Allie grinned. “Coffee?”
“Sounds great.” He petted Ivy while he inhaled the rich aroma of coffee and home, such a wonderful combination of scents.
“Where are you from?” she asked unexpectedly, her calm, green eyes pinning him.
“Ohio. Columbus area.”
“Lots of ice and snow there in wintertime.”
“Very true.” He’d shoveled out the front walkway many times. “Isn’t it cold here, though?”
“Sure, but it’s drier.”
When she handed him the coffee cup, he didn’t miss how she pulled her hand back before he could come into contact with her skin.
He enjoyed a few sips and then cleared his throat. “Uh, could we sit down and talk?”
She led him into the living room and sat at the end of the couch. Ivy flopped at her feet. At Allie’s gesture, he sank into a wingback chair with a sigh. For a moment, as he ran his hands over the curling armrests, he was transported back to his own living room years ago.
He forced himself back to the present. “These visions. What happens when you get them?”
She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and took a sip. “It hurts.” When she paused, he nodded in encouragement. “I don’t really know when they will come, but I apparently now will get a warning tingle in my fingers, like with you the other day.” She stared down into the cup. “Sometimes not, and then the vision hits out of the blue.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Imagine a million volts of electricity, mainlined.”
Allie in pain. Unacceptable. “What do you see?”
“Death. It’s always about death.”
She reached down and petted Ivy’s head. When a sad frown creased her fine features, he gripped the chair arm to keep his hand from smoothing her brow.
He placed his coffee mug on a coaster and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “When did you start having these visions?”
“I was ten. My dad came home from work. When I went to hug him, it felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the stomach.” She stared blankly into space, rubbing her flat abdomen. “I had such an awful vision of him, withered, in pain, and dying. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. When Dad came to check on me, as soon as he touched me, the visions came back, even worse.”
Peter fought an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. The glistening in her eyes tore right through his chest, but he sat immobile.
Don’t feel anything. Not with this woman.
“Of course, I had no idea what happened. When Dad asked, I told him everything. I didn’t know back then not to tell anyone what I saw. He and Mom were horrified. They probably figured I was bipolar or something.” Allie’s jaw set and her lips thinned. “Dad was dead of pancreatic cancer three months later.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it was. But what was worse was having my mother blame me for killing him.”
Peter rocked back in the chair. How could her mother say that? “You didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t make him better, did I? What use are these stupid visions if I can’t prevent what’s coming?”
He had an idea of the pain her “gift” caused. “What happened after he died?”
“Mom had a nervous breakdown. Sarah, my older sister, and I took care of Mom ourselves.” She brushed a stray piece of hair away from her cheek.
“Where is your mom now?”
“She kept spiraling downward and got onto Xanax and Oxycontin for anxiety and pain. Then she started binge drinking. Sarah and I tried to help her, but I don’t think Mom wanted to live. Every single day, she told me in no uncertain terms exactly how I had killed the love of her life, and how much she hated me.”
“You must have realized how unfair that was.” How had Allie kept from breaking down herself under that kind of emotional onslaught?
“Doesn’t matter if it’s fair. That’s how it was.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sarah went to college, I graduated high school and left home, and Mom killed herself on pills and alcohol.”
“Brutal.”
She brought her knees to her chest and rested her head on her knees. “Yep, but Sarah and I stuck together. At least she’s never accused me of killing anyone. And she always tells me she’s not scared that I’ll have a vision of her one day.”
“But are you scared?” He refused to look away, trying to tear down a little of her wall. “Of seeing the death of someone you care for?”
“Wouldn’t anyone be scared? How messed up is that?”
At the quiver in her voice, he fought another urge to haul her into his arms.
Tapping a finger on the rim of the coffee cup, she sighed. “You know, I even tried dating in college. Things were great until I got a vision of a boyfriend. I kept telling myself that seeing his death was ridiculous, that he was twenty-two years old and nothing would happen.”
“And?”
“Dead two weeks later, hit by a drunk driver.” She set down the mug and scrubbed her face with her hands. “The worst part now? I’m receiving more and more frequent visions, and they’re becoming more intense. I’m scared to touch anyone, which is kind of inconvenient if you consider my occupation. I’m the angel of death.”
Her comment hit too close to the mark. What would Allie think when she learned the truth about him? And how screwed up had his world become, where the basis of his only human relationship in seventy years was pain? “Trust me, you’re not. But why did you become an ER doctor?”
“Might as well bring relief to someone. At least in this job, I can prevent death, even bring people back from it.”
“Even when you see visions of patients?”
“No. I try to save everyone, but when I get a vision, those patients always die. Maybe not in my ER, but after they transfer to another facility or after they get home.” Her head came up with a snap. “So, can you make this stop?”
“I think so.”
Her green eyes narrowed, as tiny glints of gold sparked. “How do you know about my … problem?”
“I told a knowledgeable friend what happened. When you touched me, I felt all my pain inside sucked out, and it felt like a huge weight had been lifted.” He struggled to meet her accusing glare. “I also knew you had seen a lot about me, and I needed to figure out why and how. My friend Barnaby says you’re a Ward.”
