Touched (Sense Thieves)

by Corrine Jackson

  To acknowledge her concern, I nodded. She was more right than she knew. Asher, at least, was dangerous. Maybe good instincts ran in the family.

  “Is there somewhere I can go to get some air?”

  “Try the patio.”

  Following her directions, I headed to a side door that opened onto a deserted patio, sheltered from the snow by a large awning. I picked a table in the shadows, rubbing my arms to keep warm. Everyone with half a brain stayed inside, but the press of bodies exhausted me. Alone in the dark, I could relax my mental walls without fear of someone bumping into me.

  Chatter filled the night air as the door swung open again behind me, and a couple headed to a corner of the patio to smoke. They didn’t notice me in the darkness, and I closed my eyes listening to their quiet conversation and the constant roar of the ocean in the distance. There was something peaceful about this town.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

  The low voice rasped over my nerves. With a small sigh, I firmed my mental barricade again and looked up. Asher sat at the table next to mine. He must have been sitting there before I came on to the patio because I hadn’t heard him arrive. Up close, he was more handsome, more attractive, simply more than I remembered. The scar slashing through one brow was highlighted by his high cheekbones and the long hair swept off his forehead. The imperfection reminded me he could be bad for my health. That and the small hint of anger I glimpsed in his gaze

  His eyes lit with a challenge when he said, “I’m Asher Blackwell.”

  He introduced himself as if we’d never met. It took me a minute to realize he held a hand out for me to shake. I didn’t shake hands. Ever. It left me open to pain, even with my barricades. After what had happened on the beach, I wouldn’t be touching him anytime soon. I nodded in his direction and ignored his outstretched hand.

  He smirked as if he’d won this battle.

  As I returned to watching the couple, I caught him studying me from the corner of my eye. The deep curiosity I sensed beneath the scrutiny unsettled me. He wasn’t like me—able to heal. He was something else that used energy like I could. My guard stayed up as I pretended to ignore him.

  “And you are?” Watching the smokers take furtive puffs, he made polite conversation without looking at me.

  “Remy O’Malley.” My voice sounded huskier than usual.

  That caught his attention, and he turned those amazing eyes to mine with rapt attention. Trapped, I couldn’t have glanced away even if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to.

  One dark brow rose again. “Lucy’s sister?”

  I shifted in my seat, uneasy answering questions about myself. “We have the same father, so I suppose she is.”

  He mistook my discomfort for another emotion. “You don’t like her?”

  “Sure, I like her. What I know about her.”

  He waited for me to continue, leaning forward as if to pull the words out of me. When my silence continued, he snapped his fingers. “That’s right. You’re new to the Falls. You’re the other daughter.”

  The other daughter. Great. I’d been labeled. I shrugged and the noncommittal gesture seemed to irritate him as much as his shrug at the beach had me.

  “Do the marks on your neck have anything to do with your move?”

  The blood drained from my face. His angry tone had been too low for others to overhear, but I checked to see if the couple had heard him anyway. The girl tossed a curious glance our way, but her boyfriend paid us no attention.

  I looked at Asher, trying to understand his motive for asking the question. His enigmatic face remained composed, and I wondered if he’d ask louder if I didn’t respond. What answer would satisfy him? The truth wasn’t an option. I should have stuck with my decision to ignore him.

  “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  Asher’s eyebrow rose again, and I returned the look with one of my own. Mind your own damn business. He grinned and I scowled, turning back to the couple to end the conversation. Asher didn’t seem disturbed as he sat beside me in the dark. I felt his gaze land on me a couple of times, and I resisted the urge to stare back.

  The music started inside with Brandon’s distinctive guitar riff, and I hesitated, giving Asher a chance to leave first to avoid any accidental touches. The smokers stamped out their cigarette butts and hurried inside, letting the door slam shut behind them. I watched Asher’s shoes, noticing the expensive leather boots, and waited for them to shift as he got to his feet. Except they didn’t. The charged, heated air swirled between us as neither of us moved.

