Trace's Psychic

by Jory Strong

  Among her mother’s people, heartmates were two halves of a whole, a blend of opposites whose differences enhanced the whole, making the two more than they’d be as individuals.

  Aislinn fought the urge to yield to Trace’s silent demand, to his acknowledged dominance. “Just Storm,” she whispered. “I only want Storm to go in with me.”

  “That’s fine,” Miguel said, shifting so that he stood behind Aislinn and blocked Trace from getting to the door.

  There was a long tense moment of silence. A silent battle of wills between the three cops. Finally Storm said, “Go ahead when you’re ready, Aislinn.”

  Aislinn pushed into Patrick’s magic room and felt the breath seize in her chest as Patrick’s presence surrounded her, overwhelmed her. When she would have stumbled forward, Storm caught her by the arm, steadying her.

  “Take as much time as you need,” Storm said. “You’re cleared to touch anything you need to touch. And if something’s missing, let me know, regardless of how small it is.”

  The pressure in Aislinn’s chest eased slightly, as though Patrick’s spirit recognized that it couldn’t communicate with her directly, but she was still aware of its presence. She shivered and moved deeper into the room, glancing only briefly at the table where Patrick’s corpse had been positioned, posed by whoever killed him. “He was holding the crystal he uses to scry with. Did they take it to the police station?”

  Storm shrugged. “Probably.”

  Patrick’s magic room also served as his den. Polished wooden shelves loaded with books on various occult disciplines lined one wall. A matching desk was discretely placed in a corner, its surface bare except for a small collection of strategically placed crystals. Patrick’s spirit was an invisible force pushing Aislinn toward the desk. As soon as she stood next to it she knew that an arrangement of crystals set in a dragon-shaped silver holder was missing. It had been her gift to Patrick, to help him make the most of his psychic gifts.

  “One of them is missing,” Aislinn said. “Five crystals set in a holder shaped like a dragon.”

  Storm came over to stand next to Aislinn. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any chance that Patrick broke it or loaned it out or put it somewhere else?”

  Aislinn shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Where was it?”

  Aislinn pointed to where the arrangement had been.

  “Anything significant about it? Was it valuable?”

  “Only to Patrick.”

  Storm nodded. “It’s not uncommon for perps to take souvenirs from their victims. This might be important if we come up with a suspect. Do you think you could describe it in enough detail that an artist could draw it?”

  “I’ve got drawings of it at the shop.” She paused. “I made it for Patrick.”

  Storm’s eyebrows rose. “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you make a lot of them?”

  “No.”

  “Would the killer have known where the crystal came from? That it meant something special to Patrick?”

  Aislinn moved her hand over the desk, at the seemingly random placement of the remaining crystals. “If the killer recognized that this is a mystical pattern, then he would know that the missing piece was the most important one.”

  Storm smiled with fierce satisfaction. Her cop instincts told her that the perp taking this particular souvenir was important. That meant he knew a hell of a lot about this stuff.

  This was why she’d gone to the Captain and asked if she could help on the case. Some other cop, especially one who was rabidly anti-psychic, might not have gotten this out of Aislinn.

  Aislinn took a steadying breath and dropped her hand to the surface of Patrick’s desk. The energy from the remaining crystals hummed through her palm in an incomplete rhythm, but otherwise there was no malevolent force, no dark emotions left seething, even in the spot where the missing crystal had rested. With great care Aislinn went through Patrick’s desk. Nothing resonated with any emotion until her hand brushed against a book and a foreign excitement—Patrick’s excitement—raced through her, the force of it giving testament to the fact that he’d been handling the book recently. As soon as Aislinn passed the book to Storm, the force of Patrick’s spirit stopped pressing down on her, becoming only a vague, fluttering presence.

  “Tales of a Psychic Investigator by D. L. Lucca,” Storm snorted. “Sounds like something from a tabloid publisher.”

  “This was important to Patrick. He was handling this before he died. He was excited.” Storm gave her a questioning look, but there was nothing Aislinn could add. Feeling drained, she said, “I’m ready to leave now.”

