Another baby, one that would be a Sentinel? She didn’t know how she felt about that. Part of her would love to have another baby, but to raise a child in the Sentinel world…“I don’t know if I could handle having another child.”
“If that’s the case, then you won’t get pregnant. You have to trust in the Universe, Kara.”
She wasn’t sure she was capable of trusting anymore. Yet she and Damien were the only things standing between the Belian and the town of Zorro. She could only hope she didn’t get pregnant, although it seemed like Russian roulette to her.
Damien pulled off his sweater, shaking his gleaming hair free. He wore a white T-shirt underneath, which emphasized his dark skin and bulging biceps. Her mouth went dry. She didn’t know if she could nonchalantly strip in front of this man and stretch out across the bed for his use in a conduction. Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she cursed herself for being such a prude. She was doctor, used to dealing with naked bodies.
Even so, she felt like that innocent schoolgirl again, about to experience her very first kiss. For a woman who’d dated very few men, and who had been celibate the past seven years, the thought of hot, uninhibited conduction sex with a man she hardly knew—and certainly wasn’t in a relationship with—was daunting, to say the least. Terrifying would be more accurate, yet Kara hated to think of herself as a coward. Nor was she going back on her word.
“Well, then.” Blowing out her breath, she started unbuttoning her sweater.
“Kara.” He halted her with a hand on her arm. “Do you have a robe?”
“It’s in the bathroom.”
“Undress in there and put on the robe. I think that will be easier.”
He was far too perceptive. She turned toward the bathroom, feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry to be so…silly about this.” “You’re doing just fine.”
Easy for him to say. He did this on a regular basis, which she found strangely unsettling. In the bathroom, she stripped with shaking hands and fumbled into the robe, tying it at the waist. The chill from the tiled floor wafted up her bare legs, and she shivered. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the closed door. Now or never. She opened the door, stepped into the room.
The lights were off, and the indigo candle had been placed on her nightstand and lit. Damien was on the far side of the bed, the covers just barely over his hips. He was impossibly large and imposing, dwarfing the queen-size bed. The candlelight flickered on his bare chest, over the sleek bulge of muscle, and the glint of his crystal. Glancing away, she saw his clothes draped neatly over the nearby armchair.
Aware of his gaze on her as she slid beneath the covers, she settled onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, tension invading her body. Some of it, of course, was the sexual energy he was radiating like a raging furnace.
“Turn on your side, facing me.” His voice was like rough velvet.
She did, meeting his gaze. He shifted closer, lifted a hand to cup her cheek. She stared into the molten silver of his eyes, feeling heat and desire flaring from their two bodies, the sparks from his fingers tingling on her face. She felt a tug at her waist, realized he was untying her robe with his other hand, and pushing the fabric behind her.
He slid his hand lightly along her bare hip and midriff, his fingers leaving a scorching trail. Need rose like a brilliant sunrise, and in her mind, she saw two nude bodies entwined in raw hunger. Dear God. She was about to melt into an incoherent puddle, and they’d barely touched.
He settled his body mere inches from hers, although he didn’t caress her again or kiss her, as Richard would have done. His hand remained against her face, and she resisted the inordinate urge to turn her lips into his palm.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said in that black-magic voice. “I’ll be…careful with you.”
She knew he couldn’t honestly say “gentle”, because there was nothing soft or easy about conductor sex. “I know,” she whispered, shocked at the husky timbre of her voice.
“Tell me if you feel any discomfort at any time.”
Of its own volition, her gaze shifted lower to the sizable, tented sheet above his groin. Oh, my. She managed to nod.
He took her hands in the ritual conduction clasp. “Don’t let go, no matter how intense it gets.”
It was already intense. The heat from his body had raised her temperature to a simmer; his touch elevated it to a full boil. The energy didn’t initiate in a steady flow, but like a tsunami wave. The sexual surge exploded in her belly. A red haze filmed her vision. She felt like she’d been slammed against a wall. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! The four lower chakras blasted open almost simultaneously, and she jolted forward with a cry.
“Hold on,” Damien’s harsh voice came against her ear. “This is going to be wild.”
He eased her onto her back, shifting his body over hers, setting every cell inside her on fire. She twisted, no longer concerned about propriety. She desperately wanted—needed—to touch him, to explore his body, but he had her hands entrapped in his.
The fifth and sixth chakras burst open, pouring vivid blues into her inner sight. “Damien,” she gasped, unable to process anything but her body’s erotic demands. She felt the aching wetness between her legs, needed him inside her now. Spreading her legs, she arched against him.
“Hang on.” He settled between her thighs, and she felt his erection probing a burning trail right where she desperately needed it. She tilted her pelvis to give him better access.
“Now!” she cried fiercely.
He slid inside her as the seventh chakra opened and a violet mist enveloped them. He was big, and he filled her completely. But she was beyond ready; there was no discomfort, only perfection of fit and friction. She started climaxing with his first stroke. Rapid-fire images flashed through her mind, as waves of sensation erupted in her body. It went on and on, a mindless detonation of visions and pleasure. She lost all sense of time and reality. Yet she was acutely attuned to Damien, to him stroking hard and deep inside her, to his shuddering orgasm.
