Читать книгу The Empath - Bonnie Vanak - Страница 10

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.

“It’s after you, Maggie.”

Maggie rubbed her temples. “I must be drunk. Did you say shape-shifters?”

“Morphs. They shift into different animal shapes.”

She laughed. “Shape-shifters who change into animals. Right. And they want me for, what? Free medical care since I’m a vet?”

“They want you because you’re the only one who can defeat and destroy them, Maggie. You’re extraordinary.”

“That’s me. Maggie the Super Destroyer of Shape-shifters!” Her blouse gaped open again, showing a delicious cleft of creamy skin. Nicolas felt his groin grow even heavier. He steeled against it. Control, control. Now was not the time.

“You don’t believe me. But you will, soon enough. Just as you sense we have something between us.” He took her hand, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. She shivered at his touch. A pulse throbbed in her neck.

“I don’t believe in shape-shifters. Or magic. The sexual chemistry between us? Basic human biology.” Her mouth thinned as she yanked her hand away. “I’m a researcher, a doctor of veterinary medicine. So if you’re trying to convince me of anything as nonsensical as this Morph creature, it defies human logic. I need evidence.”

Nicolas remembered how the Morphs had torn the hunters to pieces. “Don’t underestimate them, Maggie. Morphs are far from nonsensical.”

Maggie, the scientist, the unbeliever. If he revealed more, she’d grow even more wary. She wanted empirical evidence.

He wanted to pick her up, and run off with her. Get her out of danger before the Morphs attacked. Not yet. She was still safe. Since she hadn’t displayed any empath powers, the Morphs lacked proof she was the Draicon destined to destroy them.

He gauged his plan. Tell her to pack now, get the dog in the car and run, and she’d not only balk, but put up such a fuss she’d attract unwanted attention.

She needed to see to believe.

He’d dispatched the Morph scout easily, killing him before he cloned. Scouts worked in pairs. In the morning, when it was supposed to check in, another would appear. After intense study of their patterns, he knew what to expect.

Chances were a Morph wouldn’t appear before morning. But he wouldn’t leave her alone.

He could mate with her now. But their first time together, he wanted all night. Take it long and slow, not fast and hurried, with the threat of a Morph appearing at her door.

Besides, Maggie needed evidence that the Morphs existed. Nicolas smiled grimly.

She’d see plenty tomorrow morning. He felt certain of it.

Maggie’s swimming head couldn’t process everything. First, the raging desire stripped away all coherent thought, leaving nothing but the urgent need to rub her naked body against this man. Then there was the odd feeling of danger and Nicolas’s mysterious vanishing act.

Now his assertion that a creature stalked her?

It was too fantastic. Yet a tiny part of her warned he told the truth. She ignored that voice. If he were truthful, everything she’d built for herself would collapse into rubble. Her life was ordinary, organized and carefully planned. It allowed no room for the whimsical and mysterious.

No room for childish beliefs such as magic. Magic with a C, not a K, she thought.

Maggie clenched her fists. No, she said silently. It’s not possible. I only believe in what I can control, or accept that which is beyond my control.

Some diseases were beyond her control. Death. Misha, dying.

A small whimpering drew her attention. Maggie jumped from the couch, and staggered into the kitchen. Nicolas followed as she bent down, stroked the newly awakened Misha with a trembling hand. The dog raised her head, regarded Nicolas. Her tail beat the air like a metronome as she licked his hand.

“She doesn’t take well to strangers lately,” Maggie said, her heart leaping for joy. This was the most life Misha had shown in days.

“I’m a dog person,” Nicolas murmured, rubbing behind Misha’s ears.

Maybe now she could finally coax Misha into eating. From the refrigerator, she fished out a plastic tub and tore off the lid. She squatted before the dog, holding out a small piece of cooked chicken. “Look, Misha, your favorite. Please, eat for me. Please, baby. You can do it.”

The dog reached for the chicken. Wild hope arose. Then a strong male hand seized Maggie’s wrist, pulling the food away. Anger flooded her. “What are you doing?”

Nicolas was studying Misha with an intent look.

“Don’t.”

Maggie’s mouth flattened. “She’s very ill. This is the first food she’s shown interest in.”

He stroked Misha’s head. “What are you feeding her?”

What business was it of his? Yet Misha acted animated, continuing to wag her tail as he rubbed behind her ears. Certainly he had a way with animals.

