JUMP (The Senses)

by Cindy Paterson

  “What the devil was that scream?” Jedrik came sauntering into the room. He stopped dead at the sight of Danielle on the floor and Keir standing with his arms crossed and his face a fierce scowl. “Balen?” he asked.

  “Edan just took him,” Keir said.

  “Shit,” Jedrik cursed, shaking his head.

  Kilter stormed into the room with a severe limp. His face was haggard, eyes narrowed into slits of fury. He still had blood on his legs and shoulder. “What the fuck is going on here?” He gave a rough scoff of disgust at Danielle. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet then shoved her on the couch. She had no energy to refuse.

  She heard them talking, yet everything was a blur: the drowning, the transformation, Ryker, the Wraiths’. She was numb except for desolation. How could she live without him? He wasn’t just another of her six-month flings. She wanted him forever. However long that was.

  She remembered him giving her water through the bars of the cage, his leg mangled, in so much pain. She had been a stranger to him then and yet he . . . he sacrificed his sister, his warriors to stop her from being tortured any further. He gave his life. His salvation for her.

  “Danielle.” Anstice came and sat on the couch beside her, taking her hands.

  His smile, that laugh that made her insides light up like a Christmas tree, hands that made her skin tingle and her heart skip a beat.

  Oh God, he was letting her go. His last words to her were clear as a windowpane—he was letting her go. Except, she didn’t want to be let go, damn it. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man to love, to laugh with, to grow old with.

  But she’d never grow old now. She was a Senses. Immortal. Alone and immortal.

  When she looked up, Keir was hovering in the doorway with an expression of gloom, and it was then she knew without a doubt that the chances of Balen returning were slim. A choked sob escaped and she pulled her hands from Anstice, curling her legs up beneath her and closing her eyes. Tears fell from beneath her lashes to slip down her cheeks.

  Anstice took her into her arms, pushing her head onto her shoulder and smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry, Danielle. God, I’m so sorry.”

  The air in the room shifted, and tension rose as a cloud of mist swirled near the mantel. Within seconds, Waleron appeared, his expression the same as always, stone cold.

  He opened his Pez and slipped a white pill on his tongue. “Where’s Delara?”

  Keir’s and Jedrik’s eyes met, but neither said anything.

  “Well?” Waleron demanded.

  “She took off as soon as the plane landed,” Keir said.

  “Explain,” Waleron said.

  “She flew back with us, but took off at the airport. Didn’t say where she was going,” Keir answered.

  Waleron’s gaze landed on Jedrik. “Find her.” Jedrik swore beneath his breath. Waleron raised his hand as Kilter began to speak. “You will remain here until I decide what is to be done in Newfoundland.” Waleron lowered his voice. “Assist Danielle in learning her acquired skills.”

  “This is bullshit,” Kilter fumed.

  Waleron scowled. “Newfoundland is a liability until the compound is destroyed.”

  “I can do that alo—”

  Waleron interrupted Kilter. “No. You will not do it alone.”

  Waleron glanced over at Danielle, and a shiver ran down her spine at his direct cold stare. “I will return when the decision on Balen has been reached.” He left the room in a cloud of mist.

  Silence.

  They all knew this had been coming. It was inevitable. However, suddenly, it all just seemed wrong.

  ****

  Two days she lay in bed, unable to eat, any noise sped her heart rate, thinking it was Waleron with news of Balen. But the Taldeburu had disappeared just like Balen and Delara. No word. No idea as to Balen’s fate.

  Anstice brought her food three times a day, which she left untouched. The thought of eating made her stomach churn like a router. Water was the only thing she could keep down. She even wondered if the Bonding spell was still in play because it sure felt like she was dying. In reality, she knew there was no physical sickness, just emotions beating her body like a punching bag.

  Galen looked in on her every day, although he never said anything. Like he had to see for himself that she still lived and breathed.

