The Beholder

by Connie Hall

  Cautiously, she made her way down, her footsteps loud in the immense silence. The space was something to behold. She’d only seen one other to rival it, and that was in the Biltmore Estate. She had visited the North Carolina tourist attraction one summer with her grandmother and sisters. The Vanderbilts had nothing on the Van Cleaves.

  The floor was solid white marble. In the center three steps led down to a monumental fountain. It gurgled and spewed water from the mouths of four full-size lions. A small rain forest of potted ferns and palm trees and flowers was nestled strategically around the base. Embedded lights shined up through the fronds and cast eerie shadows around the fountain. Over it all stood a black wrought-iron gazebo.

  She counted four huge cathedral-type doors, spaced equally apart on the points of a compass, each leading off from the grand entrance. They were all closed. Kane Van Cleave could be behind any one of them, in beast mode, those predatory eyes waiting for her.

  The hairs at the back of her neck prickled, every nerve in her body screaming at her to choose correctly if she wanted to get out of here. She took a chance on the nearest door.

  She tugged on the massive thing. The hinges creaked like dry, brittle bones. The sound drowned out the steady gurgle of the fountain and sounded like gun blasts. She cringed and slipped inside.

  Humidity and warmth hit her right away and felt wonderful to her chapped skin. She was in a conservatory. There had to be a door for the gardener to get inside. Maybe she’d chosen the right way after all.

  The scent of lush earth, moss and growing things filled the air. All she could see were green leaves and orchids of every variety. A waterfall babbled and trickled somewhere within the tropical forest of leaves, but she couldn’t see it. It was too dark, and there were only dim solar lights along the pathway. The beauty had to be stunning in daylight—if you weren’t being held prisoner in it, she thought dolefully.

  She passed a sphinx statue covered in moss, then spied the glass door that led to the outside. Finally, salvation. Freedom. She could taste it and feel it. She headed down the narrow brick walk, carefully picking her way through the shadows.

  A low, rumbling growl sounded behind her. It prickled the skin on the back of her neck.

  Then something grabbed her from behind, and she screamed.

  Chapter 5

  Nina’s back plowed into a muscle-bound brick wall.

  A massive arm clamped around her rib cage. The other hand gripped her neck in such way that if she moved her attacker could snap her neck. Long, powerful fingers pressed into her windpipe, while scalding breath singed the side of her neck and cheek. But the thing that made her dizzy and ripped through her mind like a machete was the sensation of Kane Van Cleave’s inner beast.

  “I can smell your fear.” His deep voice was a husky growl in her ear; then he bent closer and sniffed her.

  “Guess you like the scent. That why you take innocent victims?” she managed to ask, though a maelstrom of sensations bombarded her, sending her mind reeling in all directions. His face was a hair’s breadth away from her, and she felt his thick beard stubble prickling her cheek. Each of his hot breaths sent warning goose bumps down her spine.

  “My victims, as you call them, never live long enough for me to enjoy their panic.”

  Her breath quickened, partly from her growing terror and partly from his emotions darting into her thoughts, the onslaught too intense even for her seasoned mind. Loneliness, sorrow, self-condemnation, rage inundated her. She absorbed the depth of his physical pain, the wound in his shoulder and arm he tried to ignore when he moved. But worst of all was the aggressive and unpredictable stirrings of his predatory side, screaming at her from within his body, a force stronger and more visceral than his human emotions. She recalled the bloodshed and carnage she’d witnessed between his beast and the gleaner, and she knew Kane Van Cleave was capable of much more brutality than she could ever imagine. A shiver shook her even as the tidal wave of impressions banged against her mind, sucking her under. She felt disoriented, and her knees buckled.

  He shook her a little and said, “Don’t faint on me.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to let him think she was a simpering Cindy that had passed out from fear. The weak damsel-in-distress routine could give her an edge. She let her head fall forward and go limp. He used the hand around her neck to grab her beneath the arms.

