by Dale Mayer
***
Stefan bolted upright in bed. Shay?
He gasped, choked, his hands flailing at his chest and neck. A haze of blackness filled his room, strangling him.
He pounded his chest, trying to get oxygen into his lungs. Only to realize he had no trouble breathing.
With that he understood he was caught in a vision. Someone else's vision.
Shay's vision.
He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, focused on Shay and jumped into her mind. Her soul stirred.
Stefan?
Yes, it's me. You're unconscious. I don't know why.
Blackness. It came out of nowhere. Surrounded me. Smothered me.
Yes, I felt it. But it's an illusion. Like a cloaking energy again. It's not smoke. It's not fire. You can breathe. You need to wake up.
She groaned. It's hard to move.
I'll get help.
Stefan walked throughout Shay’s apartment in his astral form. He couldn't see any immediate danger, but...he didn't want to leave her alone either.
He zipped back into his body and shrugged into his skin suit, as he liked to call it. Feeling the normal, yet confining sensation of being reoriented back into the right reality, he opened his eyes. He needed to track that energy back to the source – but first things first.
Stefan opened his phone and called Roman.
"Hello." Roman growled into the phone. "You better have a damn good reason for calling."
"Shay's been attacked. You need to go her apartment. I don't have time to explain." Stefan closed the call and tossed the phone on the bed, and then lay down and jumped free again.
He slipped into predator mode…and went hunting in the ethers.
***
"Shay's been attacked? What the hell? Stefan. Stefan?" The dial tone rang endlessly in Roman's ear, and he knew Stefan was gone.
Shay. She was in trouble and Stefan had called Roman to deal with it. A fact that disturbed and delighted Roman. He threw back the covers and quickly dressed. Five minutes later, he was heading for Shay's apartment.
The next problem was security. How was he going to get inside the building and inside her apartment?
Luckily, the doorman recognized him, called up and buzzed him in. So Shay was talking at least. Or someone was with her who'd answered the call. With a casualness he was far from feeling, Roman strode over to the elevators and caught a ride to the twelfth floor. Once outside the right apartment, he pounded on the door. Stefan didn't say if Shay was hurt or unconscious. Roman presumed he'd have called for an ambulance if she couldn’t get to the door.
The door opened in front of him.
Shay, still dressed as she'd been at the hospital, rubbing the side of her head and looking dazed, stared up at him. "Roman? What's the matter? Why are you here at this hour? I couldn't believe when the doorman called up to me." Her gaze widened. "Oh my God. Is it Pappy? Has he died?"
She grabbed his shirt with both hands and shook him – or tried to. He had close to a hundred pounds on her. He wrapped his hands around her much smaller ones and gently disentangled them, but he kept them in his grasp. "No. Pappy’s fine. Let me in, please."
"Oh." She blinked owlishly at him, and then hurriedly stepped back. "Sorry. Of course. Come in." She closed the door behind him.
He ignored her for the moment, looking around to see what had caused Stefan's worry. The apartment looked as normal as he'd seen it last time. He walked further in. Nothing unusual.
He spun around and studied her. She looked like she'd come dashing out of bed with a pounding headache. Except she was still fully dressed in slacks and blouse. Just a little scattered.
"What's the matter?" she asked, confused. She walked over to her couch and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chin and staring at him. She blinked several times, as if having trouble focusing. "I don't understand what's going on."
"Neither do I." He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down on the closest easy chair. "I can only tell you that Stefan called me fifteen minutes ago and told me to get over here. He said you'd been attacked."
"Attacked?" She gazed at him in shock. "I did wake up a few minutes ago on my living room floor, but why would Stefan call you?"
He glared at her. "I don't know. Ask Stefan." He looked around the apartment. "I can't see anything wrong. So I don't understand… What did Stefan mean?" He spun back. "You woke up on the living room floor?"
She looked at him from under her lashes. What was she thinking? Was she trying to hide something? And if so, what? Groaning he leaned forward, placing his forehead on his hands. How could he get her to trust him? Damn it.
"Are you okay?" A warm hand landed softly on his. "I'm sorry Stefan worried you like this. It's late. Go home."
He snorted and glared at her. But his hand ensnared her fingers. "Stefan told me you'd been attacked. I have to trust that he didn't make that up and that means, for whatever reason, either you don’t remember the danger, or you don't want me to know. Either way, that pisses me off."
She tugged her hand free. "Stefan shouldn't have called. There's nothing you can do."
"Nothing?" he snapped, jumping to his feet. "I can stop whoever attacked you from coming back and trying again. Surely that's something." His hands clenched and unclenched in frustration. "Good thing that security system is being installed in the next couple of days – it’ll be tomorrow if I get my way."
