Guardian (The Protectors Series) (18 page)

She wrapped her arms around him and clung. Their hearts were so close together, she could feel his pounding. His panting breaths brushed her neck, and his clenched fists bracketed her shoulders.

He kissed her cheek, then her mouth. His spring forest scent filled her nose, and muskiness from sex was mixed with it now.

Mel opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her. Despite his ragged breathing and flushed face, his cock was swelling inside her again, filling her. She must’ve looked surprised, for he grinned and announced, “I recover fast, remember?”

“I’m not complaining.” The last word came out ragged as he pushed slowly into her.

He eased back out, and she ached for him. When he slid back in, hard and fast, her hips rose greedily. Faster and faster, he took them both through the ancient, sensual dance of alternating delight and craving. Mel’s blood sang in her veins. The world narrowed to his body on and in hers, the weight, the fullness, the movement of him.

The tension within her tightened unbearably as her need deepened. Again she thrashed under him.

“Stefan, I can’t—”

“You can.” He thrust hard, and the tight knot of craving exploded, sweeping everything away in a wave of blinding, mind-numbing delight.

As the sizzle in her veins faded, she realized he was still hard within her. She looked up at him, startled. He smiled, but his eyes were hot and possessive. He eased partly out of her. When she whimpered in protest, he plunged in again, fast.

The movement shot new heat to the top of her head. Mel gave a choked cry, her body clutching at his.

Stefan’s lips brushed her ear. “Hold on to me.”

She gripped his shoulders. He felt so big and hard within her, so good. No divisions between them now. No issues.

Even as he drove them both toward climax, the moment seared itself into her heart. A final thrust sent her over the edge, flying. In the instant before the pleasure slammed into her brain, she felt him shudder.

They soared together. As they should be.

H
e was floating, carried by blissful music, hearing the sweet, lyrical sound of Krista’s vocal harmonies winding around and through his deeper lead. Her fiddle wove a thread of Celtic lilt through the rock music their garage band played.

Then the music faded. The garage became the house where he’d lived in Issaquah, everything packed up to move in a couple of days, and he was sixteen again. His mother’s voice, low but sharp, drifted up the stairs. He paused at the top.

“No, I will not call him. You’ve done enough, Krista.”

Stefan ran down the stairs and into the cheerful, yellow-and-white kitchen. “Let me talk to her.”

His mother’s lips tightened. Her brown eyes were grim. “It’s not a good idea, Steve. You need to make a clean break.”

Steve
. This was the dream again. He’d gone by Steve, his nickname, until his family had moved and subtly changed all their identities to escape the tabloids. He struggled to wake up, but the dream, the memory of living nightmare, held him fast.

Now that he was near the phone, he could hear Krista sobbing in the background. “Mom, give me the phone.”

Grudgingly, she passed it over.

“Hey, Krista,” he said. “I’m here. It’s okay.” He could see her in his mind’s eyes, a petite girl with her big, brown eyes swollen from crying and her mane of brown curls tangled from repeatedly having her hands pushed through it.

“Oh, Steve. Steve, you’re…” A sob came over the line, and then another. “You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

His heart twisted at the sound of her pain, but he pushed words through his aching throat. “Yeah. You’re my best bud, too, y’know.”

A gasping sob, and then she asked, “Still?”

“Always, munchkin.” She’d made a mistake. Mack had turned it into a disaster.

“You don’t…” She gulped, then sniffed. “You don’t hate me?”

“Of course not. Look, I could come—”

“No,” his mother said behind him, her voice low and vehement. “You will not meet that girl.”

He glared at her, but his mom’s magic was stronger than his. Until he grew into his full powers, she could, and would, stop him. A fresh round of sobs came over the phone, as though Krista had heard. Better to play this carefully. “Look, Krista, everything will be okay. We’re getting fresh starts in new places. We just have to hang in a while, wait for things to settle.”

“I’ll n-n-never s-see you ag-gain,” she choked.

“Of course you will.” They had to meet again. Who else understood the way music pulled at him? Who else could he ever write songs with? “We’re mages, or we will be. We can always find each other. And there’s still e-mail.”

“Yeah. I just…” She sniffed. “I love you, Steve. You take care of yourself.”

“I love you, too, Krista.” He’d never heard her sound so miserable, and his heart ached for her. Slowly, he hung up the phone. Before his mom could launch in, he said, “I know you think she was stupid. If she was, so was I, because I knew Mack was trouble, and I did nothing. So cut her a freaking break.”

His mom’s tawny brows drew together. “Watch your tone, young man. That girl’s stupidity has wrecked all our lives.”

