by A J Sherwood
He went abruptly still, tense and waiting. “I did.”
“First real boyfriend I had was in college. Freshman year. He was hot, thought it was cool I was psychic; we hooked up so quickly my head spun with it.” I stared directly at Donovan’s chest, hands idly petting through the smattering of hair on it, as I couldn’t meet his eyes. I tried, but I failed utterly an inch up. “But it went sour really fast. This was before I figured out that they did make cars with EMP shielding. I knew better than to get into any of them, so I rode my bike a lot of places, or I only went somewhere I could walk. It grated on him very quickly that we couldn’t just go to the movies, or to dinner across town, or any of that. He didn’t always remember to put his phone or his laptop in a protective case before he came near me. My shields were basically nonexistent then, worse than before you anchored me, and I could fry things even with a cloth barrier between me and it. He lost three phones in a month. I always paid for the replacement, but…the frustration eventually got to him. Three months in, he threw in the towel and told me I was too much of a freak.”
Donovan’s arms closed in around me, his head bending so his whole body enveloped me from head to toe. I saw that wave of gold go through him, saw how much he loved me, and saw lava red chase it. Anger. Rage, even. I kissed his chest, held him close to me, reassuring us both. “I understand now he was just a selfish bastard, but at the time I believed him. For too long I believed him right. I wasn’t good boyfriend material.”
“Are you going to tell me his name?” he whispered against my ear.
“No,” I answered steadily, darkly amused as he grumbled. “Because you don’t want his name. You want his name, address, and an estimate of his defenses.”
Donovan rumbled again, sounding terribly close to grizzly bear level. “I promise I won’t kill him. We just need to have a chat.”
In a pure southern accent, I drawled, “Sugar, I’d much rather you’d focus on other things. I didn’t tell you about him to make you mad. I told you because you asked and I owe you some answers.”
“I do like learning about you,” he agreed with a sigh. “Alright, I promise I won’t get mad. Can I ask you something else?”
The way he qualified that question worried me. Still, I encouraged, “Shoot.”
“I got the feeling that you were leery about taking me on as an anchor for more than just the reason you told me. Did something happen? Did you try to anchor with someone else and it not work out or something?”
That seriously worried him, I could see the flash of it along his line. “No. You’re my first and only anchor. It wasn’t my own experience that put a bad taste into my mouth. It was my mom’s.”
“I thought Rodger was her only anchor,” Donovan said slowly, words tilting up in question.
“Yeah,” I confirmed with a gusty sigh. I didn’t really want to get into this, it wasn’t my favorite version of pillow talk, but he deserved to know. “See, Mom and Rodger met in college. Fell in lust, did the relationship thing for nearly two years, and then split up. But they anchored about a year into the relationship, and that’s when things got messy. They split up amicably enough, but they weren’t interested in being together anymore. They decided to settle at friends, and of course Rodger stayed as her anchor. Then mom met my dad, they got married, had Natalie and me, but the relationship soured pretty quickly. Natalie remembers it better than I do, as my father left when I was seven, but the arguments they had could’ve peeled paint off the walls. A lot of it had to do with how much time she was spending with Rodger. I realize now my dad had every right to be pissed because she was actually having an affair with Rodger.”
Donovan groaned in understanding. “Yikes.”
Yikes about covered it. “After she and my dad split, we never heard from him again. Rodger was married to someone at the time. So it was a double adultery. Rodger and his wife stayed married another few years, but that didn’t last long either. Then he and my mom pretended they were going to cool that part of their relationship off, but I got hustled out of the house at seventeen, went to live with Natalie, and I think she and Rodger actually got together after that.”
My lover pondered all of that information for a long moment. “So your father left you, your mother basically shuffled you on to someone else to finish raising, and your stepfather is part of the reason both things happened. All because those two anchored.”
I winced at the unfortunately accurate summary. “In a nutshell.”
