“Bearing my emotional pain is your job, Finn. Healing my wounds is your job.” Her voice escalated as the words ripped through her throat, “Helping to keep my goddamned head on straight so I do what has to be done is your job. Manipulating me, making me feel what you want me to feel is as far from your job as it gets!”
“Jax—”
Exhaustion settled on her, the weight too much for Jacquelyn to bear. She knew deep down that if she’d told him no, he would have stopped. But pushing his emotions on her, urging her to feel something that wasn’t real was dangerously close to crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Go home, Finn. Go home before we both say or do anything more that we’ll regret.”
Finn stayed perched on the couch, unmoving. “I’m not going anywhere until we talk this out.”
Ugh. “Fine.” Jacquelyn headed for her bedroom and turned to face Finn when she reached the door. “Suit yourself. Like I said, I’m going to bed. You can stay out here all night if you want because I’m not talking anything out with you tonight or any other night. And just so you know, if you take one step into my bedroom, I’m going to shoot your stubborn ass.”
“You wouldn’t.” Finn’s voice rang with confidence and he flashed her a smug grin. “Trish’d have your ass if you shot me.”
Jacquelyn shrugged and walked into her room. She poked her head out of the doorway and said, “True, but I doubt she’d blame me if I capped you in the foot. Have fun on the couch, Finn,” and closed the door behind her.
Chapter 21
“DO YOU THINK she’s okay?” Micah paced the confines of Trish’s living room, unable to sit still. “I mean, it was a rough day and she seemed pretty shaken up. Shouldn’t we have heard from her by now?”
Trish raised a silver brow, her focus on the knitting in her lap. “Micah, you’ve got to get a handle on your emotions,” she chided. “You’re making me damned jumpy and I don’t like it a bit.”
Micah paused mid-step and turned to stare at the old woman working the needles with dexterous grace. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize—”
“Of course you didn’t.” Trish cast a sidelong glance and smirked. “Go put a kettle on, will you? Some tea would do us both good.”
Tea. They hadn’t heard from Jacquelyn in over twelve hours and Trish wanted tea.
“Yes, I do,” Trish said, still not making eye contact. “She’s not a yearling like you, kiddo. I’m not worried.”
“I thought you said you can’t read minds,” Micah snorted as he headed for the kitchen.
“I can’t, dear. But, like I said, the way you project your emotions makes you a very easy read.”
The click-clack of the knitting needles carried from the living room and Micah let the soft rhythm calm him. Anxiety wasn’t new to him. Before he’d come to McCall, the building ripples of distress had been a daily battle. Worry over what he felt, the surges of emotion with no foundation or origin. The bursts of anger, worry, confusion, love, sorrow… He’d never known they were merely echoes coming from the people around him. And in his ignorance and fear, he’d turned to the pills.
One wouldn’t hurt. He needed to relax, to banish the feeling that he was jumping out of his skin. It’d been days since he’d taken one, it wasn’t like he was an addict, he just needed to feel calm, safe. The worry would stay with him all night if he didn’t take at least one.
The kettle screamed on the stove, shaking Micah from his thoughts. No. He poured boiling water into two mugs and dropped a tea bag in each. You don’t need one. Get your shit together.
Micah walked back to the living room, feeling a little like a tightrope walker as he made sure not to spill on Trish’s floor. He set a cup on an old, weathered end table next to Trish and forced himself to take a seat on the chair next to hers. His knee bounced impatiently as he pondered the steaming amber liquid sloshing with each movement of his leg.
“Did you know that chamomile naturally relaxes the body and mind?” Trish set her knitting aside. “It can help you sleep.”
Micah stared hard into the cup, as if its contents would reveal Jacquelyn’s whereabouts. “I’ve never tried that.”
“Why would you?” Trish asked. “Not when you have a simple solution waiting for you in a plastic bottle. Those pills won’t do you a damn bit of good, Micah. What you need is to get a grip on your gift. Control is the answer, not oblivion.”
