by Jory Strong
“Sorry to ramble, but until now there’s been only a limited amount of conversation. Your showing up early at Patrick’s home just about gave me a heart attack. I had to act quickly. Madame Ava was such an irritating person that I couldn’t envision myself spending a second longer than necessary with her. Horrid. The forced interaction whenever she got in front of the cameras was bad enough, even if it did add to the story immeasurably.”
The cold edge of a blade pressed against Aislinn’s neck. She stiffened and tried to move away.
“Stay still or you’ll accidentally cut yourself.” The blade traveled upward, across her cheek, then stilled near her eyes. “I’m afraid that I can’t do anything about your other bindings until after we’re finished, but it’s only fair that we meet face-to-face.”
The blade sliced through the duct tape, opening a small cut as it did, but the blood oozed instead of running down the side of Aislinn’s face. “This is going to hurt,” he said as he ripped the duct tape covering her eyes away.
Aislinn’s body arched in reaction, her scream trapped in her throat, though her lips burned as they tried to open against the tape. Tears streamed out of her eyes, stinging her face as they rolled over the knife cut.
“Surprised?” he asked, then tensed, head jerking upward at the sound of splinting wood.
As heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway of the small house, the reporter Aislinn had seen on TV grabbed her still bound body and pulled it against the front of his as Trace barreled in, gun drawn, murder on his face.
The knife at Aislinn’s throat cut into skin and sent a flow of blood down the front of her neck. “Don’t come any closer,” her kidnapper said.
Rage and joy collided in Trace’s chest.
She was alive.
He sensed Conner hovering just inside the private entrance. Miguel was at the other end of the hall. Trace held up his hand to halt him. “David Colvin, Channel 6, right? Get tired of reporting news and decide to make it instead?”
“Very good, Detective Dilessio.”
Trace heartbeat kicked up. So the guy knew who he was. “Might as well put the knife down, end this before someone gets hurt.”
“I imagine it’s alarming to see a knife held so close to your girlfriend’s very pretty throat.”
Trace broke eye contact with the reporter just long enough to look at Aislinn’s face. He expected to see terror, but instead felt the warm rush of her confidence in him.
“Let’s end this now, Colvin.”
The knife seemed to dig a little deeper in Aislinn’s neck. Trace tried not to react.
“Please, this script is so unoriginal,” the reporter said. His knuckles glowed white against the black handle of the knife. Reflected light from the candles flickered against the blade.
“What do you want?” Trace asked.
“Let’s start with your gun, so I’ll have a fighting chance of getting out of here alive.”
Trace’s gut twisted. Rule number one—never give up your gun. Would she understand that he couldn’t do that? Couldn’t put even more lives in jeopardy?
I understand.
His eyes flashed to hers. Had he imagined her voice?
I understand, her voice whispered again through his mind before she stiffened and her face tightened with pain.
“You’re stalling. Give me your gun.”
Trace’s entire body surged with rage as he saw that the wound on her neck was deeper now, the blood flowing more freely. “How do I know you won’t kill her anyway?”
“You don’t. But I promise that I will kill her if it looks like I’m going to be arrested. Not much to lose at that point.”
There was no room for a headshot, no hope that a sniper could take Colvin out since there were no visible windows in the room. If only…
I can distract him. I can make him take all of my weight.
In desperation, Trace answered, Christ, I don’t even know if your voice is real or if I’m imagining it!
He took my earring as a souvenir.
The thought startled Trace. His attention swung to the knife, the slender column of her neck, higher. He could see the delicate wing of one butterfly earring, but the other was covered by hair.
Had his subconscious noticed a missing earring?
Ask him.
This time the voice seemed stronger, more real in his mind.
Trace shifted the gun back and forth between his hands, as though he was considering giving it up. “I want her safe. I want all of her back. No souvenirs.”