His fists clenched. “Hers is wrecked, too.” And Mack’s, but he knew better than to say that. Angry as he was at Mack, he couldn’t help regretting what the memory deletion had taken from him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Fine. But don’t even think about sneaking out.”

He answered her with a shrug. Even with his dad on the road, seeing the few clients who took him seriously after the
National Investigator
said he performed satanic and other magic rituals, Mom had enough magic to prevent either of her children from leaving the house. But she was going out in the morning to arrange for the utilities to be disconnected. Stefan could wait.

After a sleepless night, he walked to Krista’s house, but her mom said she’d gone to the old garage where their band had practiced.

Someone was calling him, but he ignored the voice.

Turning his key, he pushed hard against the warped door. A sour smell filled his nostrils, and dread knotted his gut. Magically, he shoved the door open.

In the center of the room, Krista lay crumpled on the makeshift stage. He ran to her. Beside her lay an empty plastic vial. She held the neck of her fiddle loosely clasped in one hand and the bow in the other, as though she’d sat there and played herself into a sleep that would never end.

Now he knew the smell in the air was death. His heart cracked, then shattered.
Krista…

“Stefan! Stefan, wake up.”

Krista
—no. Not Krista. Mel, with her arms around him, pressing kisses on his face.

“Stefan, please wake up!”

Shuddering, he opened his eyes. “I’m good,” he managed, pulling her warm, living body close. “I’m awake.”

She rested her forehead against his. “That was some dream.”

“It was
the
dream.” Still breathing hard, he tucked her head against his shoulder. “Let me hang on to you a minute.” The dream had come more often since Griff’s injury, but Stefan would bet it came tonight because of what he’d shared with Mel. When she knew the full truth, would she still want to be with him, still care if he had a nightmare?

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You told me it was bad, but I didn’t realize what you meant.”

“I’m getting there.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” She brushed his hair gently out of his face. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

The urge to roll her under him, to find oblivion in her arms, burned in his blood, but he couldn’t dismiss the concern in her eyes. She needed to know. How much could he safely tell her?

“It’s tied up with a lot of things,” he said. “Do you remember what worried me in med school?”

Her brow wrinkled. “You mean when you were afraid you wouldn’t be good enough? Considering that you were brilliant, I didn’t understand that, but I could see you were truly concerned. I assumed you’d moved past that.”

“Not entirely.” She was the only person he’d ever confided that to. Now, plagued with his lack of success in helping Griff, he’d had no one to talk to. His friends were also his patients, and the last thing that would help them was thinking their doctor had doubts.

“I’ve lost patients, of course, and usually I’ve known I did all I could.”

“Except…?” Her eyebrows rose.

“That doubt comes back to bite me when I run into something unfamiliar. I have this recurring dream.” He’d never told her more than the bare outlines of the incident that haunted him.

Staring into her warm eyes, Stefan began, “I told you about my friend who died when we were in high school. Krista.”

Her steady gaze didn’t waver, but she reached for his hand. “Yes. That’s one thing that spurred you to become a doctor.”

Stefan nodded. “There’s a lot more I didn’t tell you.”

She was listening intently, focusing on him, exactly the way she used to. Encouraged, he continued, “Krista was also experimenting with energy manipulation.”

Mel’s brows rose. “Even back then?”

“Yes. It’s how we met, in a class. She loved music, too, and her voice… She had a three-octave range, every note clear and clean.”

Mel brushed his hair gently off his forehead, but her grave, smoky eyes never left his face.

“In high school, we got a band together. We were the lead singers, even wrote some of the songs together. She fell for the bass player. He told her he loved her, but he was only using her.” Stefan had to force the words through his tight throat. After all this time, the memory still ate at him. “I warned her not to tell him about what we were doing…learning. But she was so sure she could trust him. I’ve never known what set him off, but he turned on her, started rumors about us practicing witchcraft, caused trouble for her family and mine.”

“The tabloid rumors,” Mel said, and her face tightened with outrage.

He nodded. “Our families had to move. All her friends turned on her except me, and we were going to be a thousand miles apart. Krista committed suicide. That much of what the reporter claimed was true.”

“Oh, Stefan. I’m so sorry.” She hugged him, pressing her face to his neck.

“Much worse for her than for me.” And for Mack, but he couldn’t talk about the memory wipe yet. No matter what the guy had done, he hadn’t deserved to have all his talent destroyed.

“But it haunts you.” Gently, she brushed his hair off his forehead again, and the soft, tender touch seemed to stroke his heart, too.

