STEP (The Senses) (35 page)

Running across the open grass heading for a large wall. They were chasing her. Anton would drag her back.

She couldn’t go back. No, she wouldn’t go back. Please let her get away. The memory became real and she panicked seeing the wall, knowing that it was too high to get over it by herself.

“Rayne-drop. Rayne-drop,” Serafina’s voice shouted.

Rayne stood trembling, staring at the wall, voices all around her. Anton shouting. Men scrambling to do his bidding, knowing that she was going to be locked up and lose the feel of the wind, rain and sun. No, her body screamed. No.

“Guess I missed some serious manure in your life,” Serafina said. “You want out of here, then suck it up. Time for a mental breakdown comes . . . well
, never. Piss on it.” Serafina grabbed her arm and shoved her to the wall. “Upsy-daisy.”

Rayne felt herself being thrown through the air and on instinct grabbed the ledge of the wall, pulling herself over then jumping to the other side. Serafina’s light was glowing bright red as it stretched to the limit.

“Serafina, come to me.” Oh God, don’t let her be stuck on the other side. That would trap them both and . . . Serafina appeared, landing gracefully on her feet beside her.

“Oh my, did you see that guy. The Taster. He is no geek. The guy is smashing hot. Like roll me over and—”

“I get the picture. Can we go?” Rayne said, not wanting to hear Serafina discuss sex. It was too weird when she still remembered her as a child.

“New terms. Chess and I get to meet him. This Galen.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rayne said. “Now get inside me before I become too weak to do what I have to do.”

Serafina’s brows rose and her lips quirked. “Are you being bad, Rayne-drop? Don’t you go getting yourself hurt. I have shit I still want to do and a man I need to meet.”

“It’ll be fine. Now, come to me.”

Serafina pouted, but she did as requested and Rayne felt the burst of hotness swarming her as Serafina trailed a path from the link through her body to settle on her thigh again.

Rayne stumbled forward as a car roared to life and knew the Senses had already found out she was gone. Would they contact Kilter? What if he found Roarke before she did?

She ran onto Avenue road and hailed a cab. “Queen
Street and Strachan.”

Rayne hop
ped out of the cab and walked under the massive gray stone arches. She headed up the path between two rows of flower gardens until she reached the circular path Roarke had talked about. The park was lit at night, although at this time it was pretty desolate and scary. She saw a solitary man standing with his back up against a maple tree. He pushed off and sauntered towards her with what looked like a blade of grass in his mouth. A border collie ran across his path, barking as it chased a squirrel.

Her palms grew damp despite the chill in the air, and her mouth became dry. She licked her lower lip then bit the skin as she watched Roarke approach. She knew this man more intimately than Kilter would ever care to know, and yet she knew if given the chance in different circumstance perhaps Roarke and Kilter would be friends.

She pinched her thighs. Was she doing the right thing? Did she have a choice? Kilter would never allow her to meet Roarke. None of the Senses would. But they needed to know more about this woman, and Roarke was the only one who had the answers.

He
kept walking, expecting her to follow as he nodded towards a wooden park bench. It was facing Queen Street and was shaded by the overhanging limbs of an old maple tree. He gestured for her to sit on the uncomfortable wooden slats, then followed suit.

He had yet to say a word and his expression
projected a million emotions, dread, anger, sorrow, and when he glanced at her, she saw relief. She on the other hand had one emotion—anxiety. She felt it shifting like a blade across every inch of her body, and it was a jagged blade to boot. Vulnerable as a feather in a hurricane and suddenly she wanted Kilter here holding her hand.

“You have nothing to fear, Rayne. You know I’d never harm you,” Roarke said, his eyes just catching the streetlights and
reflecting a brilliant pale green. “I want you to . . . no, I need you to understand why I could never risk taking you away from Anton.” He kept his voice low to avoid passersby from hearing his conversation. “I didn’t intend to work for your husband. Yes, I was starving for some sort of place in this world, but it was for the simple reason of peace, which is impossible when we’re hunted by the Senses. Agreed, most of the CWOs are malicious and are ruined by greed, but a few of us remain who seek a haven. I thought your husband was my path to finding it.”

“Anton was the path to hell,” Rayne said, anger now overriding the anxiety. “You’re a GQ Roarke, if you didn’t like what my husband was doing, you could’ve ended it.”

“Yes, perhaps I could’ve, but I would never have left you. Never. I care deeply for you.”

What do you say to that?
“You don’t even know me. I’m different now. You want someone to protect, to be helpless and powerless. I’m not that person anymore.”

“You will always be the same person
, Rayne.”

She gave a frustrated gruff noise. “Why? Why when you knew how much I hated Anton, did you continue to watch what he was doing? Did you know
what he’d planned for Ryker and I? Did you?”

He cleared his throat and it looked like he was having trouble breathing as his breath was ragged. Did he need air? Would he use her for his own survival?

“I won’t lie to you. Yes, I knew he wanted you to breed with a Senses. He craved, no he obsessed, about getting a child he could rear, one he could mold. It was her idea—the woman, Jasmine. I’m sorry, Rayne. It was my fault we were able to capture the Senses Ryker, but I had no choice.” She was about to say “Yeah, sure” when he continued, “She knew I cared for you, that was my mistake,” Roarke said. “If I didn’t do as she asked . . . Rayne, this doesn’t matter any longer.”

“Tell me,” she urged.

“When you were locked up after the escape with Ryker . . .” he hesitated, “. . . it was my fault. I let them escape.”

What? “But you weren’t even at the compound at the time.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. When you disappeared for twelve hours, I came back to help search for you. I knew you were in the vent. I knew the guy was there for Ryker and I wanted you to escape with him, so I ignored what I knew.”

God, all this time.

