Rory shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the weight of Belle’s gaze. She’d essentially grounded her from driving Bee without a doctor’s clearance. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.”
Her employer’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Good. Candy, if anyone needs me, you all have my mobile number. Try and stay out of trouble while we’re gone.”
“We’ll be good,” Candy promised.
Taking her mug of coffee with her, Belle left them to go and get dressed. Rory helped her friend clean up, washing the dishes and cutlery before putting them away.
“Well, I’m heading back to bed.” Candy yawned. “I’ll see you this evening.”
With nothing else to do, Rory returned to her room, changed into street clothes, and pulled on a pair of sneakers.
Madam Belle met her at the top of the stairs. Rory felt underdressed in her jeans and t-shirt. The other woman was wearing a stylish blue dress. With a pair of dark glasses perched on the end of her nose, she looked like a film star.
Checking the time on her phone, her employer clucked her tongue. “Come along. I don’t like being late for appointments.”
A thirty-minute drive later, they pulled into the entrance of a large, gated estate bordered by multi-million dollar houses. Glimpsed from the road, Dr. Richard Steele’s sprawling Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired home was a private haven amidst upscale suburban sprawl.
Belle entered the passcode he’d provided and drove up the paved circle drive, parking near the separate side entrance to his home office.
Even in November, it was too warm to sit in the car. Belle accompanied her inside and took a seat in the waiting room. Dr. Steele’s receptionist greeted Rory and handed her a clipboard of forms. It was so weird being called by her legal name. Belle knew it, of course. She signed her paychecks. But to the rest of the world—and Quake—she was Magenta.
Handing back the completed forms with signed releases, insurance information, and medical history, Rory’s inner maned wolf started sniffing. If she didn’t know better, the receptionist was a shifter. A feline of some kind, she guessed, otherwise her maned wolf wouldn’t be half as interested.
It loved a good chase now and then.
Kendra—her nametag read—smiled brightly. “Dr. Steele will see you now. Follow me, please.”
A short hall led to his office door. Kendra rapped on it and announced his new patient.
“Come in,” he intoned, his voice a rich baritone that struck the right chords for someone in need of support or guidance.
Kendra opened the door, letting Rory follow her in. She set the folder on the doctor’s desk and turned to leave, letting Rory get her first good look at the psychiatrist.
“Papa Rick?” she whispered. “Oh, my god.”
Dr. Richard Steele—Papa Rick when he visited The Pole Barn—was just as surprised to see her. A poster boy for tall, dark, and handsome, he had the most remarkable blue agate eyes, animal magnetism in spades, and a secret spanking fetish. “Magenta?”
She felt a wave of vertigo hit her. Reaching for the nearest chair, she sank into it, weaving in her seat like a drunken sailor. “Dizzy spell,” she explained. “I’ve been having them since I was rescued. I don’t know if Madam Belle told you, but it’s been a rough past few days.”
“Christ.” Muttered under his breath, the single word spoke volumes. He knew more than she’d realized, but he didn’t know everything.
No one did.
A shudder wracked her frame, and tears stung her eyes. Closing them, she slapped her fingers over her eyelids and pressed, trying to stem the tide but unable to stop the single tear that escaped to track down her cheek.
Dr. Steele punched a button on his phone. “Kendra, reschedule my next appointment, please. And let Ms. Fleur know that we may be a while.”
Rory’s hackles were raised. Surely he wasn’t going to expect her to fuck him as part of her therapy session.
“You have vertigo, young lady,” he said firmly, reading the look on her face and her body language. “I’m going to get you a glass of water and check your blood sugar. We need to find out what’s going on.”
Dr. Steele rose from behind his desk, unfolding his frame to stand at his imposing six-feet, five-inch height. She’d never been afraid of him at The Pole Barn. She shouldn’t be now. But she was on edge from her experience. Wary of men in general, even ones she’d never had reason to mistrust. Her hackles raised, her inner maned wolf sensing a threat.
Black spots danced before her eyes, affecting her vision, making it look as if her forearms darkened and her claws came out. She gripped the arms of her chair, trying to steady herself as another wave hit her.
The last thing she remembered was a slow-motion slide to the floor.
16
“Hey.”
Rory cracked open her eyes and tried to rub them . . . only to find her hands and feet were bound to the king-sized bed she was lying on.
“What the fuck?” Blinking her eyes to clear her vision, she glared at the psychiatrist she’d mistakenly placed her trust in. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Dr. Steele stayed where he was, deeming it safer to deal with her from a distance. “Calm down, Miss Lockheart, or you might trigger another episode.”
“Episode?” she spat. “Is that what you call it when someone objects to bondage against their will?”
“No,” he said smoothly. “It’s what I call a traumatized woman who starts shifting uncontrollably and attacks me, her boss, and my receptionist.”
What?
Rory stared at him. She wanted to call him a liar, but he was dead serious. According to him, she had transformed into her animal form and didn’t remember doing so. She’d attacked people. Why? How?
“It was either restrain you or drug you,” he explained. “I chose restraints. Although drugs would have been easier.” Reaching into a waste bin, he pulled out the remnants of a bloodied, shredded shirt and offered a bemused grin. “Either way, my suit and shirt were already ruined.”