Micah didn’t care what she said to the contrary. Trish could read his mind as if he’d spoken the words. “I don’t know how to do that,” he replied. “How do you cope with it all? I feel…I don’t know, too full or something. Like my brain and chest are going to explode.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Trish laughed. “Maybe you’re looking at it all wrong. This gift, it’s not the curse you believe it is. You need to think of it as a tool. Waerds can’t function without Bearers. We’ve been paired for centuries. You’ve been charged with the responsibility of seeking out evil. And your weapon against it is the hunter.”
Micah took a large swallow of his tea, rolling the mellow flavor around on his tongue and focused on the warm passage of it down his throat. “It all seems so underhanded to me. I mean, Waerds don’t seem to have a choice. You use them, just like you would some inanimate thing. They’re forced to follow orders, and why? They’re as human as we are. Why are Bearers given a choice, but Waerds are not? Why aren’t we taken from our families, raised in a barracks and taught to fight. If we’re the seekers of evil why do we need Waerds at all? We should be able to take up the cause without dragging someone in against their will.”
“It doesn’t work that way, dear. And if you think Waerds or Bearers are just ordinary humans, than you’ve got another think coming, my boy. We’re anything but ordinary. I know you saw how Jacquelyn moved in the woods the other night as she tracked that Goblin. No matter what that stubborn girl thinks or tells you to the contrary, she isn’t any less ordinary than you or I, Micah. And the things you feel, your ability to heal are anything but mundane. You think we trawl the hospital nurseries, plucking potential killers from their cradles to do our bidding, and why would you assume anything else after hearing her story. But that’s just not the case. True, Waerds are often found by the Sentry in their infancy. And yes, they begin their training at a very young age. Perhaps too young, but that’s not for me to say. Waerds are very, very special individuals, Micah. Not even Jacquelyn understands what she truly is. What’s she’s capable of. And Bearers aren’t just folks who’ve got a good read on their neighbors. Our purpose is fated, I suppose you could say. And the Sentry does not choose their members indiscriminately. Bearers are born. Waerds as well. Our existence is our calling.”
“How do you recruit your members, then? Why doesn’t the Sentry go out in search of Bearers when they’re infants as well?”
“Bearers are drawn to Waerds. They are two halves of a whole. There’s no need for the Sentry to look for Bearers because the Bearers find them. A Waerd possesses a very specific fire in their soul, Micah, and only a Bearer can see that flame. Only a Bearer can truly feel the heat of it. You saw it in her when you met her, didn’t you?”
Micah thought of the moment he met her at the gas station. How he’d been compelled to reach out and touch her, despite the fact that he didn’t know her. Power pulsed from her, caressing every fiber of his being, sparking something to life inside of Micah, as if he’d never actually lived a day of his life until the moment his skin touched hers. Every thought since the night he’d dreamt of her had been occupied with her one way or another. Is that what Trish meant?
“Finn,” Micah started. “Jacquelyn mentioned that he wasn’t taking their separation well. Is that why?”
Trish sighed into her cup. “Those pills you take, you don’t need them. They help you, though. Make you feel like you’re not falling into the abyss. That’s what Finn is feeling right now. That want of her nearness, the need to warm himself with the heat of her presen
ce, it’s like your pills. It pulls him from the edge of the eternal dark.”
Of course. Micah couldn’t help but sympathize with Finn. Since he’d arrived in McCall, he’d needed the anti-anxiety meds less and less. He’d replaced one drug with another. “Does Finn realize that?”
“Oh, we’re always warned by our elders,” Trish explained, her voice, sad. “But none of us ever pays heed.”
“Why not just tell her, Trish?” Could the truth be that bad? “If Jacquelyn is so convinced that there’s nothing special about her why not just lay it all out?”
“She’s not ready to hear the whole truth, Micah. And for that matter, neither are you.”
The moment had become too awkward, the implications of the bond between Waerd and Bearer another burden Micah didn’t know if he could bear. He looked into his cup, the tea, gone. A heaviness crept into his limbs that hadn’t been there before. Finally, he felt relaxed enough that he might be able to sleep.