“Damn, babe. I now understand why you flew off the handle earlier. What calmed you down so fast?”
All things considered, he had good reason to wonder. “Two things. Carol asked me a very important question: how you measured up to all of those other people. It’s not even really a comparison. I mean, I love most of the ones involved in that melodrama, but I can’t say they have your patience. Or the same sense of loyalty. That alone tipped the scales in my favor. Second thing was, I literally see how much you love me. Love like that isn’t transient.”
His hand cradled my cheek and he drew my face up so he could look into my eyes. In the mellow lighting of the bedside lamp, his brown eyes looked more golden. Or maybe I saw them that way because he once again glowed gold. “I do love you. I won’t be your Rodger, Jon.”
I pressed up and into him, sealing that vow with a kiss. I believed him wholeheartedly. But more than that, I vowed that I wouldn’t repeat my mother’s mistake either.
No way in hell would I ever let this man go.
17
I’d just put a quiche in the oven when two strong arms wrapped around my waist and a set of teeth nibbled at the column of my neck. Chuckling, I put my hands over his and replied, “Good morning to you too.”
“Are you making me breakfast?”
“Quiche,” I answered.
Sighing happily, he snuggled even further around me, like a warm teddy bear. “You do love me.”
I snorted a laugh. “I swear you translate food as love. I just hope I made enough, I only had six eggs to work with.”
“It should be fine.” Nuzzling against my ear, he murmured, “Can I interest you in a joint shower after breakfast? Or do we have something on schedule this morning?”
“Door guy is supposed to be here at nine,” I answered regretfully. My shower upstairs might have enough room for both of us. If nothing else, it’d be fun trying to fit.
“We’re out of condoms anyway.” Donovan sounded peeved about this. “I suppose we should hit the store at some point today and stock up.”
“Probably.” I knew for a fact that I was clean. Donovan, I knew, was equally clean. I could easily see diseases, and he was healthy as a horse. It made me wonder, did we really need the condoms?
A rap sounded on what was left of my front door. Donovan didn’t exactly reach for a gun, but he went alert, prowling forward and checking carefully before opening it. I braced my hands on the bar, watching, as he conferred with the two workmen. Watching him go alpha male gave me a happy tingle. They promised the door would be installed within two hours, and Donovan waved them to it.
The red phone on my kitchen wall gave a ring. I answered it with a cheery, “Hello.”
“Wow you sound chipper,” Natalie responded. My sister sounded downright gleeful. “Skylar came home with the most interesting story about you making out with Donovan. Tell me she’s not pulling my leg.”
“She’s not pulling your leg,” I responded dutifully.
“Jonathan,” she growled, frustrated.
I grinned, shooting my lover an affectionate look. “She’s not messing with you, Nat. We’re together.”
Natalie whistled. “And when did this happen?”
“Day I got shot at.” I could hear her choke of disbelief and shrugged. “I never said I have good timing.”
“Clearly you don’t. Wait, you asked him to date? Go, little brother!”
“Well, it wasn’t much of a leap on my part. I could see he wanted me. You, ah, might not have heard
that he’s my anchor as well.”
Dead silence. Natalie made a few strangled sounds, as if she tried to form words, only her mouth failed to cooperate.
“It’s a long story,” I informed her, not sure where to begin. “And better said in person. Maybe meet me for lunch?”
“Little Italy, noon sharp, or I come hunting for you.”
I didn’t dare disobey. Natalie could be vindictive when she put her mind to it. “Meet you there.”
Natalie, bless her, came alone to lunch and didn’t invite our mother along. There were things that I could say to my sister that I would never voice in front of my mother, which Natalie understood, and I needed to have a frank conversation with Nat. As we entered the outside patio, she immediately got up to hug me, arms tight enough to cut off circulation around my neck. I didn’t mind, letting her get the stress out of her system.
When she stepped back, she surprised us both when she immediately latched onto Donovan in the same way, although he had to bend to give her the right height to manage it.