Gradually, she realized the energies were receding, while little aftershocks rocked her body. “Oh, God,” she groaned.
Damien dropped his forehead to hers. “Damn.”
“Yes,” she said weakly. “That, too.”
He pulled out and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving. She had just enough strength to pull the covers over herself. At least there was no headache this time, no burning, unappeased need.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Although it might be hours, maybe days, before she could walk normally again. It had been seven years since she’d been with a man, so she’d probably be very sore for a few days. Willing her breathing to calm, she closed her eyes, setting off a series of startling visual flashes. Her eyes opened and she angled her head toward Damien. “I’m still seeing the images.”
He turned on his side, the covers dipping low on his hips. “Take my hand. Let’s see if you can link to my third eye, like you did with the ghost.”
She reached out, and he grasped her hand firmly in his. Electrical sensations coursed up her arm. “Concentrate on your other sight,” he said. “My third eye should bring it into sharper focus for you. We’ll both see the same thing.”
She closed her eyes again, opening herself to him. The images clicked on, clear and vivid, as if she were watching a movie.
A pair of sleek, female legs, wearing stylish red pumps, walking languidly down a gravel driveway. They moved alongside a white vehicle; a momentary shift in the visual showed a dirty Ford F-150. The door opened, and the legs stepped up into the driver’s side.
A feminine hand put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Then the truck was moving, with visual snippets out the window. It appeared to be on River Road; the sunlight reflected off the Blanco River as the truck drove. Another shift upward to the woman’s head, but the face and hair were hazy.
Then everything went blurry and the vision did a Holl
ywood-style fade-out.
Damien pounded the mattress. “I just need to see the face. Just a glimpse. Damn it!” He sat up, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “This thing is way too powerful.”
The state trooper/Belian stepped away from Richard’s body, glowing with preternatural light. Richard’s death seemed to have rejuvenated, empowered him. He moved toward Kara, grinning grotesquely, Satan incarnate…
Battling nausea, she clutched the sheet to her chest. “The longer it survives and the more it kills, the stronger it grows,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t have much longer.” Damien’s voice was colder than she’d ever heard it. “Its cursed soul will be burning on Saturn very soon. I want to see the medical files on your female patients again—all of those with ongoing health problems. I know there were five that caught my attention—Belle Williams, Luz, Mary…what was her last name?”
“Roberts.” Kara pushed herself up, keeping a firm grip on the sheet. She’d already violated doctor-patient privilege, and she would do it again—anything to stop this monster. “There’s also Katie Woodward and Beth Gonzales.”
“That’s right. I’m going to look at them very closely. Do you know if all of them drive white Ford trucks?”
“I know that Belle and Luz do, and so does Mary. I’m not sure about Katie and Beth.”
“I’ll find out.” He tossed back the covers and slid from the bed, giving her a breathtaking view of one fine rear end, and a beautifully muscled torso and legs to go with it. He seemed comfortable in his oh-so-sexy skin, but then most guys were less self-conscious about their bodies than women were, Kara thought enviously. Moving to the chair with lethal grace, he stepped into his jeans, sans underwear, zipped them up, then pulled on his T-shirt and sweater.
“We can discuss this more over dinner.” He picked up his boots and started toward the door, then glanced back at her. “You coming?”
That’s one way of putting it, she thought inanely. She forced her thoughts away from sexual innuendo, nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there in few minutes.”
He stared at her as if trying to gage her state of mind. “You know you did the right thing, Kara. We’re very close now.”
Close to what? she wondered. Light or darkness? And which one would win?
* * * *
Praise be to Belial, my strength is growing, and my abilities are all powerful. How could the fools think I wouldn’t sense such a strong sexual surge? Having a conduction to try and track me down, are they? My, my. And so early in the evening. Maybe they couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t keep their supposedly pristine hands off each other, fucking like dogs in heat. Oh, my dear, was it as good for you as it was for me? Ah, how I amuse myself.
But I know, even though they think I don’t. Not that I care—I’m far too strong for them to find me. It has to be that nosy reporter, Morgan. Everyone else in this pitiful excuse of a town has been here forever; no one leaves for long. And if Morgan is the Sentinel—may he be cursed for eternity—then Dr. Kara must be the conductor. It is the only logical explanation, especially since she and Morgan have been shacking up together.
Dear, sweet Kara. What a front you present to everyone. I, however, know you for the bitch you really are. I will enjoy your screams—and Morgan’s, too—when I torture you both. I’ll savor your pleas for mercy, and then I’ll send your souls into the bowels of Hades, as my offering to Belial.
But first, I will increase my strength with another kill, which will offer me the boundless energy of a child. Not a challenge, true, but once I’m able to take over a better body, I’ll be invincible. Too bad the kill can’t be Kara’s brat, but she’s sent him away—for now. I’ll deal with him when he returns for his mother’s funeral.
And now, I’m going to drink to my perfect plan. Praised be Belial
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kara didn’t feel the letdown until she was in the shower the next morning. After the conduction, the evening had been too busy for introspection. She and Damien had eaten, reviewed medical files, done some laundry, and she’d called Alex. Never once had they acted like a couple who had just had mind-blowing sex.
