked any trespassers down by now.

  I lower my hands together in a prayer position before my heart. Deep breath in.

  What else stood out as odd?

  The fact the vampire did not drain the victim when killing. What kind of undead would do that? All I think of is one who was seriously pissed off, crazy, or both.

  I let the air out of my lungs.

  Hmm… something else is niggling the back of my brain.

  A quiet peace seeps into me as I bow my head forward in a moment of silence. I reflect upon the words Olga sometimes repeated at the end of our sessions together:

  I honor that place in you

  where the entire universe resides.

  I honor that place in you