“A what?”
“A Ward. It’s a human who can see death. They’re very rare.”
“Lucky me.” She snugged her arms around her bent knees once more. “Why can you tell what I saw then? Are you a Ward, too?”
“Nope.”
Her breathing rate increased. “So are you ... dead?” She uncurled her legs and scooted away from him.
That was the response he’d dreaded. “Not exactly.”
“Human?”
“I’m somewhere in between.”
“What does in between mean?” Fine lines formed between her delicate brows.
“Let’s just say it’s complicated.”
The glow in her emerald eyes faded to a flat, ice-cold glare. “Try me.”
“I can’t explain it all. Not now. But it relates to the visions you saw.”
“Did you kill those people?”
The snapshots of his life history would disgust even the strongest person. “Yes, those were images from some wars where I killed my enemies at the time.”
“Did you only kill enemies?”
“I only killed bad people,” he hedged.
“Did you feel guilty about it?”
“Every time.”
“You must have been all over the world in a short period of time.”
By her perplexed expression, she was trying to make sense of the faces and old uniforms in the vision. It was not good for her to think too hard about what she saw.
As she opened her mouth to ask another question, he interrupted her. “Do you want me to show you how to block your ability or not?”
When she lean
ed forward, the V of her scrub top emphasized the cleft between her breasts. Focus on anything but that, dammit.
She tapped her chin. “As much as I want to know, you’re going to have to answer some more questions for me.”
“Not now. Let me help you first.”
“Okay, but I’m not done asking questions.”
“Agreed.” He indicated her head with his hand. “So … ?”
“Yes. Show me how to block these visions. I can’t live like this.”
He wanted to help her. But he also needed to connect with her again. Craved that contact. If it helped her, that was a bonus, as far as he was concerned.
“Since you can see visions of me, I’ll start by trying to hide some of myself.” At her curious expression, he shrugged. “Barnaby said it was like holding back a sneeze.”
Her unexpected laugh bubbling up acted like a drug for his soul. He needed more.
Smiling, she asked, “And what do I need to do? Not sneeze, too?”
“Have you ever been in a stiff, awkward situation where you have to be super polite? Maybe you don’t like the person you’re sitting next to at a social activity?”
“Sure. When I’m at a hospital board function and they ask if there are any concerns. No one really wants my opinion. I keep that stuff to myself and make nice.”
“It’s kind of like that. You have to put up a strong emotional shield.”
She nibbled her lower lip and frowned. “I understand the shield part. But do I walk around all day long with this … shield … in place? Sounds exhausting.”
His heart pounded. Would this work? Or would he destroy her mind? “According to Barnaby, it gets easier with time.”
“All right,” she whispered.
Silence stretched out in the room, interrupted by her snoring dog.
He rubbed his jaw. “If you don’t mind, let’s give it a try. You have to let me come into contact with you.”
Patting the cushion next to her, she said, “Let’s try. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll see a vision of you and death? Already did that.”
He sat next to her, inches away, and inhaled her clean scent of fresh air and outdoors and life. Vibrant, she embodied everything he wasn’t. A mixture of desire and protectiveness blended inside of him. Although she fascinated him, he didn’t want to hurt her, like what nearly happened in the ER. Then again, he wanted that rush of power.
Be careful.
Her lips thinned. “So how … how do we start?”
As he concentrated on her wide, trusting eyes, the whispering sense of her presence just beyond his range of hearing started up again. He wanted his mouth over the pulse that flitted beneath the smooth skin of her neck.
Focus, damn it.
He rubbed his jaw. “I think … Let’s you and I get kind of … braced. You get your shield up, and I’ll try … not to sneeze.”
She giggled.
Hell, this plan was ridiculous.
Then, with an air of concentration, her jaw set and her gaze turned to cold steel. A polite, blank expression settled on her features.
Turning fully toward him, she said, “I think I’m good.”
He held out his hands, palms up. “Give me your hands.”
She flickered a wide-eyed glance at him, then shifted back to the emotionless expression. With shaking fingers, she reached for him.
Chapter 7
The minute her hands contacted Peter’s heated palms, Allison plunged into the vision. Even though she was ready for it, the howling intensity took her breath away. Yet this time, when the images washed over her, they didn’t burn like they had previously. A buzzing tingle in her fingertips served as a constant reminder of the connection. She floated in a protective bubble as the visions swirled around her; the numerous voices blended into a deafening cacophony of sound then receded until all she could hear was a soft roar, like a constant, blowing wind.
Peter’s strong, firm grip enveloped her shaking hands. He tightened and relaxed the pressure several times as if he was holding back, like a car revving with the brakes still on. The wind continued to roar, but she felt safe and protected.
His brown eyes had turned onyx-black, boring into her soul. She couldn’t move. When she lost focus for a moment, the visions began to hurt, but she gritted her teeth and made her mental wall stronger.
Peter took a deep breath and held it for a second.
The burning receded once more and Allison relaxed her guard.
