by P. A. Lupton
Sitting comfortably with my eyes closed, he walked me through it. “Brianna, I want you to imagine something painful you remember experiencing—whether you felt it personally, or as an echo from someone else.” His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. “Remember the pain and let your mind make it real. Can you feel it?”
“I think so...” I said, uncertainly.
“Now, take that pain and force it into me, the same way you do when you mirror it, only this time, you are the source.”
His instructions were patiently hopeful. Still, nothing happened. “This isn’t going to work!” I blurted, frustrated withmy failed attempt. “I can’t just summon pain from memory—it’s too ambiguous.”
It was hard to cultivate this gift into something useful if I had nothing substantial to grasp, and I didn’t want to let him down.
No matter how many tantrums I had, Nathan remained calm and reassuring. He never let me quit, and he never once made me feel disappointed or like a failure. Maybe this just isn’t possible,” I said after hours of trying.
“Who says it is impossible? Most Empaths would tell you it is impossible to feel physical stimuli as well as emotional, yet you do. Most Empaths would tell you it is impossible to transfer what you channel onto someone else, yet you can do that, too. So, who says this is impossible? You must remember that in the practice of witchcraft, power is not enough. You must believe wholeheartedly in the outcome and your ability, otherwise it will not happen. It is as much about your will as your power.”
His encouragements were enough to keep me trying. My first attempts were unsuccessful, but by my third effort, Nathan crumpled from a short, but intense burst of pain. Once he recovered, he said it felt as if he was being consumed by fire, and though it only lasted seconds, it was excruciating. The small success gave me hope, and encouraged me to work harder to maintain it.
Sunday evening, Nathan and I relaxed and enjoyed a nice quiet evening in his apartment. After our first weekend of training, we were beat, so we settled onto the couch and watched a movie.
We had spent the past few days immersed in lessons of magic and witchcraft. In addition to that, we had our daily sparring matches. For a man who was so reluctant to spar with me initially, he was like a drill sergeant now. I think the discovery of another victim, coupled with the change in our relationship, intensified his anxiety. I could feel that he was terrified I would be the next victim, and he would do anything to prevent that outcome, even if it went against the ingrained chivalrous nature of his upbringing.
I knew he was concerned about my safety, but I appreciated that he didn’t become overprotective the way my father always had. Nathan understood that I needed to be independent, so rather than staunch that need, he threw himself wholeheartedly into training me. But, God, he was merciless. He wouldn’t allow me to give up, and he never relented.
After the chaotic and grueling weekend, I treasured the normalcy of such a simple thing as watching a movie and enjoying an ordinary couple activity. He was an extraordinary man, and not simply because he was a vampire, but also because he had a good sense of humor, was a fantastic cook, an amazing lover, and was willing to sit through a chick flick just to spend time with me. We’d settled on Stepmother, and I seriously doubted he was agreed because he was into Julia Roberts.
Reclining on the couch, I was lying with my back along his chest and his arms were tightly circled around me. He absently grazed my skin everywhere with his fingertips, making it difficult to concentrate on the film. Truthfully, I was thankful for the distraction. I was worried about embarrassing myself by crying when Susan Sarandon’s character said her goodbyes to her family when she was dying of cancer. That’s when my mind wandered and I started thinking about our first victim Sherri and her mother Susan.
“Oh, my God. I’m so stupid!” I jumped up off his lap.
Nathan stopped the movie, clearly amused by my spontaneous, and not so predictable, reaction to the scene. “I am curious to know why you suddenly doubt your intelligence so fervently.”
“Sherri’s mother had leukemia. You said she had a bone marrow transplant?”
“Yes, she did. The doctors tested Sherri, but she was not a match.”
“So, how did she find a match?” I asked eagerly.
“Luckily, they found her a donor from the bone marrow registry.”
“We’ve been gathering medical records all week looking for a needle in a haystack and it was right in front of my face the whole time. She was on the bone marrow registry, which could be how the killer found her and Susan. This could be the link we’ve been searching for.”
I started pacing back and forth, lost in my thoughts. “We need to find out who has access to information on the bone marrow registry, and how they search for a match. Given that Sherri was the first victim since my mother was killed and the family went into hiding, it could give us a clue about how to connect the other girls as well.”
The next morning I practically ran into Morrison’s office, excited by my epiphany. I was sure I was onto something with the bone marrow tests. I just had to prove it.
I started explaining my theory to Morrison while impatiently throwing a stack of Leslie Harpers’ medical files at him.
“Just start looking through the blood tests and see if Leslie had an HLA test done?” I ordered, hastily.
“What the hell is an HLA test?” he asked, opening the folder.
“An HLA test is a blood test that identifies human leukocytes antigen. Everyone has three sets of HLA giving us a total of six. To donate bone marrow you need a perfect six out of six match.”
“How the hell do you know that?” he asked me, cynically.
“I had a family member who had leukemia, so I researched bone marrow transplants.” It was the truth. He just didn’t need to know that the family member was Sherri’s mother, and the research was late last night. “We need to check each of the victims to see if they also had the HLA test done, and if so, cross-reference their results and see if they were on the bone marrow registry.”