“Good night, dear.” Trish traded her cup for her knitting. The click-clack of the needles filled the silence eating up the room.
Yep. Definitely a mind reader. “Good night, Trish.”
A thick fog crept over the distant hills, like an approaching firestorm illuminated by the rising sun. Micah stood on unfamiliar ground, staring across the misty dreamscape that overlooked a small valley and a weather-aged, dilapidated house. A tiny ribbon of smoke twirled from the chimney as though reaching out to join the spectral mist.
He walked, the grass beneath his feet slick with frost. His chest ached with the onslaught of emotion funneling toward him. So much hatred and, beneath it all, desire and lust so strong it nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He’d never felt wanting like that before, so all-consuming. Micah’s body stirred in response, and he quelled the sensation, reminding himself that what he felt was merely an echo of emotion and his body obeyed, relaxing. His pulse slowed and he took a deep breath, holding the cold morning air in his lungs.
A woman’s defiant voice drew his attention. He knew that voice, felt the pull of it on every string of his soul. And she sounded pissed. But soon, her shouts of protest turned to screams and Micah’s shoes dug into the frosty ground as he pushed himself to run. The house seemed to move, just beyond his reach, no matter how fast he ran, the screams, bursting like a mortar shell in his ears. Hold on! I’m coming.
Micah sat up in bed. Sweat trickled down his brow and his breath came heavy as though he’d actually been running. He buried his face in his hands as he tried to steady his reeling head. The dream had been so real. He smelled the frost coated grass, felt the tingle of cold on his nose. And the screams—her screams… A strangled shout lodged itself in his chest. He couldn’t go back to sleep, not now, maybe not ever. He had to know if she was okay and there was only one way to find out.
Micah crept down the stairs, careful not to make any noise, which was damned near impossible considering the old, creaky floor boards. He found the small wooden bowl next to the phone where Trish kept her keys and breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t jingle against one another when he grabbed them. Trish had already proved she could practically read his thoughts; maybe she had supernatural hearing in her arsenal as well. As he closed the door, the entire house seemed to be his accomplice as the latch clicked silently behind him. His shoulders slumped as he stared at the Dodge. He didn’t think the obnoxious diesel engine would be so cooperative.
“Fuck it.” He climbed in the truck and turned the key. The engine roared and he sped out of the driveway hoping Trish wouldn’t be too mad that her truck had been stolen for a second time in less than a week.
The drive up Goose Creek Canyon was decidedly scarier in the dark. Like the first time he’d driven the winding canyon toward McCall, unfamiliar turns had to be taken at half the speed and Micah knew from experience that an animal could dart from the trees and across the road at any time. Memories of his dream spurred him, the sounds of tortured screams an eerie siren song he couldn’t ignore. He glanced at the clock on the dash, the sun would be rising soon and he was still nine miles away. Damn it, why had he left his motor home? At least it was in town, not parked in Butt Fuck Egypt like Trish’s house. He’d be closer to Jacquelyn if he’d just kept his ass in the damned RV. Panic spurred Micah on and he punched the accelerator, throwing caution aside as he raced up the canyon highway.
Micah pushed the truck to its limits, surprised that the huge ranch vehicle cornered as well as a small car. His stomach churned, fists gripping the steering wheel. What if she was hurt? Missing? Or worse. He never should have left her alone, tough girl act or not. She needed him and he’d let her push him away. The truck didn’t slow as Micah turned onto Jacquelyn’s driveway. Her house was dark; the porch light off as well. But the headlights caught the glint of a license plate and he recognized the truck parked in front of her porch.
Finn.
In her house.
With her.
At three in the morning.
A soft, warm tongue lapped languidly up the column of his throat and across his cheek. How many hours had he lain in the dark, arching into the grip of their skillful hands, writhing as they pet him, spoke sweet words in his ear? Their hands, both cool and warm, left sparks of electricity on his bare skin. Breath like a hot wind blowing over the desert rustled his hair, so loving in their care of him.