“Protein. The … mass acts like a cancer. Cancer doesn’t feed well on protein, so I have her on a diet of eggs, meat, poultry, white fish, with raw vegetables and …”

“Stop feeding her. It’s not cancer.”

Maggie stared. “What?”

Nicolas leaned forward as Misha licked his hand. “The disease is different. It feeds off energy. Any food provides Misha with energy, which the diseased cells use to multiply and spread. She’s literally starving to death when she eats and feeding her makes the disease spread.”

She slapped the food container on the floor. Misha whined. Nicolas arched a brow.

“Starving to death when I feed her? What do you propose I do, let her not eat and hope that will help? She’s dying, dammit! She’s dying and there’s not a damn thing I can do. All my research has been useless. I’m a vet and I can cure other people’s animals, but not my own dog.”

Maggie pressed a trembling hand to her face. No more tears. The gentle pressure of a hand squeezing her shoulder made her look up. Nicolas’s expression softened.

“Maggie, I’m sure you’ve done everything for her. I can tell how much you love her. Don’t give up. Modern science can’t fight ancient, dark magick. Hasn’t your research shown this disease to behave abnormally, unlike anything you’ve ever seen?”

She remembered how the cells divided when she added a drop of healthy dog blood. How they seemed to almost …

Eat it.

Maggie closed her eyes in disbelief. It made no sense. None. Science demanded logic, answers, evaluation. What Nicolas proposed was pure nonsense.

Her eyes flew open. She jerked away from him and went to the fridge, shoving the container back inside. “If Misha has a new type of disease, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it.”

Nicolas stood and parked a lean hip against the arched doorway. “You trusted I was telling the truth before when the Morph was outside. Trust me now, Maggie. Go with your instincts.”

A bitter laugh escaped. “That wasn’t instinct. It was pure behavioral science. You looked right when I asked you if there was something out there that could hurt me. That indicates you were remembering. If you had looked left, it would have told me you were making up a lie. The eyes reveal more than most people realize.”

“And so does what’s deep inside a person.” Nicolas advanced. “Don’t look to science, Maggie. Look inside. Stop being logical. Logic has nothing to do with it.”

He ran a thumb across her cheek. “Logic has nothing to do with this. These feelings we shared toward each other when we met. I know you have them. Don’t fear them. They’re perfectly natural and expected. Just like your parents shared.”

Maggie studied him, obliquely noticing the lacerations on his face had shrunk. I must be drunk, she rationalized. Wounds didn’t heal that fast. Instead, she focused on the swirling caramel of his brown eyes. Faint memories tugged. Parents. Forest and mountains. Familiar warmth of friends, love, strong bonds. Her father affectionately licking her mother …

Licking?

“It’s plain, simple biology,” she asserted, struggling with her emotions as he swept his thumb over her jawline. “Sexual attraction, nature’s means of propagating the species.”

His eyes darkened. “Have you ever wanted to propagate like this?”

Maggie put a hand to her swimming head. “No,” she admitted. “It’s the wine. Alcohol lowers inhibitions. Which is why women sleep with men they just met.”

Nicolas bent his head toward her. With one hand, he caught her curls, swept them back from her ear. Warm breath feathered over her cheek. Maggie caught his very male, woodsy scent, reminding her of pine forests and wildness. “Is that why you kissed me? Why you began removing your blouse? Two glasses of pinot noir?”

His mouth nuzzled her neck. Maggie moaned as he nipped it, then delivered a soothing lick. Her hands anchored on his shoulders. Thoughts of magic, strange creatures and danger evaporated like raindrops on a hot Florida blacktop.

Nicolas set her back. His gaze burned into hers. “Not wine, Maggie. We both know it.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Nicolas cupped her face, bent his head as if to kiss her. Then he uttered almost a growl, and jerked away.

“No. Not now,” he muttered.

His dark brows pulled together in a frown. Her body left aching and yearning, Maggie shouldered her pride and buttoned the blouse.

“I think you should go. I’m tired.” Maggie managed to force the words out.

“I think I should stay,” he said quietly, his gaze searching hers. “You shouldn’t be alone now. It’s too dangerous here.”

“From whatever was outside? How do you expect me to believe in something I can’t see?” She collapsed onto the couch.

“Do you think I was lying, Maggie? Do you think something wasn’t trying to get inside?”

The little hairs on the back of her neck rose. “I believe you believe that there are such creatures, Nicolas. But asking me to swallow a story about a magical creature that shape-shifts …? You might as well ask me to believe in something as silly as werewolves. Maybe it’s them I need to fear. It’s nearly a full moon.” She threw back her head, gave a short, fake howl.