"That won't help.
"Why not?" he roared.
As the last words left his mouth he watched her lower lip tremble, her eyes begin to shimmer with tears. "
"Oh God. I'm so sorry." He sat down beside her and gathered her into his arms. "Why do you fight me so?"
"Because you don't believe in me. In us. Because you have walls and are keeping secrets from me." She whispered the last bit so softly he struggled to hear, even then doubting what she'd said. He leaned back slightly and stared down at her. He didn't get it. Cautiously, he asked, "Believe in you? Of course I do."
"No," she whispered from against his chest. "You don't."
"Then explain it to me, so I can believe." He reached down and tilted her chin up. "Make no mistake, whatever other parts you are confused about, know that I believe in you." He paused, waiting until she looked up at him, and added, "And I believe in us."
She studied him, as if trying to peer into his heart.
He let her. Something major was going on, and he needed to know what it was.
She dropped her lashes.
"Don't." He said roughly. "Don't shut me out like that."
Her gaze flew open again, this time she had a dawning realization in her hazel eyes. The colors swirled with mystery. If only he could put that on canvas.
"Are you saying...?" She tilted her head slightly, locking her gaze on his face. "Are you saying that you care?"
He opened his mouth to give a trite answer. And her eyes narrowed. As if she knew. He bit back the words and thought about what she'd asked. "Yes, I care."
And he left it at that.
But she wouldn't. She studied him for a little longer. "As a fellow human being, as a friend...or as something more?"
"You already know I want much more."
"Yeah?" she leaned back and stared, pinning him with a deep mysterious gaze. "How much more?"
Shit.
He felt his body freeze. While he understood something momentous was happening, he hadn't been thinking about bleeding out truths himself. Or baring his emotions. More like she should be the one telling the truth. Instead he'd been put on the spot. With options. And he hated this type of conversation, so full of hidden land mines.
And what should he say? It was hardly the time to tell her about his paintings. And he doubted she was ready to hear how much he really cared. Not when she'd been playing the nervous avoidance game.
He didn't want to send her running. Not now. Her life was in danger and he needed to be here. He couldn’t take the chance.
***
&nbs
p; She watched Roman freeze mouselike, as if sensing a predator. She was no predator, but she dealt in truths. Ones he had no idea even existed. She had to know where he stood before she discussed this any further.
She had the option of watching his energy, and that reassured her like nothing else could. It swirled around her, around them gently. His, caressing her energy and blending with hers with loving attention. That was one truth she could count on.
That he took time to answer meant he was trying to determine the level of involvement he wanted or was willing to admit. No one had trouble saying ‘friends’...unless there was something more... Perhaps neither of them had taken that path mentally.
His energy said his all was in this relationship. If she had to, she could let him off the hook and take it on faith. But – and this was a different problem – if she wanted him to commit, she had to be prepared to say the words as well.
She’d known him as an email friend for months. And he’d intrigued her then but now it was different. He'd come into her life personally with Bernice's death. Her life had been crazy since. But he'd been there every step of the way. She hadn't been exactly open and straightforward with him either.
She sighed. "That you don't answer speaks more than real words."
"Does it?" his strangled voice made her laugh.
"Yes, it does." She grinned. "I'll take it we're somewhere between friends and something more?" She looked directly at him.
"Agreed." He nodded immediately, and she laughed.
"Good. That's on both sides. Where we go from here is our choice. We appear to be at a crossroads. I can't go forward unless you believe in me. And I can't share what happened tonight unless you have an open mind. A really open mind." She gazed out the window for a long moment. "Like Stefan has. He is the one person who I trust over anything and everyone."
At the slight twist to his lips, she paused. "And considering that we might be heading toward the more-than-friends side of life..." Was it just yesterday that she said she wasn't going there again? Anyway, she focused on his narrowed gaze and that eerie stillness, and finished with, "Stefan and I are friends. Only friends...we've never been lovers. I love him like a brother and trust him with my life."
His lips untwisted into a warm smile. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he said with sincerity in his voice. "You're blessed to have that relationship with him."
She couldn't help it. She chuckled. "It comes with its own set of problems. He can read your thoughts, jump into your mind, see what you're feeling, and that's just for starters."
"So he's really…psychic?" Roman asked.
"Oh he is." She leaned back slightly, losing the hint of humor that had kept the conversation light. "And that's one of the things I need you to believe. Stefan is," she stressed, and then continued, "the real thing." She took a deep breath. "And so am I."
Chapter 17
Late Monday evening…
There it was. The answer to that very question he'd been wondering about.