His lips moved, but no sound came out. Frowning, she strained to hear. Bit by bit, his voice penetrated the blended wind of voices. Like tuning into an AM radio station, she finally heard him.
In his static-laced voice, he asked, “Is this hurting you?”
She shook her head, optimism beginning to grow inside. Maybe I will be free.
Through their joined hands, his warmth flowed up her arms and into her chest. New emotions flowed into her mind—Peter’s emotions. Concern for her safety and desire for her was paramount in his thoughts, but a mist cloaked a portion of his mind.
Could she truly be in his consciousness? What about that part she couldn’t see? Was he hiding something? Curious, she probed into the unclear area of thoughts, separating out and clarifying the visions of him one by one.
The woman Allison had seen before … the lady’s cute bobbed hairstyle flattened into a sweaty mat of hair on her forehead. The woman wasted away. Suffered.
Crushing sadness lanced through Allison’s chest. When the woman opened her mouth to speak, only a stale, mechanical puff of air came out. The taste of bitter regret in Allison’s mouth was tangy and sour. Her heart ached, poignant, painful, and empty.
Then a debonair man with shiny, curled, black hair appeared, dressed in fine, old clothing, velvet trimmed with lace, like something out of a French painting. His smile didn’t reach his coal-black, frigid eyes. She—no, Peter—shook hands with the man. Searing heat scalded her palm pressed to the man’s hand. Then the man grinned, a rictus of a smile twisting his thin mouth into a hole of hellish laughter.
She plunged into Peter’s emotions, experiencing hope, despair, followed by emptiness. Then … war? She flinched at nearby explosions, her ears ringing.
An Asian soldier died by Peter’s hands, her hands. The sudden, driving urge to vomit seized every muscle in her body as she sensed the give in a man’s flesh when the knife penetrated the soldier’s ribcage, blood erupting. Brief elation spiked through the knife and along her—no, Peter’s—arm. Her heart swelled with his hope, then crumpled in despair.
A swarthy man in a headscarf with a wound in his chest fell lifeless to the ground, blood squirting in pulses from a shredded heart. Again, the ever-present knife plunged into the crater of the wound, severing bloody flesh. Once more, her heart soared with hope, expectation, and then squeezed hard as crushing despair washed through her veins.
Peter clamped down on her hands, wrenching her out of the visions. His detached voice cut through the roaring wind. “What are you doing?”
“I see … ” she whispered. “I see … all of you … inside ... ” She dug her nails into his hands. Peter’s eyes narrowed. His darkness became a heavy, black cloak that settled on her shoulders. She suddenly weighed a million pounds. Couldn’t move. Didn’t care.
Then the weight lifted and the power of their connection surged; mainlining coffee wouldn’t feel this good. She had become part of his emotions. His heart soared with the lightness of breaking free from prison, but it was much more. Elation, like water springing up from a dry garden fountain, rose from inside of him, rushed through his warm palms, and flowed into her arms.
Then a hunger, a need, strange and overpowering, flowed through her hands.
She froze.
The hunger was for her.
Trapped physically and mentally within the connection, she couldn’t move. The winds roared in her mind, battering the bubble of her oasis.
Peter paused an inch from her mouth and inhaled, closing hi
s eyes.
Still joined to him, she experienced an echo of his pleasure, his blazing desire. With a shudder, he let go of her hands and kissed her.
The quick shift of contact stunned Allison as the voices silenced for a split second and then returned in a softer timbre. The tempest became background noise now as she focused on the present.
He brushed gentle kisses over her lips. His hands covered her face from jaw to cheekbones, and again Allison sensed his power held in check as he cradled her head in a firm frame. Peter pulled her long hair loose from the clip, burying one hand in the strands before returning his other hand to caress the side of her face.
The dull roar of the mental communion fused with a rising tide of desire deep inside her core. Where did his emotions stop and hers begin?
Who cared?
Needing more, she leaned forward, kissing him back. She grasped the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
Peter growled, his deep rumble raising goose bumps on her arms. The gentle but insistent pressure of his hands and lips plundered her in a sensual, relentless onslaught. He descended onto her open mouth, devouring her with his tongue. With his hands on the sides of her head, he pressed her back onto the couch cushion, nipping at her lips with his teeth.
When he sucked part of her lip into his mouth and laved it with his rough tongue, something suppressed and primal uncoiled.
She scraped her nails over his tight neck and muscled shoulders. With every advance she made, he took the kiss even deeper, filling her every pore with his heat.
Without losing contact with her mouth, he reached down and swung her legs onto the couch.
Ivy snorted and gave a whuff.
Now kneeling on all fours, Peter caged Allison in his embrace.
Her heart thudded a drumbeat as he slowly lowered himself, resting on his forearms positioned outside her shoulders. His corded legs locked onto either side of her hips.
She reached under his arms and around his muscled torso, tugging him flush against her as delicious, intense heat covered her from head to toe.
With a groan, he took the kiss deeper. The connected visions continued to churn, but they now played like background conversation.
Immortal Flame Page 6