Rory’s gaze followed his hand. “Oh, my God. I did that?”
Dr. Steele nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m already healing.”
He was already healing. He wasn’t freaking out about what he’d seen, and he’d been able to overpower her wolf.
Well, fuck. As long as she’d known him, she’d been missing the obvious. “You’re a shifter.” Raising her eyes, she met his watchful gaze.
“Yes,” he confirmed softly. “I don’t know what triggered you but we will get to the bottom of it together. You’ve been through a very traumatic event.”
That was an understatement. They’d fucked up her mind when they’d fucked up her body. Her head was a mess right now. “Where am I?” Rory questioned, anxiety tightening her chest.
“A spare bedroom. My office is part of my home but you’re the first patient to see where I live. You’re safe,” he assured her. “It was the only place where I could make you comfortable and monitor your condition.”
“I’d like to get up.” Twisting her wrists, she tested the strength of his restraints.
Giving her a long, considering look, Dr. Steele moved to the end of the bed and removed her ankle cuffs. “Let’s take things slowly. If you feel strange or unwell, you must tell me immediately.”
“Sure, Doc,” Rory agreed happily when he set her wrists free.
“Richard,” he corrected. “May I call you Rory? It will make things a little less formal, and I suspect it will help you relax around me.”
“Okay.” Sitting up, she rubbed her wrists. “Tell me. Did I hurt anyone else?”
He must have noted the worry in her tone because he smiled. “No, you just gave us a scare, that’s all.”
“Was it a full shift?” Rory questioned, desperate to know what she could not remember.
“No, you were in transition between human and animal form. Fur and claws but still bipedal. Stunning, actually. You’re a rare breed.”
Heat scorched her cheeks in a blus
h. She scooted her legs to the edge of the bed. “How long have I been out?”
She looked for a clock but saw nothing that could give her an answer.
“About an hour,” he told her. “You lost consciousness when I finally pinned you down.”
An hour.
Christ.
She curled her fingers into the softness of the blanket beneath her and met his assessing gaze. “Will . . . will it happen again?”
His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were kind. “That I can’t answer. It could have been triggered by stress. We’ll need to work on it in our sessions. Identify triggers and work to desensitize them.”
Rory released a long, harsh breath. She’d never envisioned herself having therapy and now here she was. Fuck Phantom and Khan and the Death’s Heads for what they’d done to her. She would beat this and take back her life.
“I’m going to give you my private number,” Richard told her quietly. “You can reach me on it day or night, any time you need me.”
“Do you do that for all your clients?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
His lips tipped in a half-smile. “No. Just special cases. I know you’re scared, Rory, but you aren’t alone. Talking can help. Working through things. I know that doesn’t sound like much right now after what happened to you, but please give it a shot.”
“Alright,” she agreed, feeling tired. Overwhelmed. The cauldron of emotions inside her threatened to spill over.
“If you’re okay to continue, we can start the session that was scheduled for today.”
Rory wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she nodded anyway. “I’m good.”
Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his trousers, Dr. Steele made a quick call. “Kendra, cancel the rest of my appointments for today, please. Thank you.”
He angled his head. “I sent Belle home. Not knowing what we were dealing with, I was guessing hours, possibly days. I’ve seen both. You snapped out of it quicker than most. You’re a strong woman, Rory. Stronger than you know.”
“I don’t feel strong right now,” she confessed. “I feel . . . scattered. Fractured. Like one more blow will break me into pieces I might never be able to put back—and even if I did, I’d never be the same. Mended but still broken.”
Dr. Steele nodded sagely and eyed the restraints. “Why don’t we go back to my office?” he suggested. “Do a proper session in professional surroundings. I need you to be completely comfortable with me. Being in a strange bed with bondage toys doesn’t seem conducive to that.”
He was right, of course. This bedroom was already charged with unhealthy energy that she needed to neutralize. “Alright,” she agreed, accepting her purse that he handed her. “Lead the way.”
Two hours later, Rory came out of a hypnotherapy session feeling calm, relaxed, and certain that she’d filled his ears, judging from the number of pages with notes and the serious expression on his face. Worse was the look of pity she saw before he hid it.
“I survived,” she reminded him. “But I need to know what’s causing my vertigo and what triggered my shift. I can’t work unless I know I’m in control. We have human clientele at The Pole Barn. They don’t know that we’re shifters. Madam Belle has the magick to help hide the obvious but it’s only when we’re in human form. Is it stress, do you think? Or the drugs that they gave me? Do I need to take something else for it? Got any magick up your sleeve, Dr. Steele?”
She’d seen his forearms, corded muscle and vein-roped, hair-dusted skin, sleeves rolled up as a prelude to a spanking, using his hand or his belt.
“Richard,” he reminded her. “I think the two of us are past Dr. Steele and Miss Lockheart.”
“Richard,” she repeated, feeling chastised. “Belle was worried about me driving. The dizzy spells. Do you think it’s safe, or do I need to wait a while?”