  She summoned the last of her will and strength to twist and grab his arm with both hands.

  “I demand you sleep,” she ordered.

  He continued to hold her.

  Why didn’t he drop? “Sleep!” she shrieked, summoning all her mental powers.

  “I’m not in the least tired.”

  Why did he sound so smug? Why wasn’t her magic working on him? Something wasn’t right here.

  “Any more tricks and demands?” He easily pinned her wrists at her sides. His burly arms were hot iron bands, one above her solar plexus, one across the top of her chest. If he exerted a little more pressure, he could break every one of her ribs.

  She found it hard to breathe. She’d never felt so frantic, or trapped, or afraid of any creature in her life as she did of this shifter. She had devoted her whole life to her calling, communicating with any and all creatures, priding herself on being able to control shifters and their inner beings long enough to help them. But she’d never had her powers flunk out on her. And why now, when she was up against an alpha seniph and the discontented and angry beast inside of him? And if she lived through this, which she doubted at the moment, she hoped to never meet another one. She’d never felt so defenseless. Some situations in life could be humbling. She considered herself thoroughly humbled and at this seniph’s mercy—if he had any. Hear that, Koda! Okay, you were right. I shouldn’t have gone in that café. She hoped admitting he was right might go a long way in soothing his ego. Yes, spirit guides had egos, big ones.

  “Your power in those little hands of yours, Miss Rainwater? It won’t help you.” Something in his voice sounded like he enjoyed her struggles, took pleasure in toying with her as a cat did with its victims before the kill. “What else can you do with those hands, hmm?”

  “Evidently nothing at the moment,” she said, still feeling her mind connection to him, ripping through her thoughts.

  He grunted in agreement at that observation, and it seemed to pander to his male ego. “I’m glad you see it my way.” He forced her arms behind her and bound them with a rope. “Maybe you’ll stay tied this time.”

  She felt the rough hemp biting into her wrists and managed to gasp, “Okay, tie me up. I don’t care. Just keep your hands off of me.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  His disdainful tone cut her to the quick. Not that she was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome or attracted to this guy in any way, shape or form, but she’d always felt unattractive to men. And his rebuff just confirmed her innermost perceptions.

  He quickly shoved her away.

  She stumbled a step as immediate quiet settled in her mind. Her heart slowed. The normal rhythm of her own thoughts fell back in place. She locked stares with him.

  He was a towering shadow above her, long hair flowing wildly about his shoulders, his breath heaving, fists gripped tightly at his sides. He looked ready to attack, as if the beast would emerge any second. He raised one long finger and shook it at her nose. “A warning. If you try to leave again, I won’t be as accommodating next time.”

  “Why are you keeping me here? What have I done to you?” She stepped back from him.

  His arm snaked out and grabbed her shoulder, bringing her up short. “Don’t move, unless I tell you.”

  “Okay.” She couldn’t see his expression clearly in the darkness, but his resignation and detachment and iciness railroaded through her mind.

  “Please, let go.” She shrugged off his touch.

  He dropped his hand and stepped back from her. “Do what I tell you, and you needn’t worry about me getting close to you again.”

 
“Fine.”

  “Turn around, and get moving.” He pointed at the doors she had come through only moments ago.

  She walked that way, feeling tropical leaves brushing her face and body. She scanned the conservatory for an escape route and felt him so close behind her the tips of his boots almost touched her heels. He’d definitely carry through with his threat, and this time he could lose the tenuous rein he had on his beast. She’d have to bide her time, if she had any to bide. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “To a more secluded spot. I’d hoped to keep you here for a while until I’d had time to decide what to do with you, but you’ve proven that’s impossible.”

  “Please, I won’t try to escape again.”

  “Right, and if you’re selling bridges, I’ll buy one.”

  “Okay, so I lied. Please let me go.”

  “No.”