“Thank you,” she whispered against my boyfriend’s cheek, voice husky and choked as she fought back tears.
“For what?” Donovan asked softly, genuinely confused.
“Being you. Jon desperately needed you. I’m so glad you came as you did.” Dropping back down, she extracted herself enough to smile up at him, a touch wryly. “And I’m not referring just to you saving him at the shooting.”
Donovan shot me a soft, affectionate glance. “Trust me, that was totally self-serving. I really prefer him alive.”
“We all do.” Patting his chest, she waved us to chairs and we all sat, me sneaking my hand into Donovan’s and lacing our fingers loosely together. Of course Nat caught this and teased, “Early bonding?”
“Shut up. You know that’s all bogus.”
Donovan’s eyes darted between the two of us, not quite following.
For his sake, I explained, “If Hollywood is to be believed, then when a psychic and anchor first bond, they need to have near constant physical interaction in order to really be comfortable. Or lots of hot sex. It’s so much baloney, there’s nothing of the kind.”
“But newly bonded pairs do touch a lot,” Natalie pointed out, perfectly comfortable in the role of devil’s advocate.
“Because skinship is the language of love and most pairs are couples,” I retorted. “Of course they touch a lot. New anchors are hyper aware of their partner, too, that also plays into it. But the strength of the bond doesn’t depend on constant contact.”
Natalie pointedly looked at our linked hands.
“I like to touch the man. Sue me,” I grumbled, sticking my tongue out at her.
Typical of a sibling, she returned the gesture with her own tongue. “You have a sexy, sweet boyfriend, of course you want to touch him. Did I say anything?”
“Sitting right here,” Donovan stated mildly, completely amused.
“How in the world sexy, sweet boyfriend became your anchor, that’s what I want to know,” Natalie continued, ignoring him. “Dish, dammit.”
“Sis, that’s so nineties.”
“Do I need to resort to bodily injury?”
She looked to only be half kidding. I gave her the rundown as best I could, but even to my own ears it didn’t really connect. Natalie knew this as well because when I stopped talking, she kept staring at me, a woman waiting for the punch line.
“Jonathon.” Placing both hands flat on the table, she took in a breath, outwardly calm. “You really mean to tell me that you two anchored without you noticing? That it took Carol to point it out to you?”
“Yup,” I answered, popping the P.
“And that you still don’t really know how it happened?”
I shrugged eloquently.
“Has that ever happened in the history of, well, ever?”
I shrugged again. “No clue.”
She stared at me as if I’d just announced I participated in the ritual slaughtering of puppies or something equally horrific. “How can you bond to someone without even knowing?”
“Because my heart overrode my head.” I gave Donovan a lopsided smile, his hand tightening on mine. “I wish you could see him fully, the way he looks at me. If he weren’t my anchor, I think it would have blinded me by now. The only thing more constant than this man is gravity, and I think he’d give gravity a run for its money. I wanted him, Natalie, from the first moment. Old fears and insecurities kept me back.”
“Hawaiian culture has a saying: Ua ola loko I ke aloha. It roughly translates ‘love gives life within.’ I think that’s what happened here. I wished for him,” Donovan stated, the words soft and warm. “I wished for him so strongly his ability felt it and reached out for me. And I’m glad for that. He’s so much lighter, more confident, now that we’re bonded.”
“Really can’t refute that,” I admitted to her, winking at Donovan and getting a grin in return. I hadn’t known he spoke his parents’ mother tongue, that was news to me. It was also very hot.
Natalie watched us for another moment, the wheels turning. Her meridian lines showed caution but also hope and contentment, even happiness, so I could more or less guess what ran through her mind. She chose to speak it aloud for Donovan’s sake. “When Jon dropped that bombshell over the phone, I was very afraid he was walking in our mother’s shoes. I would have murdered him myself if that were the case. But I have to believe your hearts and psychic ability know what they’re doing.”