  Storm’s eyebrows came together. “You’re sure? It may be tough to get back in here again.”

  Aislinn closed her eyes briefly. The weight of Patrick’s spirit had lifted. “I’m sure.”

  * * * * *

  Trace wanted to knock Miguel away from the door and follow Aislinn inside. Christ, he hated this. Hated that she was here now. Hated that she’d ever been here. Hated the fact that she was involved in the psychic mumbo jumbo. Hated the fact that despite all of it, he still wanted her.

  Just being near Aislinn made him rock-hard—and more. As much as he’d like to tell himself that it was just lust, Trace was honest enough to admit that it wasn’t just about fucking her. He felt possessive, primitive when he was around her, like it was a matter of life and death to get her back to his house.

  He flicked a glance at his watch. She’d only been away from him for a few minutes but he felt like he could barely stand the separation much longer—not with her so close.

  “Move,” he told Miguel.

  Miguel had the nerve to grin. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

  Trace gritted his teeth. “This is bullshit. Get out of my way.”

  Miguel’s eyes went serious. “Give it a few minutes, okay? What’s it going to hurt?”

  Trace moved a few steps closer, but before he reached Miguel the door to the séance room opened and Aislinn stepped out, followed by Storm. “Let’s go,” he said, taking Aislinn by the arm and pulling her up against his body.

  Just the feel of her against his side brought some relief. She shivered and turned so that her face was pressed into his chest. Trace had to stifle a groan as she cuddled his cock against her belly. He couldn’t keep from bending close, so that his face was next to hers. “I’ll take you back to my house,” he said as he placed a gentle kiss below her ear.

  Aislinn denied the need to submit. How could he be her true heartmate when he rejected her ability? “I can stay at Sophie’s apartment. There are things I need to do.”

  Trace’s grip tightened on her. “Whatever you need to do, you can do it at my place.”

  Aislinn pulled away so that she could look at him. His heart tightened at the sadness he read in her eyes. She shook her head slightly. “I can’t.”

  “You can. You will.”

  Aislinn steeled herself against his reaction, his rejection, but it was better to face it now and get it over with. “There are some crystals I’m working with, for clients.”

  Trace’s face tightened. “You can’t go back to the shop. Or to your apartment. Reporters are crawling all over the place.”

  “Storm can get the things I need.” She took a shaky breath. Her heart felt as though it was thundering in her ears. “I made promises and I’ve got to keep them.”

  “Fine. Storm can bring your things to my house. You can work there.”

  Even though Trace’s voice was a growl of angry frustration, hope edged back into Aislinn’s soul.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Miguel said, turning toward the car.

  Voices drifted down the driveway. Sophie moved to Aislinn’s side. “There are more reporters than before. One of them came around the house while you guys were inside.”

  Worry for Sophie flooded Aislinn. “Did they see you?”

  Sophie nodded. “But
I don’t think he got a picture before one of the cops chased him off.”

  “He better not have,” Storm muttered as they climbed into the car. “You two duck down. No use advertising that you were here.”

  Trace backed the unmarked car out of the drive, pissed when he saw how many reporters were waiting. The uniformed cop had called in backup units.

  “Shit,” Miguel said. “I guess we’re going to see ourselves on the evening news.” He turned to Storm. “Please tell me this trip was worth it.”

  “The perp probably took a souvenir with him.”

  Miguel grinned. “Hot damn. What’d he take?”

  Storm cut a quick look at Aislinn before answering, “A crystal arrangement. Five stones in a holder that looks like a dragon.”

  Miguel’s eyes swung to Aislinn. “From the store you work in?”

  Aislinn nodded. “Yes.”

  Sophie slipped an arm around Aislinn’s shoulders. “Could you feel the killer at all?”

  “No,” Aislinn whispered. “Just Patrick.”

  Sophie shivered. “It creeps me out that whoever killed Patrick took something you made. Maybe it’s the same guy who kidnapped the Morrison kid and now he wants revenge.”