His hand ruffled his usual immaculate hair. “When we . . . when we were together, I fell in love with you, Rayne. ” He gave a frustrated growl, so unlike the secure and stable man she knew. “I could never harm you. I will care for you. We can leave, go any place you desire.”

Rayne tensed as he turned to look at her with haunted eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I won’t.”

“It’s him, isn’t it? That guy at the art show.”

Rayne ignored the question. “Do you know why the vampires are after
me?”

“I won’t let them near you. I’ll keep you protected.”

“Too late. A vampire attacked me. I assume this Liam wants me in order to make an exchange for a witch called Abby. Did you know about this?”

Roarke’s eyes closed and
took a deep breath. “It’s her. Jasmine. She must have told Liam. You’re very valuable to the Senses.”

“Why? What is this about?”

“The woman Jasmine is a Lilac. She knew Anton before I did. She was the one who directed me to him, said I may find a place with him.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hair hanging forward to shade his face from her view. “She’s here. I’ve been watching her. Several times, she’s met with Liam. She’s here for one reason.”

He raised his head, eyes filled with distraught emotion.

“She says you belong to her.”

“Back away, Damien,” Waleron instructed.

Damien came to his feet, but he refused to believe that Abby would hurt him regardless of what she had become. “Abb, you’ve Turned.” He took a breath, his throat so tight he had difficulty speaking. “The water—fuck Abby, it spilled and . . . you changed it, Abb. To blood.” He stared into her eyes, praying that there was some semblance to the Abby he had grown to . . . no, he couldn’t love her. He didn’t.
She’s a vampire.
He felt the tears pooling in his eyes and closed them a moment, trying to collect himself. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Her eyes were an intense crimson—like all vamps
who were starving—black lines ran underneath them, heightening her young flawless skin that was as white as doves. She stared directly at him with her upper lip curled, revealing two long white fangs. Her head tilted to the side and her long black lashes flickered while watching him with fearlessness.

Abruptly, she leapt onto the heels of her feet, crouching low on the bed with her stance ready to attack. She made a long
, low hissing sound that caused shivers to run down his spine.

Could she
discern who he was? Did she know what happened? Christ, she looked pissed. His Abby was buried beneath the bloodlust. What was he saying? Abby was not his nor would she ever be. She was a chick he’d spent one night with then months of pure hell watching her change into a bloody vampire—vampires he hated and killed.

Her body suddenly tensed and vibrated as a bolt of energy shot through her and she fell back onto the bed
, writhing in pain. Damien knew without looking that Waleron was the cause. He automatically went to soothe her like he’d done for months, but Waleron’s voice stopped him.

“You are not thinking clearly, Damien. She is a vampire now. Fresh and in a frenzy for more blood. Nothing is clear in her mind except what her body craves. Do not approach or you will be her first snack. We need her shackled.”

“Jesus, Waleron. Please.” His entire body rebelled at what he knew would be harming the woman he’d grown to care for. How was he supposed to do this? What was Waleron going to do with her? Shit, what was he going to do?

Waleron spoke to him telepathically,
probably in case Abby could decipher what they were saying even in her state of mind.
“Release your Scar, Damien. She cannot take blood from it. Have it shackle her and put the pillowcase over her head.”

“No. God
, no.” His entire body was urging him to go to her, soothe the confusion, the pain and hurt that churned like a whirlpool in the depths of her eyes. It was taking everything he had not to break down and destroy all in his path. He yearned to tear apart this cottage for what it had done to him, to him and Abby.

He smashed his fist into the wall, feeling his knuckles crack under the pressure. The pain felt good, as if it relieved some of the emotional shock that was pulsating like electrodes through his innards.

“Christ.” He ran his other hand threw his hair.

“Damien. Call it now,” Waleron demanded.

Damien took his eyes away from Abby and glanced with uncertainty at Waleron.
“I can’t control it. You know this. And he hates you.”

“
I will stay clear of him.”

Fuck, he hated his Scar. Hated that it reminded him of his own failure. He mistrusted what it would do
, and he sure as hell hated that it had been the cause of that disaster with another warrior years back.

Damien reluctantly gave an abrupt nod. Shit, he hadn’t called upon his Scar since that day. He hadn’t dared and
, besides, Waleron had warned him to keep it locked away or he’d be sent to Rest. Now, the Big Guy was asking him to call it forth. To control Abby.

“N
ow,” Waleron stated.

Damien clenched his jaw and said to himself the words of the calling of his Scar.
“Rise to me. Bring forth life. Rise, faithful familiar, and breathe to protect what is mine.”

The tingling in his shoulder began
, then a slow burning on his skin as the Scar wiggled and slid up his shoulder blade to his arm then down to his palm. A beam of red heat penetrated his skin until a burst of white light came swirling into the room.

Abby began hissing and covering her eyes from the brilliant light, her arm over her face as his Scar began to take form. Waleron remained close, his eyes never once wavering from the Scar as the light disappeared and in its place rose what looked like Sabertooth tiger mixed with a human. Long white fangs hung from
a box-shaped muzzle that was covered in black skin. Piercing burgundy eyes were large and narrow, glaring with menacing intent at him and Waleron. His body stood upright covered in dark burnt-orange-and-black-striped fur. His hands were free of fur but his nails were daggers, long and curved—deadly.

“Simian,” Damien said. “The woman is mine.” Waleron
sent a sharp glance his way. “She is not to be harmed, but must be contained. You will shackle her with the chains then cover her head with a pillowcase.” Damien lowered his voice. “She is not to be harmed, Simian.”

His Scar turned his bright blood eyes to him, made a low snarl then swept his arm across the far wall, plaster breaking and falling to the floor. Shit, this was such a bad idea. But he knew Simian was their only chance at gettin
g Abby contained without killing her.