  It was another challenge, I realized. My breath hissed out in frustration as I stood to leave. He rose at the same time, crowding me between the two tables and knocking me off balance. I stepped back to avoid his touch and tripped over the table leg. My mental wall dropped. Strong hands grasped my waist to pull me upright, hitching my blouse up at the ribs a little as he caught me, and his hand slipped to skim bare skin.

  The sparks of heat kindled where his fingers touched my waist and spread in little licks of green fire. Without my shield, the hot wave of energy crashed in on me, his energy flow like a heat-seeking missile.

  The pain of that ambush scorched my skin, beginning where he touched me and radiating over my body like a fiery breeze. Inside, the opposite of fire stripped away my defenses, and I gasped as ice shards rushed straight to my heart, causing it to beat in a sluggish rhythm. A black fog descended when it froze, and my focus narrowed to Asher’s face.

  For the second time in a week, my body took over. It gathered all my pain and shoved it outward. Red flames shot from my skin to his.

  Asher yanked his arms back as if he’d been burned by the inferno. The current of energy coming from him cut off.

  I doubled over and grabbed hold of the nearest chair as my heart started pounding in double time. My glare took in the pallor of his tanned face and the sweat dotting his forehead, as I raised my mental defenses. Too little, too late. He stood ramrod straight, his expression pained. He hurt, I realized. I’d done that. My angry smile turned fierce with pride.

  A waiter stepped on to the patio, and I tried to blend once more into the crowd. When I was sure I could move without falling, I turned my back on Asher and walked into the club.

  The door didn’t open behind me, and I assessed my body. The pain had dissipated, but I remained weak. Not as bad as after I’d hurt Dean, but then this pain had been different. I hadn’t absorbed another’s injuries in the process of . . . What? I wasn’t sure what I’d done, except that my body could now cause pain in addition to taking it away. Two times the freak.

  And now Asher knew, too.

  He’d think twice before he touched me again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My first week at school was uneventful.

  A weathered, red brick building, Blackwell Falls High perched at the top of a hill in the midst of modest homes and groupings of sugar maples and oak trees. Ben drove me to campus to sign me up for classes the first day. He was pleased to find out I was a complete nerd and, through sheer grit and sweat, a straight-A student. Perhaps I was more motivated than others by the necessity of escaping hell as soon as possible. It hadn’t hurt that hanging at the library meant time spent out of the apartment away from Dean.

  My time among the books meant I had very little catchup to do in my classes. This was lucky since my concentration lasted about thirty seconds before thoughts of Asher crept in.

  I’d worried I’d be fighting off repeat attacks in the hallways at school. One blast of his energy scared me worse than watching Dean’s fist fly at me, but at least I could defend myself now. My new power left me conflicted. I was proud I could take care of myself, where before I’d been an animal scrambling for a hole to hide in, and scared I’d injure someone accidentally. This developing ability seemed the opposite of who I thought I was—a healer.

  Part of me celebrated my first day at school when Asher spared me no more than a glance in English, the single cla
ss we had together, before turning to flirt with the petite girl next to him. I didn’t understand why I also felt frustrated. The loneliness I’d sensed in him at the beach didn’t fit with reality. At lunch, he sat with his sister and their friends in the cafeteria, while I sat with Lucy. I should have been happy he ignored me, but the whole situation left me in a foul mood that didn’t go unnoticed at home during the week. Pensive looks passed between Ben and Laura, and we acted like the strangers we were, skirting each other. I spent a lot of time alone in my room.

  Without help from me, Lucy and Laura planned a shopping trip to the mall in South Portland for the weekend. They acted like they didn’t detect my lack of enthusiasm. I couldn’t help it. A bigger city meant more crowds. It wasn’t their fault I was a freak. They’d done their best to make me feel part of the family, so I gritted my teeth and agreed to all their plans.