  So much for reasoning with him. He’d kill her for sure. Fear edged a line down each one of her vertebrae. But it didn’t stop her from asking, “Why didn’t you kill the gleaner when you had the chance?” Now that she thought about it, he had shown a surprising control over his beast in that moment that she had to admire. Still, she wished he had ended the gleaner problem.

  “That’s none of your business,” he grumbled.

  “I’m sure your pride wanted the gleaner destroyed. You guys risk exposure otherwise.”

  “Be quiet. You talk too much.”

  Nina clamped her mouth shut. She was certain Kane Van Cleave was harboring a gleaner. But why? This gleaner had to be stopped. If she got away, she’d find it and destroy it herself. But first she had to escape a more immediate threat: Kane Van Cleave.

  Kane forced Nina to go out the servants’ entrance and into the garage. He flicked on the garage light and herded her down an aisle past antique Porsches and Bentleys and Rolls-Royces.

  He couldn’t help but watch the sway of her coal-black hair that cascaded down her back. Blue highlights danced along the straight strands that almost touched her bottom, which was hidden by a bulky sweater and baggy corduroy pants. He decided he liked it down better than the tight bun she’d worn the first time he’d seen her. She was way too petite for his taste, her head hardly reaching his chest. Her hair was by far her most attractive feature.

  “Jeez, these all your cars?” She gazed at the 1932 Rolls.

  “My father’s.”

  “Does your father know you kidnap women?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh, sorry. What happened?”

  “You’re asking too many questions again.”

  “Is it a crime to be curious?”

  “No, but it might get you in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  His dark warning must have worked, because she clammed up.

  When they reached his Jeep, Kane opened the door for her. “Get in, Nina.”

  “Wait a minute,” she blurted, pausing to look up at him. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know a lot about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “That you ask too many questions.”

  “Hah, what else do you know about me?” Her brows narrowed, and her lips hardened with suspicion.

  “I know you’re a pet psychic.”

  “That’s just my line of work—wait a minute. How do you know all this?” Her brow furrowed, her blue eyes sharpening.

  “I searched your purse.”

  “Where is it?” She looked anxiously up at him.

  He took pleasure in nodding and saying, “I burned it.”

  “That was a gift!”

  “A gag, right?”

  “It wasn’t. A client gave it to me,” she retorted. “And I happened to like it.” Her full lips puckered in thought, then her jaw dropped a little. “Good grief! My business cards were in there—those things are expensive—and my wallet. Tell me you took that out?”

  He shook his head and recalled watching the smiley face turn to ash. He hadn’t felt that much pleasure in a long time.

  “There goes my Social Security card and driver’s license. Do you know how hard it is getting a driver’s license now that they’ve cracked down with Homeland Security? You have to stand in line at DMV for hours. You burned them both? How could you?” She was so irritated now, words tumbled from her mouth like bullets from a loaded Glock.

  He was getting a taste of Nina Rainwater’s fighting spirit, and he was enjoying it. He sensed she was not the type easily riled, but once there the rhetorical questions alone could fill a man full of holes. He found himself wondering what it took to vex her in bed as he bodily picked her up and set her down in the seat.

  “Wait! Stop! You can’t do this!”

  He slammed the door on her tirade and locked it. He had few pleasurable moments in his life, but this ranked right up at the top of the list. He walked around the Jeep and sat in the driver’s seat. He saw her eyes widen and shoot blue stardust at him, and his mood plummeted about three flights.

  She fought the ropes as if she wanted to strike him and said, “I bet you stood there, enjoying every minute of it. You did, I can tell. You’re a sadist, a—” she searched for a derogatory moniker “—brute. That’s what you are. Pure and simple. You’re terrible—as if you didn’t know that already. What made you burn them?” Her forehead

  wrinkled in realization; then she said, “Oh, I get it. You hoped to dispose of them like you’re going to do with me. That it?”

  “Pretty much,” he said, starting the Jeep.