“I’d prefer no driving until we’ve ruled out some things. There are a number of causes for vertigo. Some of them can be helped with medication. Others—like those with a viral component—need to run their course. I’m recommending blood work, rest, and relaxation in a tranquil environment. No driving until you’ve gone a full day without an episode, and even then I’d recommend taking it easy. Limit yourself to short trips and pay attention to your body. Pull over at the first sign that something is wrong. Meanwhile, Belle should be here soon. I texted her when we were close to wrapping up the session.”
She arched an inquisitive brow. “How did you know I was almost done?”
His cheeks colored a bit. “Because your story was linear, starting from when you were taken to now. When you began describing the Hell’s Fury clubhouse, I figured it was safe to call her. You were already well into the aftermath, yes?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “I don’t normally kiss and tell,” she promised him.
“I know,” he said softly, “and whatever is said here will remain between us. How are you feeling?”
“Better. A bit drained,” she decided. “I’ll probably take a nap when I get back.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”
The only way he’d know that was if she’d told him about Quake.
Jesus.
She wasn’t certain if she would ever agree to hypnosis again if she was going to be spilling all of her secrets, not just the ones that could account for her triggers.
Rory didn’t have time to fret about it. The doorbell sounded. Richard glanced at a monitor on his desk. “Belle’s here. Are you good to walk?”
Rory was stiff but she managed to shoulder her purse, exit his office, and make her way to the exterior door.
Richard opened it to let Madame Belle inside. “I’d like to see you tomorrow,” he said, looking at her but speaking to her boss just as much. “The same time, if you can get a ride.”
“She can,” the Fae answered. “I’ll bring her myself. Just text me the code and I’ll have her here.”
Rory felt like a truant child in need of supervision but there was no help for it. She was under doctor’s orders to not drive until she was episode-free for twenty-four hours and tomorrow’s appointment time would fall short of that.
Exhaling sharply, she pulled up her big girl panties and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything, Dr. Steele.”
Calling him Richard in front of Belle would have raised penciled-on eyebrows.
She followed Belle out to her car, a vintage model like Elvis had driven, and settled into the passenger seat, buckling up for the ride. Belle took off like a bat from hell, flying low, ignoring the speed limits to get back in time to open.
“Amos knows I might be late,” she chirped, “but I want to get you settled before I go in.’
Rory sighed. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble. And so . . . , so sorry for going feral on you. We still don’t know what happened.”
Belle clucked like a mother hen. “I’ve seen worse. Trust me.” Hoping to distract her, she turned on the radio and fiddled with the knob, trying to find a station to listen to. Flicking glances between the radio and the road ahead of her, she didn’t notice trouble in the rearview mirror until it was upon them.
“Fuck,” she grated. “Death’s Head jackals. Six o’clock.”
Flooring it, Belle tried to put distance between them. One tire exploded when it was shot, threatening to send the car out of control. Rory saw black spots in her vision. Her forearms darkened. Her hands became paws and her nails became claws.
The car came to a shuddering stop. Belle started chanting, conjuring up something, but not soon enough to stop the jackals from breaking out both front windows and ripping open their doors.
“Bitch,” someone called her.
Rory’s mind went red with rage. Her vision narrowed to a long, dark pit and then went black.
“Magenta?”
Madam Belle’s voice came from a distance. Rory just wanted to sleep.
“Honey. Wake up. Come on now. We need to get out of her
e.”
What?
Rory forced her eyes open, squinting against the headlights. Belle knelt beside her, looking wide-eyed and pale and uncharacteristically shaken. “Your clothes are in the car,” she told her. “Please. We need to go before someone finds them.”
Clothes? Them?
Managing to sit up, Rory surveyed the carnage around them. There was nothing but dead jackals as far as the eye could see, with savaged throats and broken bodies.
Oh, God.
“Did I . . . ?”
“I’ve never lied to you. I won’t start now. We can talk in the car. Come on, Magenta. That’s a girl. Come on now.”
Rory didn’t have a stitch left on her. Her skin was streaked with crimson and crusted with dirt. Smelling the blood, urine, and offal from the dead, she felt her stomach churn. “Take me back,” she told her. “To Dr. Steele’s. Call him, please. Let him know I’m coming. Tell him . . . tell him I can’t remember and he needs to bring the cuffs. Oh, God.”
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she hugged herself and keened. What was happening to her? Shifts were done on purpose, with intent. It took concentrated effort to transform and no effort to maintain. The shift back was the same. Except her wires seemed crossed. She was shifting without warning, without intent, out of control, and deadly to be around.
She’d gone berserk, had killed every last jackal who’d run them down.
She was lucky she hadn’t gone after Belle.
“I’m not safe,” she whispered, trying to warn her. “If I start to shift, I don’t know what will happen. Dr. Steele says I attacked you before. Just . . . do what you have to do to protect yourself. No guilt,” she grated. “Put me down if that’s what it takes.”
“Nonsense,” Belle huffed. “I’ve already used magick to restore the tire. You fasten that seatbelt, and I guarantee you won’t be reaching anywhere beyond that seat until we get where we’re going. That’s it. Click it or ticket. Oh, I’ve made you invisible, too. Fairy glamour. Otherwise, you’re gonna be causing accidents when drivers see you with nary a stitch on.”
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 98