  Jedrik came and sat with her while she dozed on and off. He rambled and tried urging her to get out of bed, using jokes and music to try to lift her spirits. It wouldn’t work. Couldn’t. She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

  Last night she heard a furious tormented cry that had her sitting up in bed and thinking the crater-faced buzzard guy was back and coming for her. Footsteps ran down the hallway and then silence. Anstice told her the next day that it was Ryker. The bomb inside him had finally exploded. They tried to reach Waleron to put Ryker in a deep sleep, but he was unreachable. So Anstice had pumped him full of Valium just to keep him from killing everyone in his path.

  An abrupt knock sounded. She sat up straight, her heart slamming into her chest, hoping, praying it was Waleron to give her news on Balen. The door swung open.

  Kilter. Just who she was itching to see.

  He walked over to the window and yanked the drapes open, letting the afternoon sunlight pour into the room like a heated blanket. Pissed was the appropriate word for his disregard for her own wants and needs. She wanted to jump out of bed and stomp over to the window and pull the drapes closed again like some two-year-old not getting her way. She didn’t. That meant getting out of bed, which she refused to do unless Mother Nature came calling.

  “Get the fuck up and stop being so selfish.” Kilter yanked the blankets off the bed, marched over to the window and tossed them outside.

  She cringed as the window slammed shut again, but still was in utter shock at what the bastard had done. He didn’t stop there. He stormed into the bathroom and she heard the shower turn on. He emerged, striding right for her without a single ounce of sympathy in his eyes.

  “We have work to do. Get showered, pull yourself together and meet me in the study in ten minutes.” He glanced at his watch. “Make that nine. You just wasted one minute.”

  “Get out! Who the hell do you think you are? I can lie in bed for the rest of my life if I feel like it. I hate you. And if Balen were here, he’d kick your ass.”

  Kilter’s brows rose. “But he’s not, is he? He’s gone and he may never be coming back.” She threw her pillow at his head and he caught it, tossing it aside as he approached the bed. “Deal with it. This crap you’re pulling is over. Your training will begin ASAP.”

  “I’ve thought about it and decided I don’t want to. I’ll go home in a few days and get back to my gallery. Better yet, I’ll just go home now.” She grabbed her bathrobe from the floor and pulled it on. “Piss off, Kilter.”

  She screamed as he grabbed her around the waist, and threw her over his shoulder. She kicked and shouted and punched him in the back several times by the time he managed to get her into the bathroom. Without hesitating, he deposited her under the warm spray of the water.

  “Balen would be disappointed in you,” Kilter said. “He respected and was proud of the woman you were. His final words were for you to be stronger than your father. He asked it of you and you’ve shown blunt disregard for his request.” He pulled the soaking wet bathrobe from her shoulders and threw it into the sink. “You are a Senses now. And you will train. You will learn to harness your abilities. And you will start in,” he glanced at his watch, “seven minutes.”

  She stood under the spray; her clothes soaked, her hair dripping wet and her body ready to crumple into a million pieces. “I don’t know how,” she mumbled under her breath, and her body shivering despite the heat of the water.

  She closed her eyes and tears mixed with the water. At least, Kilter wouldn’t know she was crying. She really couldn’t put up with one more crass remark from him.

  “Fight,” Kilter s
aid. “You’re a fighter, yet for some reason you aren’t fighting for this guy you love.” He reached over and passed her the shampoo. She took it. “Fight for what you want.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe you can appeal the council’s decision and get him out of Rest, or exile.” He stepped back, yanked the shower curtain closed and strode out of the bathroom. She heard him yell “Six minutes,” followed by the slam of her bedroom door.

  ****

  Balen jerked when he heard the soft voice behind him. He whirled around and saw her pale white skin flush when he met her eyes. She shifted her feet, her blue silk gown swaying with the slightest movement.

  “What do you want?” Balen asked, turning away from the Wraith.

  “For you to understand,” Genevieve said in a soft voice.

  “So I can forgive you?” He laughed. “Forgiveness will never pass these lips. Live with it. Now get the fuck away from me.”

  She ignored him. “You gave everything for her. Your oath. Your pride. Your heart. Your life as you knew it. Why?”