“If it doesn’t, it will be the first time in my life it’s failed me.” I didn’t think it had, not with something this important.
“My only complaint is that I can’t feel him,” Donovan confessed to her, a slight whine to his tone. “That’s something else Hollywood lied about. If I’m anchored to him, shouldn’t I be able to feel him?”
“Not unless you’ve suddenly gained psychic ability,” Natalie denied with a snort, although she gave him a sympathetic look. “And really, Donovan, you don’t need psychic ability to be a good anchor. You were already doing half the job of an anchor without realizing it, according to Mom.”
“The one thing that Hollywood got right is that proximity helps.” I hadn’t had a chance to really explain our bond in depth and now seemed a good time to give him at least some of the information he needed. “They call it an ‘anchor’ for a reason. I’m literally grounding myself to you. All of the energy that I’m surrounded by affects me, interacts with my auric field, and that can be very overwhelming. By having you, I have a way of anchoring myself, of centering so that I don’t get lost in all of their energies. It balances and protects me.”
He listened intently, hanging on my every word. “But what if me being around you isn’t enough? What if you do get overwhelmed?”
“If I do get totally overwhelmed, feel free to haul me into a hug and just hang on to me until I get my bearings again.”
“You’ll be the one person he can comfortably be near if that happens,” Natalie warned him. “Don’t let anyone else near unless they’re medical personnel, and limit that as much as possible.”
“There’s a lot I need to tell you.” And probably should have last night instead of screwing the man’s brains out. Not that I regretted that one iota. “We’ll sit down properly after this and hash it all out, okay?”
Donovan agreed with a dip of the chin and we focused on the menus long enough to pick out what to order. The waitress came by, we placed our orders, then Natalie went back to discussing the situation in a serious vein. “What do you want to do about Mom? She’ll take one look at you two and know.”
“And probably hit the roof, not that she has any room to throw stones.” The whole future scene threatened to give me a headache. “I’ll call her later.”
“Call?” Natalie repeated, tone indicating she found this a less than stellar choice.
“She hasn’t developed the ability to either choke me or throw something at me over a landline, so yes, call,” I responded with sacc
harine sweetness. “Her Irish temper will have time to calm down that way before I see her.”
“You really think she’s going to be upset by this?” Donovan thumbed at one ear lobe, body language doubtful. “I don’t.”
“She’s not going to be upset about you anchoring with me, just that we did it so soon. We’ve barely known each other three weeks.” Granted, that was like an eternity for me to get to know someone, but the rest of the world didn’t operate that way. “She’ll be eventually cool with it, it’ll just take fast talking to calm her down first. And I’m not looking forward to the explanation.”
Natalie gave me that point with an open palmed shrug. “You’re likely not wrong. Call me for backup if you need me.”
“I will.” And I really would. I might be twenty-five, but I was not above using my sister for protection. Mom liked her more than me, after all.
The rest of Saturday was blissful, as was Sunday, with Donovan and I not doing much constructive. I had most of my place back together at this point, aside from some patch work around the bar area scheduled for next week. We spent an inordinate amount of time in bed and ordering takeout. It was by far the best weekend I’d ever spent in my life, and I could only hope we had more like them.
The only part of the weekend marring the bright spot was my phone call with Mom. She’d gone off on me for bonding to Donovan without telling her, then did it again when she heard I hadn’t actually done it on purpose. She was torn between that fine line of ‘don’t do what I did’ and ‘I’m happy you have an anchor.’ It was a knife’s edge to walk but she managed it, even if she did piss me off in the process.
Aside from that, the weekend went smoothly, too smoothly for us to actually look forward to going back into work. I blamed that mostly on the paperwork. Donovan had a crap ton to wade through now that he was anchored to me. Which meant I, in turn, had a crap ton to wade through. I hated paperwork.
This time when we entered the office, we received wary looks, although Marcy offered a tentative smile in greeting. “Welcome back?”