The Empath

What was she waiting for? She’d been a virgin for twenty-seven years. If she waited any longer, they might as well bronze her and slap her on the shelf.

Green light. Go. Go. Go, her body urged.

Maggie gave up, and decided to cave in to her body’s insistent demands. They reached the front door. She fumbled for the key in her shorts pocket.

“Hurry, Maggie,” he ordered.

When the door was unlocked, Nicolas nearly ran inside, dragging her with him. Gently, but firmly, he put her behind him as he shut the door and clicked the dead bolt home.

Maggie flicked on the wall switch. Light splashed over his face, showing ruthless features hard as granite. He studied the living room. Suddenly shy, she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. This seemed so effortless in movies and romance novels.

Nicolas turned back to her. Surprise flared as he watched her slowly part the halves of her blouse, revealing the lacy cups of her bra.

Surprise was not the emotion she’d hoped for. Maggie clapped the blouse shut.

“Ah, Maggie.” His unshaven jaw worked, as if he struggled for control. “Later. When there’s time,” he said softly.

Grim-faced, Nicolas strode over to the sliding glass doors and drew the blinds shut. Maggie followed, totally flummoxed.

Whump! Something launched itself with lightning speed against the slider. A low screech hurt her ears, raking against her nerves like fingernails against slate. Maggie winced, but Nicolas only splayed his hands against the wooden blinds.

“You’ll not get her, evil one,” he mused, nearly to himself. “You’ll have to kill me to get to her now. And Kane will not allow me to die.”

He glanced at her. “Stay away from the windows. They can eventually find a way in, but don’t make yourself a visible target. I’m going outside.” He started for the front door.

They? “Who are they? Nicolas, what’s going on? Nicolas!”

He halted, slowly turned.

“What’s wrong? What was that that hit my sliders?”

“You don’t want to know. Not now.”

Slowly, she understood. He’d dragged her inside to escape … something. But there couldn’t be anything outside. This was too weird. Logic said Nicolas was flaky. Surely he looked a bit dangerous, with that wild, searching look in his dark eyes, the grim set of his mouth.

An old college course in behavioral science surfaced. Maggie studied her would-be lover. “Is there something out there that can hurt me, Nicolas? What is it?”

He glanced right, as if searching in the distance. “It’s not something that can hurt you. It’s something that will hurt you. It can sneak up on you before you take a single step.”

“You’re telling the truth,” she realized. “But Nicolas, if there’s something out there …”

He kissed her lips—a brief, intense kiss. “It’s just a small problem I must take care of. Lock the door behind me. And avoid the windows.”

Maggie put a hand to her spinning head, watching in dumbstruck disbelief as he padded out the front door. She bolted it behind him, her thoughts a maelstrom.

Hormones forgotten, she hugged herself. Odd noises. Threats. Danger. A stranger in a bar who evoked a feeling of déjà vu, whom she wanted to sleep with almost instantly. It made no sense. Yet deep inside, it did.

Memories pushed to the surface, clamoring to be heard. No. I will not, she thought wildly. Cell mitosis. Division. Creation. Life.

Misha, dying.

Maggie went to check on Misha. The dog slept on her pillow in the corner by the china cabinet. She squatted down, stroked her pet. If only I could take away your pain, sweetheart, I would. I’d do anything to make you well again.

Misha’s breathing was labored. Grief gripped Maggie like an iron fist. Soon, she’d have to make the decision. Did she do the humane thing as Mark insisted and euthanize her beloved friend before the pain became too intense? Maggie pressed shaking hands to her temples. She needed more time for research.

Time was a luxury she lacked.

Maggie went into the living room to wait.

In minutes he returned, locking the door behind him. Three long, bloodied gashes furrowed his right cheek as if something with claws had swiped him. Staring, she lurched to her feet.

“Problem solved,” he announced.

“What was it?” Maggie went to him, her stomach lurching at the blood on his face. Blood, except for in her practice, always nauseated her. She could perform surgery on injured animals and treat the worst wounds, but on humans, it had always sickened her.

“Let me take care of this. I have a firstaid kit.”

Nicolas shook his head. “It’s nothing. I heal fast.”

Unable to tear her gaze away from his cheek, she couldn’t fight the sinking feeling something sinister had lurked outside. “What attacked you?”

“Just a little stray problem. I took care of it.”

She worried her bottom lip. “I’ve got questions….”

“And I have answers, which I’ll share, when the time is right.” He smiled, lifting the darkness from his expression.

She lifted her chin, met his gaze head-on. “No, Nicolas. I want answers. Right now.”

Chapter 4

Maggie wanted answers he could not give. Not now. Not in her present inebriated state. He needed her alert. Yet perhaps this was best. Her inhibitions gone, maybe she’d stop clinging to logic and believe. The Morph’s claws had sunk into his cheek, but he’d dispatched the enemy easily. Now the lacerations barely stung. By tomorrow they would vanish.

She folded her arms across her stomach. The move served to thrust her breasts at him in a delectable invitation. His gaze dropped to the inviting valley between the lacy cups.

Nicolas longed to run his tongue there. Chart new territory.

“Nicolas? What was out there?”

He raised his gaze to meet hers. He’d feed her some information, see how she reacted.

“Sit, Maggie.” He steered her over to the plush floral couch. She sat, rather unsteadily.

“What attacked your door, and what I took care of, was a creature called a Morph. A shape-shifter.”

She gave him a blank stare. He pressed on. “It uses dark magick to change into any kind of animal form and seeks to destroy. It feeds off the energy and fear of a dying victim. It needs constant energy to stay alive and work magick. The slower the victim dies, or the more fear the person produces, the richer the food source.”

He paused, studying the disbelief dawning in her eyes.