  Trace’s hands tightened on the steering wheel at the mention of the Morrison kidnapping. “Not likely,” he growled.

  Sophie opened her mouth to say something, but Aislinn nudged her and said, “Only Storm.”

  “Only Storm what?” Miguel asked, but Sophie refused to say anything more until they were back at her apartment building and Trace had driven away with Aislinn.

  “Okay, what gives?” Storm asked as the three of them stood next to one of the department’s unmarked cars.

  Sophie clasped her hands nervously in front of her. She shot a look at Miguel before telling Storm, “Maybe I can give you a call later.”

  Miguel took Sophie’s hands in his. “Hey look, I know things got off to a strange start, but I’m trying to be open-minded about all of this. Don’t hold anything back. It may be important.”

  “It’s about the Morrison kidnapping,” Sophie said.

  Miguel shrugged. “Okay. That’s not a hot button of mine. I’m just glad the kid is back home.”

  “Patrick didn’t really find the kid. Aislinn did.”

  Silence greeted Sophie’s pronouncement.

  “Did Aislinn tell you that?” Miguel asked, his voice sharp.

  Sophie stiffened. “If you’re thinking she’s crazy and just after the attention, then you’re wrong. That’s the last thing she wants!”

  Miguel threw up his hands in defense. “Hey, hold on. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Sorry,” Sophie said on a sigh. “I didn’t like Patrick. That’s no secret. I guess he was good at some things. But he used Aislinn.”

  “Used her how?” Miguel asked, very glad that Trace wasn’t here to hear this.

  “There are things she can do that other people can’t. Patrick could never have found that missing boy. When I cornered Aislinn about it, she admitted that she’d helped him. The parents gave Patrick a baseball glove that belonged to Thad and Patrick brought it to Aislinn.” Sophie took a deep breath. “Aislinn can’t find just anyone. It has to be someone who’s frightened and wants to be found.”

  Storm’s eyebrows were drawn together. “So Aislinn located the child, but Patrick is the one who told the parents and got the credit. Then later that night, Patrick gets murdered at just about the same time Aislinn is arriving at his house, and the murderer then takes something of Patrick’s that Aislinn made.” She shook her head. “I don’t like the way this feels.”

  Miguel exhaled loudly. “You got that right. It might be a good thing she’s on ice over at Trace’s house.”

  Chapter Four

  Aislinn couldn’t resist a peek at Trace as he brought the car to a halt in his driveway. Her pulse raced as she remembered the wild coupling that had taken place when he brought her home last night.

  He hadn’t said anything since leaving the others at Sophie’s apartment. And yet the heat of his body and the erection that was pressed against the front of his jeans reassured Aislinn as no words could have.

  “Let’s go,” he growled, not waiting for Aislinn to comply, but pulling her along with him as he left the car and walked to the front door. He pushed her inside, stopping just long enough to deactivate his alarm before pressing her against the wall and then covered her lips with his. She whimpered as his tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked aggressively against hers.

  Home. It felt like coming home.

  Her arms slipped around his waist. Her body softened and cuddled his, needing his touch, needing the heat of him to warm her.

  Trace groaned and pulled away. His face was tight. “I can’t stay long, but I can’t leave without getting inside you.”

  His shirt fell just inside the doorway. His shoes and the rest of his clothing were an obvious trail to the bedroom. “Christ, you drive me crazy,” Trace said as he removed Aislinn’s clothing before pushing her onto the bed and latching onto a pale pink nipple. Her whimper sent more blood rushing to his already engorged penis. “You like this, don’t you,” he said, moving to the other breast. When she didn’t answer immediately, he punished her with a sharp bite.

  Aislinn arched upward. “Yes,” she whispered, thrashing underneath him as he alternated between sucking and biting.

  The small golden triangle of her pubic hair was a beacon trying to draw Trace’s attention to where her cunt was swollen and wet. His. It reverberated over and over in his mind with the fast beat of his heart. She was his.

