STEP (The Senses) (16 page)

Heat tore through her body like a lightening bolt. No matter what she did, there was no denying the chemistry between them. Except, he did deny it. It was nothing to him. As if their past failed to exist.

“Why are you here Pez?” she asked. Shit, her voice raised an octave.

“We need to talk,” Waleron said.

“If this is about us . . . we’ve talked. Nothing’s left to say,” Delara slipped her hand from his grasp and took a step back.
The tattoo on his neck shimmered a bold red and then faded back to an intense black.

Waleron’s stone cold expression flashed a grimace for a split second and then returned to impassive. “You slept with a vamp and a Wraith. I was in the realm, Edan is still raving mad.”

What did he want to hear? He knew the truth. Edan had been her escape, her protector from her own emotions. He taught her to stop running from anger and stand up to it. Liam . . . well, he was the danger aspect, off limits and a good way to make Waleron hate her more.

Okay, she’d used Edan to get into council and speak on Balen’s behalf—he was being sentenced to Rest for a bullshit reason—and it had been a risk, but it worked. Yeah, she
’d used her feminine wiles to her advantage, just like Waleron had with that wretched witch Trinity. “Yeah, so what. You said it wasn’t your concern.”

“Never. Ever. Do anything so foolish again.” Waleron’s voice cut into her like the lash of a crocodile’s tail.

“Oh, but its okay for you to do it,” Delara retorted. Of course it was. According to rumors, Waleron slept with plenty of woman and frequented the club Wicked. His dangerous bad-boy look had them crawling all over themselves to get to him. She had to hand it to him; at least he had never flaunted them. No, Waleron was adamant about his privacy. Even she had no idea where he stayed.

“Edan is a Wraith
, for Christ’s sake. He is livid.”

Yeah, the volatile Wraith was probably spitting fire for being used. The Godlike Wraiths were on their side, trying to maintain some sort of peace on earth. They were powerful as shit and lucky for her couldn’t live on earth. Unfortunately, they could bring you to their realm, which sucked when they were pissed.

“Have you ended it with Liam?”

“Not that it is any of your business—but yes. Satisfied? His new interest may not like sharing anyway. Guess she doesn’t realize that vamps rarely believe in monogamy.” She had spoken with Abby a few times at the club, a sweet girl. She was surprised the witch was even considering getting involved with Liam. She just hoped the little witch stayed clear of his blood.

“And you are fine with sharing?”

She shrugged. What did she care if Liam slept with others? It wasn’t as if she loved him, just used him like Edan. “Listen, I have shit to do.” She pushed past him and headed out of the kitchen to the gallery. Everything in her body screamed to stay close to him, yet her mind knew better.
Escape while you can.
The ice was already beginning to seep into her heart.

“Delara
.” Waleron raised his voice, although far from a shout. He never had to, his presence alone made defying him impossible.

She closed her eyes and halted without turning around. She heard his footsteps come up behind her and froze.
Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.

His breath came first, a soft wind across the back of her bare neck and then his scent, deep and familiar that curled her toes into sweet torment.
Let me go. Can’t you see how much you’re hurting me?

His hands came to rest on her shoulders
, and fire burned in her belly. Every inch of her wanted to spin around and fall into his arms, taste his lips, feel his skin, trace every single tattoo on his body with her tongue.

Let me go. Hate me, so I can let you go
.

Since the day they’d met, there had been fireworks between them, an undeniable chemistry that neither could extinguish. But for sixty-one years, she had thought he was dead. Years in
which she was in emotional turmoil. Then at her weakest, she’d fallen into Tarek’s web. Self-punishment was a fucker, and she knew how to do it to herself in spades.

But Waleron
had survived and came back. He saved her life only to kick her in the gut with his denial of loving her any longer. With his return, he’d destroyed her heart all over again.

Waleron couldn’t love. He was incapable of the emotion any longer. Something had happened within that Lilac’s grasp
, and now he was a cold, emotionless shell.

Where was the man she met at the garden party so many years ago? The man
who teased, laughed, and swept her off her feet? He was dead, he’d said. Dead and buried.

Waleron’s fingers swept across her skin as if the tip of a feather. His touch was the same as it was when they met.

And yes, he was the same. Somewhere inside him, that man existed and she loved him.

His fingers swept her shaggy locks away from the back of her neck then his lips descended. She closed her eyes as her body melted into the oblivion of bliss. One simple lingering kiss on her flesh and she was a pool of liquid. It hurt. It was crushing her fragmented
, brittle insides.

She couldn’t stand to be near him and not have his whole heart.

She wanted to laugh. Heart? Waleron no longer had a heart.

He curled his hands into a handful of hair and tilted her head as he took her ear into the warmth haven of his mouth. One. Two. Three. Four . . . Delara remained still as she could, although her knees were threatening to give out and her skin was at its boiling point.

“Look at me,” Waleron demanded. He waited patiently while his breath sifted across her ear. “What more do you want, Delara? I’m giving all I can. You know I can never be with you for more than what I offer.”

What he wanted was to share their bodies, but not their hearts. Sex. Passionate
, raw sex. And she knew why he was offering this—so she’d give up sleeping with other men. Another way for him to control her without giving an ounce of himself.

But sex with him was like jumping off the CN Tower in a freefall, the sweet caresses, the butterflies, the sweet sensations swirling through your body. But the inevitable had to happen—landing—bruised body and soul, heart ripped apart. Dying inside.

She couldn’t turn around and look at him. No way in hell. Not when he’d see the desire pulsating in her eyes along with the pain and the anguish at his words. It was as if he were slowly digging a knife into her heart inch by selfish inch, then slashing it apart.