At bedtime, Damien had retrieved the police scanner and taken it to Alex’s room, where he spent the night. Slipping into her bed alone, Kara felt a sense of desolation. She told herself it was simply fear of dreaming about another murder, but knew there was more that she was unwilling to face right now.
She’d been so exhausted that she’d quickly fallen asleep, despite the lingering energies of the conduction. Thankfully, there had been no dreams.
When the shrilling alarm jolted her awake at seven A.M., she swatted it off and stumbled to the bathroom and into the shower. She stood beneath the warm spray until her mind began to function. Then, as she soaped herself, wincing when she reached the sore flesh between her legs—a part of her anatomy that had probably atrophied over the past seven years—she thought about last night’s conduction.
Not about what had happened, but what hadn’t happened. There’d been no tenderness, no affection, between her and Damien, although he had been considerate and respectful. No unnecessary touching, no tongue-tangling kisses; no kissing at all, for that matter. No true touching of souls, not in an emotional sense.
She’d had those things with Richard. She had finally accepted their loss, although she still grieved for the man and the love they’d shared. That didn’t mean she wanted to live the rest of her life without finding them again. For the first time since Richard’s death, she was coming alive, emotionally and physically, as a woman. Her needs were awakening, voicing their demands. But she wanted more than just sex.
She felt let down because she hadn’t had that more with Damien. Which was ridiculous, she told herself; he had never represented the situation any other way. She had gone into last night’s conduction knowing it was just that—a sexual tracking session. She needed to get her foolish longings under control before she set herself up for some serious heartache.
She dried off and dressed in a navy pantsuit and low matching pumps that would be appropriate both for seeing patients that morning and Doris’s memorial service that afternoon. She added a gold silk scarf she found in her accessory drawer, although for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where she’d gotten it. She brushed out her hair, added a touch of blush to her chalk-white cheeks, and applied mascara to her lashes—waterproof, so she wouldn’t look like a raccoon if she cried during the memorial service.
Wondering if Damien was up yet, she walked quietly down the hallway. She saw him then, sitting in the lotus position in the middle of the living room floor, back erect, eyes closed, wearing nothing but his jeans and the crystal on its silver chain. He’d raised the blind and situated himself in the center of the sunshine streaming in. The light blazed around him like an immense halo, and he appeared to be in a deep meditative state.
Her breath caught in her throat. She used to observe Richard meditate, sometimes had even joined him. The enlightenment of altered consciousness, the power of controlled chakra energies had been, in their way, more profound than a conduction. Joint meditation had always brought Richard and her closer together, and often ended in lovemaking.
Watching Damien now, she felt a rush of emotions. She wanted to go to him, to stroke her hands over his beautiful chest, to touch him everywhere, and have him touch her in return.
Not a good idea—not even an option, really.
She forced herself to turn away, quietly got her purse and coat, and let herself out the front door.
* * * *
Kara spoke at the memorial service. Sharon had asked her to, and she felt honored to be able to share what a wonderful person Doris had been. “Doris had an amazing vitality and a zest for life,” she told the group assembled at the Gateway Funeral Home. “She could do circles around people half her age, me included.” A lot of people smiled and nodded.
“She had a huge heart and a loving spirit. She car
ed about those less fortunate, and was always helping with church and town fund-raisers. She was a wonderful baker and made the best cakes and cookies in Zorro. I owe at least five pounds to her.” More wistful smiles and nodding.
“Doris did a lot of things to help others, quietly, without any fanfare. I’ve seen her—saw her—load her car with meals and blankets and clothing and take them into the poor neighborhoods around Zorro. She’d also take flowers from her garden—yes, she was an excellent gardener, too—and books and magazines to people who were sick.
“She loved children—everyone’s kids—and was so darned proud of her own children and grandchildren. My son adored her.” Kara paused, feeling tremendous regret that Alex couldn’t be there to say good-bye, but he had written a letter right after Doris died, and she’d brought it today and propped it by the urn containing Doris’s ashes.
Clearing her throat, Kara continued, “Doris was a modern woman, and kept up with the changing technology, despite her age. She surfed the Internet on her computer, sent and received e-mail, took yoga classes, and went on ocean cruises. She had a full and happy life, and I—” Her gaze skittered to the lovely portrait of Doris on its easel, and the golden urn beside it, and a sudden rush of tears filled her eyes. “We’re all going to miss her terribly,” she finished in a tear-choked whisper.
She stepped down from the podium, and Sharon, pale and wan with grief, flashed a thankful smile. Her heart heavy, Kara returned to her seat beside Damien. “Well spoken,” he murmured.
The tears overflowed her eyes and she fumbled blindly in her jacket pocket for a tissue. A white handkerchief appeared out of nowhere. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She took it, blotted her eyes, feeling miserable. Losing Doris was painful enough. It was made worse by the fact that she’d been murdered, and by a Belian. Added to that was her guilt because Damien had warned her about the Belian, but she’d done her ostrich routine until it was too late.
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