  He wanted to roll her over onto her hands and knees and mount her. He wanted to push her down and make her wrap her hot little mouth around his cock. He wanted to crawl into her skin and know every inch of her. He wanted to consume her, possess her, own her completely.

  It had never been like this before. But he couldn’t stop the feelings racing through him. He didn’t even want to try.

  Aislinn felt as though her blood was on fire, as though every touch of his skin to hers bound them more tightly together. She needed him in a way that she’d never even dreamed was possible. She wanted to belong to him. Now and for always.

  A shiver raced through her, causing her to arch into the wet suction of his mouth and rub her swollen clit against the firm muscles of his thigh. Fevered images flowed through her thoughts, things she’d never considered doing or having done to her.

  Tentatively she slid her hand down and brushed it over the soft skin of his penis. Velvet over steel. She circled the huge organ with her fingers. Trace groaned against her nipple and pressed his cock into her hand. Emboldened, Aislinn rubbed her thumb against its silky tip, spreading the moisture weeping from his slit around the bulbous head.

  Aislinn thrilled when Trace clenched his buttocks tightly and pumped into her hand, made helpless by her touch. But when she would have guided him into her, he growled and pulled away, capturing her hands and holding them at her sides as his mouth trailed wet kisses down her stomach.

  He stopped just inches above her weeping cunt. “Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, his voice tight and husky, his breath flowing over Aislinn’s blood-swollen labia and clit.

  When she didn’t immediately obey, Trace lowered his head and ran his tongue along her slit. She jerked and he latched onto her clit, giving it a quick suck before letting it loose. “Open wider, baby. I want to see everything.”

  Aislinn trembled with sudden shyness, but she spread her legs and was rewarded by his praise. “You’re so beautiful, baby. You’re so swollen and wet that I could stay this way for days, looking at you—” he paused and moved in so that his soft mouth pressed against her sensitive skin, “—tasting you.” His tongue stroked into her and she whimpered, unable to stop herself from arching so that his tongue could go deeper.

  He thrust his tongue in and out, sending more blood pounding to her clit, causing her already flooded cunt to weep even
harder. Trace groaned and pressed into her more tightly. His hands released hers and moved so that he held her thighs apart, pinning them to the bed so that he controlled every sensation.

  Aislinn’s hands flew to his head, her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Trace moved his attention to her swollen clit and she sobbed. Every stroke of his tongue sent a streak of lightning-sharp pleasure through her. “Please,” she begged over and over again, not even sure what she was pleading for.

  His face was strained, his breath short and his eyes dilated when he finally lifted his head. “That’s right, baby, beg. Tell me what you need.”

  She tried to arch into him, to tell him with her body, but he held her firmly to the bed. “Do you want me to lick you? Suck you?” he asked.

  Aislinn’s womb clenched at the dark promise in his voice. “Yes,” she pleaded.

  “Then tell me that’s what you want. Beg me to do it to you.”

  Liquid gushed from her cunt, coating her inner thighs. Trace turned his face, licking her quivering flesh before gripping her skin with his teeth and marking her with a hard sucking bite.

  Aislinn’s clit stood throbbing at attention, the delicate hood folded at its base. “Please, suck me,” she whispered.

  Trace lifted his head. His eyes blazed with masculine pride. Then, not taking his eyes off hers, he lowered his face and took her small organ into this mouth.

  Aislinn jerked and sobbed. Pleasure pulsed from deep in her womb to the tips of her nipples as he sucked harder and faster. She thrashed against him, wanting to drive herself into his mouth, wanting him to swallow her whole. He growled and thrust his fingers into her cunt, shoving them in and out in time to his sucking, forcing her to give him everything, to cry out in a release that felt as though every cell, every nerve ending screamed in ecstasy. She was his.

  Trace gripped his cock in his hand, trying to keep from spewing his seed. His head was buzzing. He felt high and Aislinn was his drug.

  Her whimpers and screams had almost made him come on his sheets. He didn’t think he could survive being outside her body much longer.