by Ann Macela
Of course, after that nightmare, who needed another one?
He hadn’t really had time to think through all the info and events of the last few days. My God, it was only Wednesday. It felt like he’d been here for days. This mess had only started on Saturday night—when everything seemed so simple in comparison. All he’d had to worry about was catching Finster.
Now he knew about the practitioner world and discovered he was one of them and could actually cast spells. He had a soul mate—a soul mate—and everything had become so damn complicated. It was a wonder he could think at all.
Strangest of all, however, he was comfortable with the whole situation. Like he finally had the answers to most of his personal problems.
How to reconcile his new situation with his job, he had no clue. If he couldn’t, would he even be able to stay with the DEA once his main objective, catching the Finster/Ubell combo, was completed? He’d have to talk to Whipple about fitting magic talents into the everyday world. What would Irenee think of his profession, either way? Please, God, don’t let her get the idea as a Sword she could help him with it.
No answers came to mind. His antennae didn’t even wiggle.
Damn his hunch mechanism. He had to find a way to bring it under control. He couldn’t be the first practitioner with the damn premonitions. Somebody had mentioned “probability theory,” but he’d always thought that went with games of chance and odds. No, he considered his hunches more akin to data analysis, gathering all the info he could, sifting it through his mind— consciously or unconsciously—and coming out with a solution for a problem or a correct reading of a situation or a plan of action. He sure would like to be able to turn it on and off at will.
Whatever happened there, it was for future consideration.
More immediate, no, most immediate was Irenee. What was he going to do with a soul mate?
One part of his anatomy had no trouble answering the question. Especially in the morning.
His brain, however, was slow to get itself in gear. He’d gone to bed last night and been asleep before his head hit the pillow, despite all the stuff running around in his mind. Then the nightmare, then the sofa, then her bed, and finally true sleep.
Before those events, she’d told him about soul mates and asked what his hunch said about them. As he lay there with her in his arms, all his conclusions came back to him full force. Having her as his soul mate would put an end to so much—loneliness, rootlessness—and he’d have someone to care about and protect and who would do the same for him.
Did he deserve her and all that came with her?
Probably not, but he’d be stupid to turn it down—and he was no fool.
Were they really and truly soul mates? She seemed to think so. The skeptic cop in him wasn’t so sure. A small prick in his center warned him to watch his thinking. All right, he’d keep an open mind. He couldn’t, however, deny the facts of her world, now his, or magic. He’d have to let the events play out before he truly accepted, fully embraced the soul-mate concept.
He had the sneaking suspicion she hadn’t told him everything, either.
None of it mattered. By God, he’d do everything in his power, magic or otherwise, to keep her safe.
His center vibrated a little in agreement, and he suppressed a growl. Every time he turned around, his center was bugging him. The damn thing was worse than swallowing a cell phone.
Right this instant ... he had a warm woman next to him. Even if she wanted to put off having sex—or, her word, mating—he could see no reason why they couldn’t fool around a little. He inhaled and let her slightly spicy, slightly floral scent float in his lungs. His impatient body responded—as did his magic center, which vibrated harder.
Carefully, he eased her onto her back. She frowned, mumbled something, but didn’t wake up. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked his fill. Her dark red hair was spread out on the pillow, and he gently removed a few strands from her face. She was so gorgeous—the porcelain skin of a redhead, slightly arched reddish brows, straight nose, luscious lips. He was looking forward to seeing those dark brown eyes open and make him think of diving into chocolate pools.
Chocolate pools? Where did such a sappy term come from? He shook his head. Would he be spouting poetry next? God, he had it bad for the woman.
His center vibrated again—like it was laughing. Idiot center. The way it got excited at the sight or thought of her? It was worse than his cock.
Enough of this. He was a man of action, not mushy words.
He looked down at the rest of her. Her long T-shirt was hiked up, revealing almost all of her legs, and the sight made him think how they would feel wrapped around him. Yeah, he’d show her his “spell”—his own “sword.”
He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. When they opened slightly, he ran his tongue around the soft inner lining. She stirred, and the tip of her pink tongue traced his line. She sighed, and the edges of her lips quirked up in a faint smile.
He traced the V-edge of her shirt with a finger, continued from the bottom of the V over the top of her breast, circled around and up to her nipple. Her shirt was so thin he could see the deep rose of it, and as he played, the nipple became darker and harder, like a raspberry getting ripe. He shook his head again at his flowery thoughts and noted they didn’t stop his body from reacting. In fact, they might be encouraging his arousal.
He settled his hand over her breast and gave her another small kiss. Another lingering one.
She sighed again, made a sound like purring, and responded by flicking her tongue into the gap between his lips.
He pulled back, and when she opened her eyes, he murmured, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She stared at him solemnly for a few seconds, with no sign of recognition.
He grinned at her. “Remember me? Tall guy, wild talent, hunches?”
She grinned back, reached a hand up to his hair, ran her fingers through it. “So, kiss me, Mr. Hunch Man, and tell me what your intuition says about us.”