  By the end of my first week, tension had me squirming in my seat until I noticed Asher was missing from his table. Charlotte seemed unaware of what had happened between me and her brother. At least, she didn’t acknowledge my existence, as she held court over a group of well-dressed girls. If we’d been in New York, I would have guessed they were Fifth Avenue private school groupies. The Blackwells—or better yet, the Blackwell fortune—attracted them like yuppie, suburban moms to a Starbucks.

  As Lucy had said, cliques ruled at Blackwell Falls High and having a town, let alone a school, named after you increased your popularity tenfold. It didn’t hurt that Asher played center on our hockey team. I’d surmised from the others’ gossip that Charlotte was a sophomore, younger than me. At sixteen, she had confidence the rest of us lacked, and I couldn’t imagine her with acne or worrying about her weight.

  With Asher gone, I relaxed and listened to Lucy’s friends make plans for that evening. Temperatures had dropped low enough that the town’s waterfall had frozen over. A bunch of students had decided to go see it, and the trip was quickly becoming an impromptu party.

  Susan asked if I’d go, and Lucy cajoled, “Come on, Remy. Let’s go. It’ll be fun.” She ended on a singsong tone.

  I returned her smile. She really was nice to the core, and I was dying to get out of the house. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

  That evening, Lucy worked miracles with my makeup, an easier task since the bruises had faded to a pale yellow. I’d helped them along a little, anxious to skip the phase of healing when the bluish bruises morphed into a revolting green. With a little assistance, mine had gone from blue to almost nonexistent.

  My remaining broken rib no longer required taping, either, since I’d healed it the day before. My voice remained throaty despite my best efforts. Whatever Dean had done, the damage appeared permanent. Since I wasn’t planning on a career as a singer and it no longer hurt, I’d decided not to stress about it.

  Later, I laughed with Lucy as we headed down the stairs to meet Brandon, who’d arrived to pick us up. Ben and Laura grinned at us, and I wished I didn’t like it that we gave the appearance of a happy family.

  Raucous noise filled Brandon’s van. He had picked up Greg and Susan on the way to our house, and we set off. When we arrived at a steep cliff at the edge of the woods, we piled out of the van and followed a worn path downhill toward the small roar of about sixty kids letting loose.

  Someone had cleared away mounds of snow to get a fire started. A huge pile of wood from broken crates, pallets, and fallen trees blazed in the dark, the fire illuminating some faces, while others remained hidden in darkness. The effect was kind of creepy, and I huddled my shoulders in my jacket.

  As we neared the fire, Susan wandered off with Greg, dating or on the verge of it. Brandon headed for the keg. I looked over at Lucy and watched as her eyes locked on a stranger who wasn’t handsome so much as boyishly cute with his auburn curls and dimples.

  Shoving an elbow in her side, I teased, “Someone’s been holding out.” When Lucy blushed, I grinned.

  “That’s Tim,” she said. “He graduated last year.”

  “An older man? And you gave me hell for merely looking at the town Romeo?”

  She flushed in embarrassment and muttered, “Shut up, Remy” without any heat, her eyes returning to the boy. He’d spotted her, too, and strode through the sand to meet us.

  “That’s my cue to make myself scarce.”

  Lucy spared me a grateful glance. “Thanks. You going to be okay?”

  I smiled to reassure her. “You forget. I’m used to it. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Moving closer to the fire, I shivered and experienced a fleeting relief that we were shopping for a warmer coat this weekend, because I’d freeze to death in the dumb excuse for a jacket I had. It had been thin when new three years ago. I moved as close as I dared to the large blaze, seating myself on a log. The spectacle before me was worth every frozen inch of my backside. Rushing water had frozen as it tumbled toward the small creek below it, so that it looked like some demented artist had carved a floating sculpture. My hands slid into my pockets as I stared up at the obsidian sky speckled with dots of light. The heat curled into me and my eyelids drooped.

  “You shouldn’t fall asleep so close to the fire.”

  My body came triple-espresso awake. Asher sat next to me just out of touching distance.

