STEP (The Senses) (9 page)

“But she’s a toothpick,” Kilter said. “How can she not see that?”

“I think that when she looks in the mirror all she sees is a failure. In her head, that may relate to her being fat. She probably thinks, ‘If I get fat I have failed.’” She held up her hand when Kilter went to interject. “Let me put it to you this way, she could never make Anton proud so her mind may have created something she thought she could succeed at because she believes she can control her food intake. Starving herself does two things, she can win at it and it gives her control.”

“Why the fuck would she care about making that asshole proud?”

“He’s all she’s had, Kilter. No matter what he did to her, he was her lifeline. I don’t think we can even begin to understand what she’s been through or what it was like.”

“But she’s as weak as a goddamn butterfly.” Kilter paced back and forth, hand repetitively running through his hair.

Anstice nodded. “Not eating, it’s her power. She can slip inside herself and leave her emotions at the door. No emotions, no pain.” She sighed. “I’m not a psychologist. I talked to a therapist and read the book.”

“The bastard is dead. She doesn’t have to do this shit anymore,” Kilter said.

Keir sighed.

Anstice shook her head and r
aised her eyes heavenward.

“What?” Kilter
said.

“She needs therapy. You don’t recover spontaneously. It’s much deeper than that,” Keir said. “I’ve investigated several different eating disorder clinics, and I think sending her—”

Kilter stopped dead in his tracks. “No,” he shouted. “She is not being put into another compound. Forget it. There has to be another way.”

“They aren’t compounds. They
’re first-rate places. More like a spa with people who can help her. And she always has the choice to leave,” Anstice said.

“No!” Kilter vehemently reiterated.

Anstice looked at Keir and he gave a curt nod. “Waleron knows of the situation. He’ll have the final say, Kilter.”

“Bull shit. She is not being locked away again. I’m not doing that to her.” He grabbed the book off the chaise longue. “I’ll find another way.” He stormed out of the room.

Fat? She thought she was fat? He wanted to strip her down, force her to stand in front of a mirror and point out every single bone. Maybe then, she’d see what everyone else did.

His hand tightened around the book, and he looked at the title
—When I Look in the Mirror.
A picture of a woman, skin and bones, peered at an image of a woman who was overweight. He was no saint, and getting involved with a woman who had serious issues was ludicrous. He’d intended to get her out of that place, then walk away. Now here he was going up to his room to read a bloody book. A book, he thought, shaking his head.

Jedrik sat at the bar, hands cupped around his third Stella, ignoring the subtle movements of what he knew to be alcoholics sitting at the bar with him. Who else would be drinking at this time in the morning?

Lately, he’d been seeking his watering hole more often than he cared to admit. With asshole Off-Kilter residing in the Talde house, and his best friend screwing a vamp, alcohol was a mighty fine distraction.

The Foggy Dew—the Dew—was a hike from Keir’s, but only a couple blocks down the road from Danielle’s gallery. He and Delara used to come here a lot
, before she saw Trinity and Waleron together, sending her on a mission of disappearance for two years. She’d done that three times since he’d known her, just vanished without a trace.

He could still remember the day over a century ago when he first saw Delara with
Waleron. They were at Keir’s in England for a meeting regarding the discovery of the CWOs. Delara had been sitting in a tree when Waleron walked up. She scrambled down that tree so damn fast that she landed on her butt in the dirt with Waleron hovering over her.

She had this undeniable worship shinning in her exotic green eyes. It was a love that none of the Senses thought could happen. A love that broke through all of Waleron’s barriers.

Then disaster struck. The Lilac. The torture. Waleron had never been the same since.

So screwed up. For both of them.

“Hey, you mind?”

Jedrik didn’t raise his eyes
to the female who came up beside him. He shrugged and took another swig of his beer. He heard the scrap of the barstool as she pulled it out and sat beside him. She asked the bartender for a straight-up coffee with a shot of milk.

His usual charming self was bit in the butt
, hearing Delara’s latest. He didn’t want to be his blissful, girl-getter, get-laid self. He loved Delara, she was his best friend, his pseudo sister, and he knew he was losing her.

“Cool, thanks,” the girl beside him said to the bartender as he slid a steaming mug of coffee her way. “And better get him another.”

He raised his head for that one. He didn’t need some girl . . . His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened like some idiot who just got sucker-punched by a chick.

She bit her lower lip and smiled. “Do I scare you?” She laughed
; it was like a strum of an acoustic guitar. Her eyes swept over his starstruck expression. “Well, I believe that’s the first time a guy looked at me like I was a bug splattered on his windshield.” She ran her hand over her chic short red hair. “Did I forget to brush it again this morning?”

He shook his head like a buffoon staring at a delicious banana. Christ almighty she was hot. Green eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter, rubies of sheer lightness and
, damn, that cute nose was delectable.

Where was his mouth? Obviously, still on the floor. He snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat while looking away to give himself a second to catch his breath.

“Little early for beer. Alcoholic?” she asked.

It would appear like that
. Just moments ago, he’d made the same assumption about the other patrons. “No.” Ah, there was his voice.

“Rough night then? Is it a woman or man?” She laughed again as he glanced over with a ludicrous look on his face. “Sorry. Hard to tell these days. I did peg you as gay. I mean you’re gorgeous, good shape and dress nice. I shouldn’t do that, I know, but honestly, all the attractive men are gay, or at least it seems that way.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Wow, he managed a whole sentence. Goddess Woman had to be impressed. Should he introduce himself? Shake her hand? Frig, where was his charisma when he needed it? Back in bed obviously.