He complied with her command.
And fell headlong into a maelstrom of wanting, of longing, of need. Desire rushed through him, tightening his muscles, speeding up his heartbeat, spreading the heat from his center to every cell in him.
In that instant, without a doubt, he knew here was where he belonged, in her bed, in her arms, in her body, in her heart.
When he ended the kiss and came to his senses, he had one leg thrust between hers, her top leg was hooked over and around his hip, and his stiff cock was trying its best to get out of his boxers. His top hand was rubbing her back up under her shirt.
She had one hand on the elastic of his underwear, like she was going to pull it away and dip her hand inside. When she moved the hand to his back and ran it up and down, part of him mourned. His mind told him it was better she hadn’t touched him where he so much wanted her to. Stupid mind.
She didn’t seem inclined to let go or to talk, and she was breathing as hard as he was. He was content simply to hold her close and rock gently until their breathing slowed. Finally, he loosened his arms and leaned back enough to look her in the face.
“Wow,” she mouthed soundlessly.
He had to clear his throat before he could say, “Yeah. My hunches are quiet, but the rest of me sure wants you.”
She cupped his jaw and ran her thumb over his cheek. “I had no idea of the strength of this ... I don’t know what to call it. Attraction doesn’t cover it, and every other word I think of seems too weak.”
“Yeah.” How could she be thinking about words? He was long past coherence. He gave her breast a little squeeze and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. When she gasped and jumped slightly, he knew he wasn’t thinking, period. Not with his brain, at least.
Her face was a nice pink when—after clearing her throat—she said, “I guess we should get up.”
He grinned, refrained from telling her he was “up,” and slowly let her go. She was right. Today was goin
g to be busy. “What time is it?”
She turned over and sat up to look at her bedside clock. “Oh, it’s only seven thirty. Why don’t we have breakfast in the restaurant? There’s usually a buffet, and it will be quicker than my cooking.”
“Works for me.” He rose, walked around the bed, and when she stood up, took her in his arms. “Something for you to think about. Let me move my stuff over here. We’ll both sleep better.”
From her frown and her pause, he thought she was going to say no, but she nodded. “Yes, our being together would probably be for the best. I slept really well.”
“So did I, and no dreams. I’ll see you downstairs.” He gave her a quick kiss and took his protesting body out of her bedroom before it overruled him.
Take it easy. You’ll have another chance tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Irenee watched him leave the room. Within seconds, he called good-bye, and she heard her front door close.
With a sigh of relief tinged by disappointment, she flopped back on the bed. Yes, it was a good thing he had gone. Another minute of that kind of closeness and they might have been making love for sure.
Her center fluttered happily at the thought.
“Oh, stop it.” She rubbed the spot at the end of her breastbone.
Should she have said no when he suggested moving in? She almost had. His not being here would definitely remove the temptation to mate.
On the other hand, they would sleep better knowing each other was close by.
How close was the question.
They’d proved last night his being in the same condo wasn’t close enough. It hadn’t been double insomnia keeping them both awake. It was separation. Once they had physical contact, zap, she was asleep, and she had to assume he was, too.
With no dreams to speak of.
Could they share a bed again and not succumb? Not seal the bond? Despite intense provocation, they’d pulled back twice now. Would they be able to do so again?
Where was the idea they needed to wait coming from? Him or her?
Was it her, not him, delaying acceptance of each other as soul mates? Was he putting it off because of what he was feeling in and from her? Even though she knew in her bones she was his, and everything would work out because the phenomenon guaranteed it?
She wasn’t sure Jim had fully accepted her. He did accept the concept, thank goodness. So, what was bothering her? Wasn’t that enough?
No, because she wanted and needed a declaration of togetherness from him. A flat-out statement of his belief in her, in their being together always. How insecure was that?
Or was there another factor, an action, a conclusion, a conversation, an event that had not yet happened, but which would turn the tide?
She hadn’t a clue.
All either of them could do was wait and see.
“Damn it,” she mumbled as she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. “Why did becoming soul mates have to be so difficult? Nobody ever said a word about having so much trouble.”
By noon, while Jim sat in the restaurant with Irenee, Whipple, and his trainer, Johanna Mahler, he wondered if he’d have the energy tonight for “another chance.”
Johanna. Teacher, trainer? Hah. More like drill sergeant.
First she’d asked him if he and Irenee had mated. He didn’t think it was her business, and he simply answered, “No,” with no explanation.
She then proceeded to run him through more versions of lux than he dreamed existed. According to theory, once he had mastered the subtle variations and energy controls of the ball of light, everything else was easy.
Some theory.
He’d had much more trouble today than he had when he first cast the spell. Nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t change the light’s colors easily, he moved it around like he or it was drunk, and he almost burned his fingers when he forgot to make the outer shell cool. He used too much power or too little. The light flickered like an electric bulb in a thunderstorm.