  Balen remained silent, pacing the marble cell back and forth, the gold bands rubbing his wrists and ankles as he moved.

  “I felt it, you know,” Genevieve said. “The connection, the pain, the distraught horror in your veins when Ryszard hurt—”

  “Don’t,” Balen said, his voice quiet and deadly.

  Genevieve lowered her head. “I apologize.” She paused. “You love her. A love so great that I can feel it within every inch of me. It haunted me for two years, feeling your grief, fighting the evil inside that tried to claim you before you vanished. But it didn’t. And you know why? Why everyone else has failed and why you did not? Because you knew that one day, if you destroyed the tainted blood, one day you’d be able to come back and see her again.”

  Balen put his hands up against the wall and leaned his forehead on the cool smooth surface.

  “Without the Bonding spell, you would’ve accepted the council’s decision and been sent to Rest. She would’ve remained human and grown old, without you. Now she is a rare Reflection and—”

  “And all for naught,” Balen finished.

  “No.” Genevieve raised her voice, “She is immortal. In time, all will be well.”

  “Time?” Balen scoffed. “Our time is over, Genevieve. Die, sent to Rest, exile, it doesn’t matter anymore. We are fated to be apart.” Besides, Danielle had never told him she loved him. With her body yes, but those simple words she had never said and that . . . that broke his heart.

  “Oh, bullshit,” Genevieve cursed. “You fought for two years for her. Don’t you dare give up now.”

  Balen turned, slid down the wall and sat. He pulled his knees up, rested his elbows on them and put his head in his hands. “She will find another she can love.”

  Genevieve sighed and lowered her head. “I thought more of you, Balen. I believed in you. I guess I was wrong.”

  He heard her gown swish and the sound of mist as she faded from his marble cell. He slammed his fist into the floor and then regretted it. “Damn her!” Meddling Wraith had too much damn time on her hands to be messing with his life. She hadn’t a clue what was between him and Danielle.

  He knew the council had been meeting for the past three days. He couldn’t care less what they decided. What did it matter? Death would be his preference, as it would at least alleviate his mind from her and give Danielle the chance to forget him. But still he had this hope, an inkling that tried to surface every once in a while that he’d be released and see Danielle again. It was false hope to be certain, but hope was all he had left. The rest of him had become a dark void filled with blackness, rage and defeat. He’d betrayed his sister, his warriors and now himself.

  She was better off without him. His only consolation was that she would be surrounded by the Senses and they would protect her and embrace her into the Talde.

  Chapter 17

  “Goddamn it, woman. Picture it, for Christ sake. I have better things to do with my time,” Kilter said as he leaned up against the tree.

  “I am.”

  “Typical woman,” Kilter said scowling.

  “Oh screw off,” Danielle said and picked up a rock and threw it at him. He ducked and it went over his head. She closed her eyes again and clenched her fists, her mouth scrunching together with concentration.

  “You’re trying too hard,” Kilter said.

  Relax. Concentrate. Picture. Feel.

  But all she envisioned was Balen. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there in her mind with his sharp green eyes. She threw her hands in the air. “Forget it. I can’t do it.”

  Kilter pushed away from the tree, the moonlight flickering in his dark eyes. “You’re right. You can’t.”

  Danielle plopped down on the snow.

  Kilter hovered over her. “Telekinesis requires strength, something you obviously lack. Give me your knife.”

  Bastard, she thought for the hundredth time.

  Kilter said, “I know you don’t go anywhere without it.”

  Danielle pulled the knife from her back pocket and held it in her grasp, her fingers caressing the handle. Kilter grabbed it and, before she could object, he sliced the sharp blade across the back of her hand.

  Danielle gasped, pulling back and holding her hand over the wound to try to stop the bleeding. “Psychotic dickhead. What the hell was that for?”

  Kilter raised his hand with the knife and then flung it across the yard at full throttle. It sank deep into the middle of the trunk of the pine tree. “Because Waleron has made my life hell by forcing me help you. I want to end the hell as soon as possible. Feel pain, that’s reality. Now you can concentrate on what we’re doing instead of some fantasy you’re stuck in.”