Roman turned his head, his gaze pinning her in place. She looked so normal, beautiful even though exhausted – but she also appeared to be calm. She lounged on the couch so casually after dropping a fairly important bit of information.
And indeed, her claim wasn't exactly a claim everyone would make.
"Oh." Not very intellectual but it's all he could think of to say.
She nodded her head. "Yeah." She shrugged. "It's not a term I think of when I consider my abilities. But that's what the world calls it."
"What would you call it?"
"I'd prefer intuitive, maybe energy specialist. I do a lot of different stuff, but most of it…only rarely." She shrugged. "As my abilities defy categorization, I try to avoid doing so myself."
"And can you do all that Stefan can?" He knew some about Stefan's telepathic abilities and mind reading from Dr. Maddy, and he wanted to ask if she could read his mind too, but at the same time, he desperately didn't want to know the answer. The humiliation, if she discovered his secret, would be too much.
"No. Not at all."
Thank heavens for that. He took a deep sigh and released the breath he’d been holding.
She laughed. "I'm not a mind reader, if that's what you're worried about."
"Then what do you do?" he asked curiously.
A self-deprecating smile slid off her lips. "I read energy. I can see where people are coming from, see how they use their energy, and see what they use their energy for. If they are the kind to cheat others, their energy will tell me. It they are the type to cheat on their wives, I'll usually be able to see it. And that is just for starters."
"Wow." He didn't know what to say. An interesting concept. He could see why she used the term intuitive, as much of what she saw others would intuit from body language, facial expressions, and even nuances in a voice. And he had to admit it was a relief that she couldn't read his mind.
But what could she see of him? He decided to ask, remembering Stefan's words on insights.
"And what do you see…with me?"
She shook her head. "I make it a policy to not delve too deeply with people I know. I use my skills to administer the foundation money as well as I can." She sighed. "It's a problem with friends. Whether it's me being afraid of reading too much into the issue or not being detached enough, I find it difficult to read my friends."
"Good. I think." But it didn’t answer what he really wanted to know. And damn it, he really wanted to know. He took the plunge. "Stefan mentioned something about you having interesting insights into my artwork. Is that the type of stuff you can pick up?"
She waved her hand around. "Stefan told you that? Interesting." She shrugged. "It's not much. I just saw how much you related to your model. That she's your muse. Your passion." She hesitated. "That's why I'm surprised you're interested in me. The way I see it, you're madly in love with her."
Madly in love with her.
With his model. With Shay. She could see that?
He sat back on his heels. Rocked by the revelation.
His heart sighed at a sad lonely truth. Though he hadn’t admitted it, he'd been in love with her for a long time. His mind filled with images he'd poured over to get everything about her, down just right. The curve of her shoulder as he painted it, the long smooth strokes making the skin glow like it was meant to. He'd tried to paint other models, women, children. He'd even tried to get into landscapes. And he hadn't managed any creative energy at all.
Was that why? He was painting the object of an unrequited love. God, that made him sound like a schoolboy. Or worse – a teenager.
"I'm sorry."
He quickly turned his head back to face her.
"I didn't mean to bring up a painful topic. It's not like I was reading energy or anything, it's just that it was obvious to me that you were obsessed with her. In a good way," she added hurriedly.
"Obsessed." Interesting… Was he?
Absolutely. What else could he call it? He'd given into the need to paint her two years ago then had worked up the nerve to contact her. Bad timing on his part as her fiancée had just passed away. Still, he'd stayed always there, slowly building the relationship until he could get back to Portland. Hoping she'd be ready for him. That he hadn't been able to paint anything different since that first canvas might be viewed as an obsession.
"That she is the other half to your heart." Shay sounded distant, hurt…insecure.
And he got it.
Oh God. And how did that work? He had been trying to get Shay to move forward with this relationship, and she’d assumed what, that he'd lost his heart to the model? That she was his second choice? A poor one at that?
He couldn't possibly have seen this coming. Who could?
"So, I don't want to know what happened between the two of you, but I am sorry."
"Sorry?" He felt disconnected. As if he were hearing the conversation from a long distance away.
"She's obviously unavailable to you for some reason."
He blinked. Say what?
She flushed. "I'm getting personal, again I'm sorry. Forget I said that."
She went to stand up, and he tugged her back down. "Please, finish what you were going to say."
Troubled, she said, "It's just that I feel like you've always admired, loved this woman from afar. The paintings are stunning. But the woman was distant. As if your love was never recognized. You never had a chance to fully experience that passion. You painted it on the canvas because you couldn't have it, have her in your life – in your heart."