“Do you think the killer somehow has access to the registry? If our victims are all on it, that could be how he discovered them,” he said, joining in my excitement.
“Morrison, do you mind continuing without me today. I have an appointment this afternoon and it’s important.” I didn’t want to tell him I was meeting with Nathan and his private investigator. She had just returned from out-of-town business, and I wanted to question her about how she found the victims.
“No problem, Reece. But you’re gonna owe me,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Okay. I start getting nervous when you get that look on your face. What am I going to owe you?” I asked, tentatively.
“I want a rematch.”
“Oh, God. You’re not still upset about me knocking you on your ass? I thought you were over that.”
“Listen. I still think you got lucky.” He said it with the same arrogance he’d displayed my first day at work.
“God, Morrison. You’re such a chauvinist! If I were a guy, this wouldn’t even bother you.”
“Yeah, maybe. But you’re not a guy. And I can’t just let it go.”
“This is silly. You have nothing to prove. Morrison, I’ve trained in martial arts my entire life, I’ve fought some of the best fighters in the world and won, both men and women. There is no shame in losing to me.” I wanted to reassure him. Despite the sexist attitude he displayed sometimes, I had grown to like him.
“I’m not ashamed. I simply want a rematch. Are you scared it was just a lucky shot?” he asked, trying to goad me.
“No. I’m nervous about how you’re going to react if I knock you on your ass again. We’ve established a good working rapport, so let’s just drop it.”
“Listen Reece. I underestimated you the first time we met, but I won’t do that again. I want a sparring match. That’s my price.” The firm set of his shoulders told me there would be no reasoning with him.
I
sighed, resigned. “Okay. I’ll spar with you, as long as you promise you won’t allow it to interfere with our working relationship if I beat you.”
“I’ll do you one better—I promise, no matter what happens, I won’t let it interfere with our friendship.” He stressed the word as he curled his mouth into a genuine smile.
I was happy to see the return of his usual easygoing nature, and I was touched he’d just acknowledged that he considered me a friend. “Thanks Morrison, but I’m not fighting you today. I have an appointment.”
“Okay. Some of the guys are meeting up tonight at the Bull and Bush—it’s a pub downtown. You want to meet up there and go over what I find out today?”
I debated his offer. On the one hand, I wanted to spend the evening with Nathan. We had so little time together with my late work days and our weekend training. However, this was the first time I’d been invited out as a friend after work, included as ‘one of the guys’. It had always seemed to be an exclusive club, to which I was always excluded. This offer from Morrison meant he’d grown to respect my abilities as an FBI agent, and considered me an equal.
“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll meet up with you there.”
Chapter 13
I met Nathan in his office late that morning. We were having lunch with his PI around the corner.
“Thanks for setting this meeting up, Nathan, but are you sure you have time to come with me? I understand if you have to work.” I was feeling contrite about causing such a disruption in his life. I was already taking over his home during the evenings, not to mention monopolizing all of his time on the weekends. But now I was interrupting his work schedule, too.
He gave me a dazzling, heart-warming grin as he wrapped his arms around me. “I am the boss, so I think taking my beautiful girlfriend to lunch is permitted.”
The flutter in my stomach and increase in heart rate when he said ‘girlfriend’ was completely incongruous. Especially considering I’d been sleeping with him, and living in his apartment, for the past week.
His voice lowered and became rough. “I love that your pulse intensifies simply from me declaring you as my girlfriend.” He crooked his head down to kiss me.
“Oh, my God,” I said, backing away from his kiss. “You can hear that?”
For some reason he found my embarrassment entertaining.
“Brianna, I am a vampire, and you are surprised that I can hear your pulse?” An insipid laugh followed the question. “All of my emotions are laid bare for you read at will. Yet, the moment I am aware of yours, you become self-conscious. That seems like a bit of a double standard.” He shook his head as his mouth curved into an ironic smile.
“I guess when you put it like that, it is a little ridiculous. I just wasn’t aware that you knew how deeply you affect me.” I lowered my eyes, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks. “And yes, I like hearing you call me your girlfriend. I know it’s childish, but I like...belonging to you that way.”
“I understand. I like belonging to you, as well,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss me.
This time I didn’t back away.
I struggled for air as his lips tookmine in a possessive, demanding kiss. Currents of desire boiled through my blood, spreading to every tissue in my body. It still amazed me—we’d kissed countless times, but each one of them felt like the first. I’d become sensitized by his touch; just the slightest brush of his fingers set my skin ablaze and my pulse racing.
I whimpered against his mouth as his hand stroked along my back and around to the swell of my breasts. He unerringly found my nipples through the lace of my bra, and caressed his fingers across the sensitive tips. Struggling with an inner turmoil, I wanted nothing more than to make love to him right then in his office, but we had to meeting to attend.
“Nathan, we have to go...” My voice trailed away before I could finish my sentence, distracted by the feel of his tongue on my ear.