The walls of his bedroom closed in, the peeling vinyl wallpaper dingy and gray. It had once been bright with flowers. Maybe soon he’d do something to spruce this old place up. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the dripping bathroom sink while his invisible lovers, the spirits that never left him, stretched long fingers across the expanse of his chest. He sighed. This was no place to bring a woman. He’d have to find someone to clean the house, make it presentable. A smile stretched across his face at the thought of her lying next to him, touching him the way his three angels touched him now.
So much closer to his goal, they’d dealt with the obstacles in his path one by one and it wouldn’t be long before he had everything he’d ever wanted. This damned town was full of idiots, busy-bodies, and big men whose self-importance was impressive to no one. Willie Carmichael had owned a business with loyal employees he’d chosen to belittle, and a wife and children he’d bullied and abused. And Bree Embry—she’d had decent looks, a decent job in a town with few to spare, and she’d chosen to let an ugly attitude negate all of her worth. As for the next person on his list…that bastard was going to get everything coming to him and then some. He had more than any of the others, he had the prize.
In the dark he raised his hands, curious that he could make out the shape of his fingers in the absence of light. Just another gift from his lovelies, he’d become so much more than he was. Extraordinary. Superior. Clenching his digits into fists, he jabbed at the air once, twice, and again, laughing with each swing. Strong enough to bash in a skull. Forceful enough to take what he wanted. She couldn’t ignore him any longer. Soon, nothing would stand between them. She’d finally see him for what he had become, thanks to the creatures that gave him strength. She’d finally love him the way he loved her.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I am so happy.”
Chapter 22
JACQUELYN STRETCHED. A full-body, measured movement that eased the stiffness from her too tight muscles. She rolled over onto her side, and breathed in the scent of clean sheets that had bothered her so much just a couple of weeks ago. Funny how a little well-deserved anger managed to push her over the hump of getting over Finn. The previous night’s argument replayed in her mind, as well as her threat to put a bullet in him if he crossed the threshold of her door. Awareness spiked and Jacquelyn’s eyes flew open. She didn’t hear him leave last night. Had that stubborn pain in the ass spent the night on her couch as he patiently waited to start round two of their argument?
“Shit.”
She rolled out of bed, fumbled around for the jeans she’d worn the previous night, and rifled throug
h a drawer for a clean t-shirt. A good night’s rest usually did wonders for her outlook, but as Jacquelyn remembered how Finn had crossed the line yet again using his gift to make her complacent, it caused the blood to boil in her veins. A deep aching sorrow churned in her stomach at the cavalier way he’d disregarded her need for distance. Damn it, Finn. Why?
The crunch of tires and the deep rumble of an engine in her driveway interrupted her thoughts and Jacquelyn froze. Had Finn just left, or worse, had Trish’s Dodge just pulled in? Guilt tied her stomach into a tight knot, but why should she feel like last night was something more than it was? They’d fought. Finn refused to go. She’d been too tired to force him out. Their partnership couldn’t be cast aside whether she wanted to be romantically involved with him or not. Her thoughts drifted unbidden to Micah and her guilt welled up fresh. Would it matter to Micah if Finn was here last night? Why did it matter to her now? She pictured Micah’s rich brown eyes and a gaze that seemed to see into every secret part of her. He’d never actually claimed any personal interest in her. Only his eyes told her differently. And perhaps that was the reason for her blossoming guilt complex. Deep down, she wanted Micah to be interested. To care.
The not-so-melodious beep, beep, beep, of a vehicle backing up in her driveway tore Jacquelyn from her reverie and she peeked between the slats of her blinds to see Finn’s truck gone and Evan’s tow truck in its place, parked in front of her pole barn-slash-garage. Libby was on the ball. Evan parked the truck, jumped out of the driver’s seat and began to hook up to Jacquelyn’s old Subaru wagon. She stuffed her feet into a pair of shoes and gathered her hair into a ponytail as she high-tailed it for the front door. At least now she didn’t have to ride her bike into town.
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