  “You could have given them to charity. And what about my car?”

  “I did you a favor and burned that, too.” He’d hidden the Taurus in the woods to escape detection, but he hadn’t done away with it completely yet. He didn’t know why, since he could never release her now.

  “You could have given it to someone in need.”

  He saw her force back the tears, but one escaped down her cheek. A sudden pang of guilt stabbed him, and he hated it. This pureness and innocence had to be an act, surely. It seemed genuine, and he was responding to it.

  At his close scrutiny, she grew suddenly self-conscious. She flopped on her right shoulder, laid her head against the window and stared out the glass, making a show of ignoring him.

  Good. At least they understood each other now, and she knew what to expect. He opened the garage door with the remote and the Jeep lurched out into the snow. He felt her silence alive and stabbing him. Or was that his wounds? He frowned, his mood quickly darkening.

  The Jeep slid in the snow, and not for the first time. Kane struggled to keep it from slipping off the road. The pain in his shoulder and arm was throbbing now. He could feel the gauze bandages he’d dressed the wounds with soaked with blood that leaked through his shirt. He had wanted more time to take care of the injuries, but he had sensed Nina prowling through his house. Damn her, anyway.

  He glanced over at her. She sat huddled on the right side of the seat, lying on one shoulder with her bound hands behind her, her back to him, pretending to sleep. Her thick coal-black hair covered her back. Was it as soft as it looked? He caught his hand as he reached to touch it. He forced his fingers back on the steering wheel and his attention back on driving. What was wrong with him?

  He knew exactly what the problem was: her fey scent was sheer torment inside the closed spaces of the Jeep. The more he tried to get away from it, the more it overwhelmed his senses. It was a heady female mixture of salt, perspiration and a hint of soap all bound up within her unique, incredible pulsing aroma. He wanted to be wrapped in the smell, bathed in it, engulfed by it.

  And there was no escaping her womanliness. It unmanned him more than any female he’d ever come in contact with. After the tragic death of his wife, Daphne, he’d made a point of avoiding the opposite sex, even prided himself on his state of celibacy. But that was before Nina Rainwater became his number-one nuisance.

  What was it about her that made him feel so outside of himself, like he was struggling for control? And there wasn
’t anything physically special about Nina Rainwater. She wasn’t like the human women whom he’d been attracted to in the past. She wore clothes too big for her, layers of them, wasn’t tall and seemed all too fragile—except when she tried to use her mojo on him. Well, that had been a bust, or a ploy to throw him off. She might not be as helpless as she seemed. After all, she had untied herself somehow. No, he was certain the all-consuming attraction he felt around her had something to do with the spell she cast. How she did it, he hadn’t yet figured out. But he would.

  It irritated him that she had ignored him since they’d left the house and he’d had to put up with her silence hammering him. For some reason, he wanted her attention—no, needed it. It must be the magic that leaked from her. He glanced over at her again and noticed her shivering.

  He remembered destroying her coat and said, “You always this cold natured? You have on two layers of winter underwear and your clothes.” He was just the opposite, overheated. Cold didn’t bother him, but she did.

  “I’m always freezing—wait a minute. How’d you know how many layers of underwear I have on?” She sounded as incensed and prim as an old maid. She wouldn’t turn to face him, either.

  “Don’t worry, I draw the line at raping unconscious women.”

  “But burning their personal items, tying them up and keeping them against their will is okay?” She huffed dubiously under her breath and continued to stare out the window and shiver.

  “Believe me, I’d let you go in a heartbeat if I could.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Who are you protecting? That gleaner you let live?”

  “Why did you come here?” His voice dropped to a growl. He felt the motor vibration as his fingers tightened around the wheel.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.” A razor stubbornness edged her voice.

  “Who knows you’re here?”

  She hesitated, appeared uncertain, then reached a decision and said, “Okay, if you must know, my grandmother and sister. I’m sure they’ve sent out the troops to find me.”