She held out her hand, and he noticed she didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingers were long and slim, well kept. “I’m Abigail—don’t call me that though. I prefer Abby.”

The instant he touched her hand, he felt the familiar electricity shoot through his body and, without a doubt, he knew what she was. He jerked back, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, threw a twenty on the bar and headed for the door.

He cursed and
as he tried to hail a cab. He kicked the bicycle post with the toe of his combat boot as he heard and smelled her come up behind him.

Without turning he said, “Not a fan of witches, so best keep your spell fingers to yourself.”

“I need your help,” she said.

“Yeah
, well, my help meter is at full capacity right now. Take a number.” Frig, where were the cabs when you needed one.

“It’s Liam.” Whoa that got his attention. This must be the witch rumored to be hanging at the club. He turned towards her as she said, “The vampire.”

“Yeah, know who the frig he is,” Jedrik said. Okay, she was scared. At least, that was what her hormones were shooting off like fireworks.

A cab slowed.

“He told me to meet him in two nights at the club.”

Jedrik threw his hands up, shrugged his shoulders and widened his eyes with a
“so what?” expression.

“He’
s going to kill me.”

****

A soft knock sounded on the door, and Rayne instantly went on alert. She expected Kilter to come barging in. Suffering through another meal of Kilter’s heaping plates of food was the last thing she wanted to do today.

“Rayne? It’s Anstice. Can I come in?” Anstice asked politely.

They were about the same height, although Anstice was wearing one-inch heels. She had a sexy appeal in a white blouse and dark blue jeans that sculpted to her long fawnlike legs.

Rayne stepped back from the door. Genevieve had a subtle quiet beauty; Anstice was vibrancy and animation with stark features.

“I saw the bruises on your neck. I wanted to ask if I could heal them.”

Rayne remained close to the door. “I’m fine really. I don’t need any healing.”

“Those bruises must hurt. I can take it away.” Anstice paused. “Did you know Kilter dug the bullet out of his shoulder himself, then tried stitching it up? Failed miserably.” She walked over to the bed. “Men. They can be so obtuse and stubborn. Come, I promise it won’t hurt.”

Yeah, heard that before. “I’d rather not.”

Anstice nodded. “Oh, okay then. No worries, just let me know if you change your mind.”

A subtle cough sounded in the doorway, and Rayne whirled around to see Kilter leaning his broad
shoulder against the doorframe. His brows were lowered over his eyes, and his jaw looked tight. “Let her heal you, babe.”

Anstice said, “It’s okay, Kilter. She doesn’t have to—”

“Yes. She does.” He kept his eyes riveted on her, and she wrapped her arms around her chest as if to shield herself from his intense gaze. It didn’t work. Why was he insisting on this? She was fine. The bruises would disappear in a few days. “Anstice, give us a minute,” Kilter ordered.

“Umm, yeah
, sure thing.” Anstice gave her a half-smile, then left the room. Kilter closed the door behind her.

“I need you to do this
,” Kilter said as he approached with long relaxed strides. She forced herself to stand completely still. “It’s important.” His hand raised, fingers sweeping across the bruises on her neck. “She can heal these, babe. In minutes, you will no longer see the purple and blue, nor feel the tenderness on your skin.”

She raised her gaze to meet his and was astonished to see the anger had dissipated, and instead she saw warmth in his chocolate eyes. His scent wafted across her face, and she sucked in the sweet s
mell of soap mixed with denim.

“
Jesus babe, I hate the reminder of what he did to you.” Kilter put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “I’m asking. As a favor to me.”

Okay, this part of Kilter she hadn’t expected. She’d anticipated him demanding she be healed.
She couldn’t recall ever being asked if she’d do something for another person. It felt . . . it felt good. She still had the urge to say no. That protective side of her was demanding to stay hidden and prohibit anyone to get close. She hesitated, biting the inside of her lower lip and watching him as he waited patiently for her answer.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Before she knew what he was going to do—or else she’d have run like hell—Kilter lowered his head, his lips touching her forehead with a feathery kiss. When he stepped back, she noticed the quick change in expression as if he realized what he’d done. It was obvious they were both unaccustomed to tenderness.

****

Anstice was telling the truth. It didn’t hurt—actually all she felt was warmth on her neck. She lay on the bed as Anstice hovered over her, eyes closed and hands inches away from her neck, Rayne kept her eyes open and Kilter stood leaning up against the bedpost watching.

Anstice’s hands went a deep orange color and then changed to a bright red. She kept her eyes closed, and Rayne noticed her flinch several times
, then cough. Her eyes clenched and her body looked as if it was in pain, tension and strain in the subtle lines of her face. She suddenly gasped for breath, her eyes flying open and her hands going to her throat.

There were tears pooled in her eyes. She glanced at Kilter. “He was a cruel man. You did good.” She squeezed Rayne’s shoulder and then quietly left the room.

Rayne sat up and rubbed her neck. She felt nothing, no tenderness, no swelling.

“Come,” Kilter said, holding out his hand.

He guided her into the bathroom and placed her in front of the mirror. With a gentle caress of his fingertips, he swept her hair back over her shoulders while he stood behind her.

The bruises were gone. She turned her head from side to side and not a single reminder of Anton’s handprints remained on her neck. “Amazing,” she whispered.

Kilter’s hands rested on her shoulders, and he gave a gentle squeeze. “Anstice’s healing is that.”

She continued to look at the mirror, Kilter standing behind her, his hands intimately on her shoulders and his eyes gazing at her through the mirror. They looked . . .

Kilter’s grip tightened and his brows lowered over his eyes. “Babe, do you see how thin you are?”