Grateful for the silent support, Stefan finished, “I found Krista. I have a recurring nightmare where I see her lying there, pale and cold, with her violin beside her. I knew what kind of guy he was, but she wouldn’t listen. I should’ve gone to my parents when I saw how she was letting him manipulate her. I should’ve gone to
her
parents. To a teacher. I knew what I should’ve done, but I didn’t do it, because I thought it would hurt her. I made the wrong judgment call. And she died because of it.”

“Stefan, you were sixteen. You did what you thought was best, and God, it would be a leap for a kid that age to think a friend might commit suicide. Though I realize guilt is never logical.” She paused, watching him. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“If we’re going to try again, you need to know everything about me, even the stuff that scares you. I want to share more when you’re ready. And now someone I know has a medical problem. I can’t seem to fix it, and I should be able to. He’s depending on me, but I’m letting him down.”

“That’s very different from a decision you made as a kid.”

“I wasn’t the kind of friend Krista needed, the kind of man you needed. Now I’m not what this guy needs. Where am I going to fall short next?”

“We all make mistakes, but you’ve made fewer than most people I know.” Mel kissed him, her lips soft and warm and loving. The touch eased his inner pain.

Lacing her fingers through his above his heart, she continued, “Your patients don’t expect you to be perfect, you know. They expect you to use your judgment, to do the best you can. And your best, from what I’ve seen, is damn good.”

“I hope so.” Remembering that was tough sometimes.

She studied him silently, her thumb stroking the back of his hand. “Is this part of the reason you never told me the truth about your, ah, energy manipulation?”

“Part of it. The rumors that guy spread did a lot of damage. People turned against our families out of superstition and fear.”

“And you’re afraid I’ll react the same way.”

He nodded. “Or you’ll think one or both of us is delusional.”

The new tension in her face told him he’d scored a hit.

“And now we’re trying to make this work.” Mel sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m struggling, yes, and I’m reexamining a lot of things. But I’m a grown woman, Stefan. I don’t hide from things that scare me anymore, and I’ve handled dangerous situations. I’m not going to freak out on you.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I think it’s time you showed me something else.”

He stared at her, searching her face, but only determination showed in her expression. At last, he nodded. “Okay.”

He reached under the bed for the sword. He’d taken to keeping it there because he wouldn’t take any risk with her safety. If ghouls came for her, he would cheerfully cut them to ribbons.

Having this discussion naked and in bed felt a little strange, but he saw no reason to wait.

Mel watched him expectantly. Only the heightened color in her cheeks revealed that she was nervous.

Stefan eased the blade from the scabbard. Balancing it across his palms, he said, “You can touch it. At the moment, it’s only metal, but watch out for the edge.”

She laid a hand near his on the blade. Her brows drew together slightly as she ran her fingers down the steel. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. What’s next?”

“Move your hand, sweet.” When she complied, he gripped the hilt with one hand while supporting the blade with the other. Resting the hilt on his knee, he let the power flow into it and along the blade. A faint, silver glow surrounded the weapon and reflected in Mel’s eyes.

For a long moment, she said nothing, staring at it. He couldn’t read her face, and his heart pounded so hard it seemed to fill his throat.

At last, she released a long, slow breath. “Wow.” Mel stared at the glowing blade with uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“Not a good idea. It would burn your fingers, at the least.”

Her brows knitted. “Does it always burn?”

“No. Sometimes it protects—deflects objects.” Or other magic, but that had to wait until he could reveal that there were other magical beings.

“It deflects objects,” she said slowly. When her eyes rose to meet his face, suspicion darkened them. “Like bullets?”

She’d made the ghoul connection.
Hell
. He kept his gaze steady. “Sometimes. It’s not so much the sword as the energy, wielded differently. It can stop gunfire that isn’t too intense.”

“Like a single shot from a Glock.”

His mouth went dry, but he nodded.

Studying his face, she quietly said, “You know more about this case than you’re telling me. Or Burton.”

“If I knew how to apprehend these freaks, I give you my word, I would do it.”

“That’s not really an answer.” Her eyes narrowed.

Stefan said nothing. Either she would trust him or she wouldn’t, but he could not confirm the existence of ghouls until he knew she could be trusted with the info.

“What else can you do?” she asked.

Even here, he couldn’t be entirely honest, but he would tell her what he could. “I can push energy from my hands.”

“How does it work?”

“I push out a blast or can use energy in little ways—unlock a door, defrost food, start a fire without a match.”

She nodded, and he could almost see the wheels of her brain turning. Cocking her head, she said, “These skills could be useful for law enforcement.”

“There are reasons that’s problematic.” Using magic that way among Mundanes posed a risk of exposure that went far beyond a single mage. Griff had managed it safely because his tracking skills let him pull the
psychic
gig.