Johanna had explained the “formula” some hot-shot theoretical mathematician had thought up, but he couldn’t keep track of what all the letters meant and simultaneously cast a spell. When she recited the formula’s rap song someone with sense had composed, all the casting steps became a lot clearer.
What really helped him manage his power was her explanation of his “energy bucket.” That was his term, not hers. She called it a “well,” a “repository,” and a “reservoir.” Control boiled down to thinking about the energy in his bucket in relative terms, not in absolute ones. In percentages. When he applied ten percent of the energy in a full bucket, he got one result. Twenty gave him another, and so forth.
Once he got used to the concept, he started to get a “feel” for energy application, and spell-casting became much easier.
When they tried putting a defense spell on his own body, however, casting got complicated again. The strength spell would really be helpful—if he could turn the energy inward instead of out. Johanna cast it on him so he could experience it, and the sudden increase in muscle power was exhilarating. Now he knew what a superhero felt like. By himself, he’d only managed a tiny strength boost, however. Damned frustrating.
They’d also gone over a list of low level spells that he might learn—assuming his talents allowed it—and those had him drooling. Oh, to be able to cast lock/ unlock, different grades of “invisibility,” and his personal favorites, unfasten and unravel. The first would unfasten all of a person’s clothing—unbuttoning, unzipping, unbuckling. The second would reduce the spelled object to its basic constituents; a shirt would unravel to threads and buttons, and a device to its casings, screws, gears, and springs. Man, would he like to throw unravel on a bad guy with a weapon. It gave whole new meaning to the idea of a “naked gun.”
For now, he had to be patient—and eat like a teenager to replace the calories he’d expended.
Irenee was keeping up with him, bite for bite. Whatever she’d done this morning, it must have been worse than his session. She’d started with two desserts, next attacked a steak and a bunch of shrimp. At the moment, she was working on a mound of vegetables.
He and his soul mate were going to have a hell of a food bill.
Wait. What?
He stared at his juicy steak. In his head he heard the sound of his open mind closing like a vault door—with a big solid thunk and a sign proclaiming “Soul Mates Forever.”
Well, hell. just like that. A decision.
She was in his life, and she was going to stay there. He didn’t even need a hunch. A feeling of complete contentment washed through him, his center vibrated, and his entire body relaxed. He silently vowed to do his very best to live up to her, protect her, and keep her safe. Maybe it would be some atonement for his sister.
“Jim? Jim.” Johanna shook his arm. “Are you all right?”
Mentally shaking himself, Jim turned to her. “Sure. The food really rebuilds your energy, doesn’t it? I’m surprised it comes back so quickly”
“You looked a little funny there for a minute, but I guess it’s to be expected. I did work you rather hard.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I think I learned a lot.”
“Yes, you did,” Johanna replied and began telling Whipple what they had gone over.
Jim tuned them out and concentrated on feeding his face. After lunch he was going to move his stuff to her place, practice some more, and go to Irenee’s test. When he wondered out loud about it, Whipple said he’d explain how the test was run when they got there.
Fine. She’d probably throw some spells, and it would be over. Until then, he had enough to think about—like applying energy to himself. He finished his steak and asked the waiter for a banana split and, Irenee’s favorite, chocolate cake with raspberry sauce.
Jim and Johanna practiced for a couple of hours after lunch. The food helped his energy levels, and he actually increased his strength a small amount over his previous attempt at the spell.
They got nowhere, however, on the Defender ability to transfer energy between them.
Finally, after trying several methods, Johanna said, “It looks like your ability to transfer works only with Irenee. That’s normal because of the soul-mate bond.”
“About the bond,” Jim said. “What goes on? Irenee hasn’t given me many details. We make love and that’s it? We’re bonded?”
Johanna chuckled. “Not exactly. The bonding factor is a spontaneous exchange of energy during the lovemaking. Usually, it’s the only time soul mates can share power. Fergus and John know a non-Defender couple with sharing abilities outside the bonding experience, also only between those two soul mates. Since you and Irenee haven’t mated yet, the lack of connection may be holding you back from organizing and manipulating the flow.”
“Could Irenee be mistaken when she says she could feel it? I have never noticed movement between us like you’ve described.” He thought Irenee’s touch had made the imperative’s pain stop, but that circumstance didn’t seem to apply here. “I don’t see her spell aura either, although she sees mine, and it’s weird because I see all these spells glowing.”
“Don’t confuse seeing spell glow with seeing auras. They’re very different,” Johanna replied. “I’m sure Irenee is correct about the energy transfer between you. Of necessity, her training has concentrated on the sharing ability. Don’t worry, Jim, once you’re mated, you’ll understand the transfer much better. It may be your sharing does work only with her, and you might also need the mating to see her aura.”
“Then, where do she and Whipple get the idea I can share with others?”
“Irenee felt the transfer before she knew you were soul mates and before you were mated. Defenders usually manifest the ability about the time of puberty. Your being a wild talent has thrown the timetable off, I guess, and it seems to affect other abilities, as well.”