He murmured a response as he continued to send my senses reeling. His hands were roaming freely over my body and igniting a desire in me that was going to take longer than the five minutes we had to quench “Nathan?”
“Hmm?”
It was clear he wasn’t going to stop. And I didn’t have the strength or will to push him away, so I attempted something I hadn’t tried before. I recalled the feel of icy cold water showering down on me, shocking my body, and then I thrust the feeling into him.
He jumped back, catching his breath as if I’d actually dumped bitter cold water on him. “What...was that?” he asked, looking at me with undisguised admiration.
“It worked? I didn’t think it would... Sorry,” I said, surreptitiously. “But we had to stop before I jumped you right here. We have to go.”
He smiled, ruefully. “No, I am sorry. I forgot myself for a moment. That was excellent by the way,” he said, proudly. “It sincerely felt as though you had doused me with a bucket of ice water. You are definitely improving.”
“Thanks to you,” I said, beaming from the compliment.
“All right. Let us go meet with my private investigator.” He grabbed my purse and opened the door for me, his faultless gallantry never failing to amaze me.
Lisa Benet was an attractive woman. She was tall for a woman, at about five-ten, lean and athletically built. She had long straight hair that was a stunning caramel brown, with copper and blonde highlights. Her eyes were also brown, but lighter, with flecks of amber. She had incredible golden-bronzed skin, and looking at it, I was all of a sudden missing my tan.
I extended my hand in greeting. “Hello, Miss Benet. I’m Special Agent Reece. Thank you for meeting with me today.”
“No problem at all, Agent Reece. Please, call me Lisa.” She said, graciously, as she shook my hand.
She surprised me when she turned to Nathan with a broad smile, moving in for a hug and a kiss to his cheek.
“Nathan. Good to see you,” she said more affectionately than I was comfortable with. I felt an irrational stab of jealousy.
Nathan looked at me a little uncomfortably. “Shall we sit down and order lunch?” He pulled her seat out for her, then came over to do the same for me, catching me right before I was about to do it myself. The look he flashed me full of reproach.
We ordered our lunch and made polite, casual conversation for awhile. I found my annoyance growing as I watched Lisa continuously touch Nathan, and the phony tittering she used when she laughed at a comment he’d made grated on my nerves. She also made a point of rubbing my nose in how long she had known Nathan, obviously aware that we had just met. Nathan assured me he would keep our relationship a secret to protect my job, but I had a feeling she knew about us. And she didn’t like it one bit.
I was so distracted by my scrutiny of his gorgeous private investigator, that I almost forgot why I was there. With my goal in mind, I re-established my veil of professionalism and decided to get started.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your reminiscing, Miss Benet, but I need to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Shoot.”
“As I’m sure Mr. Donovan has informed you, the FBI is investigating a serial killer who has already slain four young women. Mr. Donovan had contact with three of the women before they were killed and he says he found them with your help. I need to know how you located the girls.” While waiting for her response, I decided lower my shields. I’d been practicing keeping them erected at all times, especially with our training, but I needed to gauge her reactions to my questions.
The emotions—or should I say emotion—that hit me was an absolute shock. She hated me! How could a woman who felt this passionately, sit there calmly and smile as if we were friends? I was bewildered for a moment and almost didn’t hear her next question.
“What women are you referring to?” she asked again, not giving the slightest indication of the odious feelings burning inside her.
“Sherri Marcone, Leslie Harper, and Morganna Tate.” I could barely maintain my conc
entration enough to remember the names of the victims. Nathan was looking at me strangely, clearly confused by my distracted behavior.
“Oh, yes. I remember the case,” she remarked, offhandedly. Inside she was screaming at me, she was so...jealous. That was it exactly—the root of her hatred toward me. There was so much animosity I could barely concentrate on the conversation. Her loathing made it impossible for me to ascertain whether she was being truthful. All I felt was envy, not to mention a resentful, insidious hatred.
“Sherri’s mother contacted Nathan,” she began, turning to him with a smile. “She knew Nathan from years ago and knew he owned a security company. She called him because she thought someone was stalking her daughter. Susan was afraid for her daughter and wanted Nathan to protect her.” She paused to take a sip of her drink, to everyone around us she appeared completely tranquil, charming even. There was no outward hint of the seething venomous feelings directed toward me.
Then it suddenly hit me—she must be in love with Nathan.
I wondered if Nathan had a prior relationship with her. I guess it was possible. I mean, the man was one hundred and thirty years old—there had to have been a lot of women in his past. Why wouldn’t he warn me that we were meeting an old girlfriend who was still in love with him?
I felt a sudden twinge of irritation with him.
“Before Susan was murdered, her mother needed a bone marrow transplant. Unfortunately, Susan’s bone marrow wasn’t a match, but miraculously there were two possible compatibles found. They screened the two donors, and discovered one of them was a perfect match with Susan. I knew the chance of finding two unrelated donors was a veritable impossibility, so I used some sources to find out who the matches were.” She looked at me expectantly, and I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say next.