Colvin’s eyes widened in surprise, then he chuckled. “Not quite out of the closet, so to speak. You don’t want your police friends to see how different she really is. The ears are a nice touch. If it’s any consolation, I think she might be the real thing.” His features reformed, this time with a trace of panic as police sirens wailed and echoed, growing closer. “Time to write the headline. What’s it going to be? Cops trade killer for psychic or Homicide detective watches psychic girlfriend’s death as killer is finally stopped.”
Trace steadied the gun and himself. Ready?
He watched her eyes. Yes.
Now!
She sagged, and for a split second Colvin’s head was exposed.
Trace took the shot.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the heat radiating off of Trace’s body, Aislinn shivered as he carried her through the door leading from the garage into his house. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she and Sophie left for the beach.
“How’s the throat?” Trace asked, hugging her more tightly to his body.
“It’ll heal.”
“You should have let the EMT guys look at it.”
“I couldn’t.” She felt him tense against her but he didn’t speak again until he’d carried her to the bathroom and set her gently on the countertop. Cupping her face in hands that still smelled of gunpowder, Trace asked, “What did he mean when he said that the ears were a nice touch?”
Aislinn searched his face. “They’re different. They’re part of my heritage.”
“Like being able to find missing people?”
“Only some of them.”
Trace closed his eyes briefly, daring himself to face the truth. What about this? How can we hear each other like this?
Aislinn reached over and touched the ring on Trace’s finger. My mother was psychic, but my father wasn’t. When they formed a bond, she gave this ring to him so they could communicate in the way of her people.
“It’s a wedding band?”
Was that panic in his voice? “There was never a formal marriage ceremony.”
Trace pushed her hair away from first one ear, then the other, exposing the delicate crystal-lined butterflies perched at the top. He’d thought she’d mentioned the stolen earring as a way of getting him to accept their unspoken communication, but despite what she’d endured, she’d been frantic about retrieving the earring and putting it back on.
“Show me,” he whispered, husky demand and plea bundled together as he ran his finger over each intricately crafted butterfly wing.
For several long seconds Aislinn searched his face. Finally she removed the earrings and exposed delicate pointed tips.
Trace stroked the smooth skin. “Natural?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. All of my mother’s people have ears like this.”
“Elf-like.”
Aislinn stilled.
Trace tensed then gave a slightly shaky laugh. “Don’t tell me. I think I’ve had to deal with enough psychic shit for today.” He pressed his body to hers and wrapped her in his arms. “We’re going to have to agree on some rules, some limits. I can’t go through this again. When I knew you were missing and he probably had you, I…” He tightened his grip. “I didn’t care whether you were psychic or not. I just wanted you back. Safe. All I could think about was how I needed you in my life, how I wanted you to be waiting for me at the end of a day. Christ, Aislinn, I want you like I’ve n
ever wanted anything in my life.” He pulled back so he could read her face.
Aislinn leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I want you the same way.” She hesitated before adding, “You’re my heartmate. Among my mother’s people, it’s a lifelong commitment.”
“Good. Because it’s probably going to take me a lifetime to come to terms with the psychic sh…”
Aislinn stopped him with the press of her mouth on his. Until you beguiled me, I kept the hope of having a heartmate locked inside. I need you. I need to feel your strength. Your love. I need to belong to you…to be claimed…possessed. The last word was a faint whisper in Trace’s mind but it sent lava-hot blood roaring to his cock.
He moved back and started removing his clothes. Aislinn’s fingers went to the buttons at the front of her dress and Trace’s eyelids lowered, his face hardened. That’s right, baby, strip. As soon as we get you cleaned up, I’m going to run my hands and mouth over every inch of you. Then I’m going to show you with my cock just how much you belong to me. And when I’m done, there won’t be any doubt in your mind that I love you.
About the author
Jory has been writing since childhood and has never outgrown being a daydreamer. When she's not hunched over her computer, lost in the muse and conjuring up new heroes and heroines, she can usually be found reading, riding her horses, or hiking with her dogs.
Jory welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, OH 44224.
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