She loved him. God, she loved this man. Or at least the man he used to be. The reminder was always close at hand, that crinkled piece of paper.

It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done—the hardest was way too over the top of painful to even think about—as she slipped from his grasp. Instantly, the coldness seeped into her veins.
Can’t you feel what you’re doing to me every time we’re together?
She laughed to herself.
Yeah right.

She was pretty damn certain he’d let her walk away. The guy had pride the size of Russia. Chasing after a woman was not his thing. He wanted to satisfy the
ir undeniable sexual chemistry whenever he wanted, and she wanted him to love her. Yeah, just so he could kick her out of bed in the morning.

“Delara.” His tone was a warning and she hesitated. No one walked away from Waleron. Did she have the nerve? At one time, she wouldn’t have, but she’d worked hard at smothering that habit into the ground.

“You said that day in the realm you’d try. But that was a lie, so I would stay away from Edan. Wasn’t it? Just like why you’re here now, to make certain I stay away from Liam. You can’t have it both ways. I want all of you or nothing. You can’t—no, you
won’t
—give yourself to me, and I can’t just have sex with you. I want your whole self, mind, body and soul like we once were.” She closed her eyes, head lowering to match her voice. “Do you remember what you said to me when we were together?” she asked without turning. “You said, ‘No matter what we face, I belong to you for eternity.’ Guess that was a lie too.”

She thought she heard him swear beneath his breath, but he never swore. Why did she repeatedly believe that one day he’d change? Because she had faith in their love, she reminded herself.
Just peachy. Love a man who believes love is an erroneous belief.

“That’s what I thought,” Delar
a said and walked out the door.

****

Rayne was distracted with thoughts of Kilter. She was having a hard time forgetting him. He was a haunting image when she closed her eyes—and when she was awake. She often wondered where he was. Why hadn’t he ever come after her? Where had he disappeared? She contemplated asking Delara, but pride wouldn’t allow it. It had been her choice to leave without saying anything to him. And his to let her go.

She tried to slip in the back door of the gallery without disturbing Danielle
, who was painting, but her clumsy feet stumbled on the lip of the doorway. Danielle looked up. Who was she kidding, Danielle was a Senses. She’d feel her emotions walking down Queen Street.

“Hey
, Rayne. You busy?” Danielle called.

“Umm, no.” What else could she say?
I don’t fell like talking after having my intestines split apart by some therapist.

“Good.” Danielle stood and stepped back from the painting she was working on. She tapped her paintbrush to her chin and cocked her hip. “What do you see?”

Rayne came up next to her and stared at subtle wash of blues grays and a hint of lavender. “Umm, well, I don’t know. It looks good though.”

“Come on, Rayne. Tell me. What does it look like to you?”

Rayne stared at the fresh brush strokes. “I guess it reminds me of the sea after a storm.” Like Kilter, she thought. He was a turbulent storm, but calmed when she was near. “Umm, the blues here—” she pointed to the right, “—going across the water with the lavenders in the distance tells me a storm has come and gone. It looks like it wreaked havoc in a single moment.” Kilter could do that—cause chaos in a single moment. “But now the tranquility has returned and the sun will soon shine.” Like when he held her in his arms.

When Rayne finished, Danielle was staring at her, mouth gaping and her eyes wide with disbelief. “Wow. Now that’s imagery. Study art at all?”

“A little,” she replied. Anton had been adamant about her being knowledgeable in certain areas. Art had been one of them and she’d enjoyed the days when she could sit and stare at Monet’s work or Picasso or the more recent works of Robert Bateman, who always painted realism with nature and animals, her favorite.

“You’re hired,” Danielle announced.

“Excuse me?”

“I need someone to watch the gallery a few days a week so I can work in my studio at home. Just show people around, give your opinion when asked and hopefully sell my fabulous work. Can you start tomorrow? Balen has been working so hard lately
, and it’d be nice to surprise him with a day to ourselves.”

“I don’t think—”

Danielle grabbed both her hands. “Please. Delara says you want a job and this is as easy as making Kraft dinner.” Rayne didn’t know what Kraft dinner was. “I pay well. I mean, I’ve never hired anyone before, but I will pay well.”

She did need a job, she had no skills, no experience and she wasn’t eager to walk the streets looking for something. It was hard enough walking down the city streets to the therapist’s office. Being interviewed by a bunch of strangers knowing they were scrutinizing her was definitely on her list of things not to do. The problem was she did need a job.

“I guess I could,” Rayne replied. This was what she wanted, she reminded herself. A place to get back on her feet, with her own money and where she semi-trusted the people.

“Great,” Danielle said. “It’s pretty boring most of the time, but you can read or even paint if you want. I know you have therapy every morning until eleven, but I’ll be here to open up so you can work from whenever you get back until we close. What about Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays?”

Rayne nodded. It wasn’t as if she had other plans and it would keep her occupied.

Danielle gave a warm smile and then got up. “Here, I’ll show you my work. They’re done in series. Oh, and that painting is not for sale, no matter what anyone offers to pay.” Danielle pointed to the oversized painting of Balen. “And you will be hounded to sell. There
’s one lady who comes in at least twice a month and offers to buy it. Every time her price goes up. Just tell her no, it’s not for sale.”

Danielle took her on a tour of each painting and Rayne found herself talking about each one, what she saw and how it made her feel. For a while, she felt connected to something, an image, a feeling, and all her thoughts of the past faded away for a brief moment in time.

Another step.

The dryness in her mouth rose to an uncontrollable urgency the moment she walked into the club. Abby tried to swallow her saliva but it was as if a cloth was lodged in her throat. Her heart beat steadily faster as the scent of blood pumping through all those around her increased with each step she took.