  “I wasn’t asleep.” I checked my walls to ensure there were no chinks, since he didn’t seem able to hurt me when they were in place. Common sense told me to walk away, but that could be interpreted as fear or weakness.

  “Of course, you weren’t,” Asher said. “You always snore when you’re awake.”

  My vow of silence was forgotten as I studied his dark eyes. It really wasn’t fair that such a jerk should be so appealing. I didn’t understand my desire to touch the scar that glowed in the firelight and shoved my hands deeper in my pockets to fight the urge.

  “I don’t snore.”

  White teeth gleamed when he smiled. He liked getting a rise out of me, but his smile had a hesitant quality I hadn’t noticed before.

  Good, the new powerful me thought. He should be cautious.

  As if to gauge my mood, he studied my face. His gaze dropped to my neck, and he frowned. “Your bruises are gone.”

  “That’s what happens to bruises when they heal.” My casual tone hid my anxiety that he’d noticed when no one ever had.

  He smiled as if he knew a secret. “It’s only been a little over a week. Shouldn’t it take longer?”

  I suppressed an urge to bite my lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have healed the marks, but I’d been sick of people looking and wanting to ask about them. I shrugged.

  His eyes narrowed, and I remembered he didn’t like it when I shrugged by way of response. More questions lingered in his eyes, and I didn’t want to answer them. I started to rise.

  “Wait.”

  He didn’t put out a hand to stop me, but his voice had the same effect: I froze.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said, his low voice serious. “For what happened. On the patio.”

  The nervous stops and starts sounded odd coming from him in his clipped enunciation. I had the inappropriate urge to smile and clamped down on the impulse.

  “I didn’t know that would happen. I thought I could control myself when I touched you, but . . .” At a loss for words, he stared into the fire. “I’ve never met anyone who could do what you do.”

  That makes two of us.

  “What is it you think I can do?” I asked.

  Those eyes swung back to mine and flicked to the shadows. “You want me to say it here? Where others might hear?”

  I’d forgotten we sat in the middle of a crowd. My entire attention had focused on him, with my body inclined toward him, as he leaned toward me. Our physical proximity and my obliviousness to it scared me. My vow to keep my distance had lasted about a minute.

  “Forget it.”

  I stumbled to my feet to get away from him. I didn’t know if he realized he’d reached out to de
lay my retreat, but we both reacted to it. He jerked his hand away with a frustrated, tight expression as I stepped back, slamming into a blond boy I didn’t recognize. Too drunk to save himself, the boy fell toward the fire, his light eyes blurry and unaware.

  Both of my hands tangled in the scratchy wool of his letterman’s jacket as I scrambled to steady him, stepping so close my vision was filled with his pale face and the mole nestled next to his large nose. When his leaden weight began to topple us both, Asher’s hands were there, reaching around me to pull us both upright. His arms pressed into my side, his warmth registering through layers of clothing. The shock of his body against mine from back to thigh overwhelmed me, and I braced myself for the heat wave. And yet . . . Asher didn’t attack.

  The stranger staggered against me, and a log shifted in the fire beyond his shoulder. The burning piece of driftwood wedged at the top of the wood stack tumbled on a collision course with his head when its support collapsed. Asher’s right hand whipped out to knock the burning wood into the bonfire. As the chunk of driftwood flew backwards, it sent sparks up into the starry night.

  Seconds later, Asher stepped back, yanking the boy and me to safety.

  The blond stumbled again—this time away from the fire—and leered at my chest. “Thanks,” he slurred. “I’m flattered, but I have a girlfriend.” Then, he shuffled off, yelling at a group of his equally drunk friends, “Shit, did you guys see that? The new chick wants me.”

  I stared after him, unsure if I should be pissed or amused. The idiot hadn’t even realized he’d been in danger. I turned to face Asher, but he didn’t look at me, his face impassive. Instead, he tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and stalked away, as if he hadn’t saved a seriously inebriated idiot—and myself—from third-degree burns.