One dark brow lifted again. “Not bad,” he drawled. “But in time, you’ll do better.”

He paced over to the door, checked the locks. Next he checked the windows, shut the curtains. Maggie rubbed her arms, her confused, muzzy emotions raging. “Nicolas, what are you doing?”

He shot her a hooded look from beneath long, dark lashes. “I need to secure your house.”

“Against what?”

“Against anything needing to get inside. I’m staying the night, Maggie.”

“You don’t act … interested.”

In answer he cupped her face, drew her toward him. Nicolas kissed her, a warm authoritative kiss. His tongue swept over her lips, danced inside as she opened to him. He groaned and tore himself away. Breathing ragged, eyes dark and wild, he visibly fought to control himself.

Elated, yet confused, she licked her lips and touched his arm. “Then why not?”

“Now isn’t a good time, Maggie.” Nicolas drew in a deep breath. “I want … time. I want to make love to you more than I want my next breath. All night long. When I know it’s safe.”

“I feel perfectly safe.”

He shot her a level look. “You’re also intoxicated.”

Disappointment mingled with newfound respect. Another man would simply take advantage of her being drunk, and happily walk off without caring he might have left behind a package awaiting delivery in nine months.

“Go to sleep, Maggie. I’ll protect you.”

From what? Whatever mythical creature that attacked him? Or against himself?

Maggie curled up with a yawn. Something warm and soft fell over her a minute later. A blanket.

“Good night, Mags,” he murmured. He shot her a faintly exasperated look. “I told you not to remove the bracelet. But you didn’t listen. Perhaps you will now.”

Confusion at his words faded with the tender kiss he pressed against her cheek. Maggie yawned and snuggled into the couch, pulling the blanket over her. Just a minute’s rest, then she’d escort him out. She closed her eyes to the image of Nicolas, silently standing guard by the sliding glass doors, as if keeping watch.

Sunlight speared the white tile floor the next morning as she slowly awakened. Maggie stared at the small clock radio on the bedside table in bleary confusion. How could she have slept until ten o’clock? Jackhammers slammed into her skull. Damn. No wonder she had no inclination to drink. Hangovers were a bitch. She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth against the nausea, then headed for the bathroom.

When she emerged, memories of last night surfaced. A low groan rippled from her lips. What a fool she’d been.

No sign of Nicolas. He must have carried her upstairs and then left. The blinds, closed last night, now were open, the windows uncovered.

Just as well. Never before had she been so edgy, wanting, ready to leap into bed with a stranger. One she’d met at a bar! Maggie rubbed her face, wincing at her aching head. No more alcohol. Not even a thimble of sherry.

Still, she couldn’t erase his strong, impassioned face from her thoughts. He remained embedded there like fingerprints.

She went into the kitchen, checked on Misha. The dog greeted her with a wagging tail and ambled outside as Maggie opened the sliding glass doors. No trouble walking, more energy than she’d exhibited. When Misha returned, she lay down on the cool tile.

Troubled, Maggie measured out coffee and poured it into her automatic coffeemaker. Misha hadn’t eaten yesterday and acted livelier.

Nicolas had warned feeding Misha would spread the disease.

Ridiculous. A disease that fed off the energy produced by food? Maggie headed for the bathroom for a shower to clear her muzzy brain.

To her amazement, Misha followed her up the stairs. The dog wagged her tail, lay down by the bathroom door. Maggie’s spirits lifted.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and curly. She coaxed Misha into her lab and drew another sample of blood. Misha watched with large brown eyes as Maggie studied the sample underneath the microscope.

There were fewer black cells in the blood sample than the previous day. Maggie glanced down at her dog. “Nicolas can’t be right. This is just a coincidence.”

Misha yawned and laid her head down.

“Okay, sweetie, stay there. I think you deserve a nap after climbing those stairs.”

Downstairs, Maggie poured coffee into a china mug, added sugar and pulled open the sliders. She stepped out onto the patio. The mirrored surface of the gulf rippled sea-blue this morning, reflecting the cloudless sky. On the mile-wide beach, green and royal blue umbrellas blossomed to greet the day. People walked along the surf, some jogging, others ambling or shell hunting.

The air smelled briny. No breeze rustled the spindly palm trees. Musing over last night’s strange events, and the odd findings in Misha’s blood this morning, Maggie stared out at the beach. Something caught her eye.