  Danielle looked at the blood dripping down her hand. It was a surface wound, but it still hurt and she’d have to ask Anstice to heal her. Shit, this sucked.

  Kilter waited, patient and for once in his life with no crass remark. She needed to do this. For Balen. For herself. For them.

  “I just want it known that I don’t like you.”

  “Ditto,” Kilter said. “Now, get the knife out of the tree, so I can get out of this bleeding cold.”

  After four days of putting up with his thoughtless remarks, she’d grown a thick skin when it came to his insensitivity. Crude, controlling, dominant and downright rude, Kilter had put himself on her shit list for holding a grudge. However, he knew how to push her to get things done, and learning how to deal with her new abilities was tough and sometimes frustrating as hell. Getting Balen off her mind was implausible and Kilter knew it.

  The bastard had cut her hand, knowing it would cut through the thick cloud in her head enough for her to concentrate on what she was doing. It pissed her off that this guy knew how to get through to her. He was the only one who managed to get her out of bed and stop wallowing in self-pity. He had been the one to get her to face reality. He made her fight back.

  In an odd sort of satanic way, Kilter had saved her sorry ass from self-destruction. She hadn’t needed kindness and soft words and hugs and tears. She required blunt truth and it hurt.

  One day she just hoped that she could give the back-at-ya to Kilter. Funny though to think of a woman actually falling for this guy. Even Grim disliked him, and Anstice’s Newfie liked everyone.

  She stared intently at her knife, Balen’s knife, stuck in the trunk of the tree. The cold winter breeze drifted through her hair but she hardly felt it as she remained focused on her task. The wound on her hand throbbed a dull aching pain, reminding her this was real. This was now, and if it was the last thing she’d do, that bloody knife was going to move.

  He told her to picture it move, to make her imagination reality. Anything was possible, especially if you were a Senses. And that meant Balen could come back to her. Maybe if she worked hard enough, perfected her skills, then she could do something about his judgment.

  “Concentrate. Here. Now,” Kilter growled.

  She scrunched her
nose at his familiar interference of her thoughts. The guy had no qualms about reading anyone’s mind, and she couldn’t wait until she was able to block him from her own.

  She focused. It moved. It jiggled. She saw it happening. She pushed harder until she was sweating under her thick winter coat. She could do this. It would happen if she let it.

  The knife jolted from its penetration of the wood and then fell to the ground, its steel blade glittering on the hard-packed layers of snow.

  “That was half ass,” Kilter said, but he had a hint of a smile. “Enough for today. Tomorrow we go to the mall.”

  “What? Why the mall? Are we shopping for duct tape for your mouth? Because I’d love to do the honors.”

  He made a half-grunt, half-hiss that accompanied his permanent scowl. “It’s Saturday. You will learn to harness the thoughts of crowds of people.” He began to walk back to the house.

  Oh, that sucked. The others had been careful about blocking their own thoughts from her while living in the same house, but on occasion, she got bombarded by thoughts from people who passed by the house. A week since Balen had been taken and she hadn’t gone home yet, although thankfully, Anstice had picked up Splat and brought him here.

  Figures Kilter didn’t want to take baby steps. Instead, he was throwing her into a cesspool of thoughts. At least, she’d learn a hell of a lot faster.

  Waleron had yet to make any appearance, had ignored the messages she’d left on his cell and his e-mail. As for contacting him by mind—she had yet to work up the nerve to do that. No one knew what the devil was going on with Balen. For all she knew, he was already in Rest and Waleron was too much of a wuss to come and tell her. No. Categorizing Waleron as a wuss was like saying Kilter was a sweetheart.

  “Hey Off-kilter.” He hated her nickname, which made it all the more sweet when she used it. He didn’t turn, but he stopped with one hand on the doorknob. “One day, you will find love and I intend to be there when you do.”

  “You have to give a shit about people to do that. I don’t.” He threw open the massive arched door and walked inside. He didn’t fail to slam it behind him.