“You didn’t trust me when the woman came tonight.”
“Blythe. Her name is Blythe and I owe her everything. I can take a chance with my life, but not with hers. All I’m saying is, you came home with me. Let me watch over you tonight, and then tomorrow you can go back to being whoever you want to be.”
His blue eyes moved over her face as if memorizing every detail and looking deeper, under her skin, behind her eyes, deeper still, as if he might judge the truth of what she was saying.
“How will you sleep?”
Her fingers reluctantly left his face. “You’re in my house. In my bed. It’s safer that I be out of the house and stay awake, and I can’t explain to you why.”
It was his turn to frown. “But you’ll talk about this with me tomorrow.”
She shrugged, not committing to anything and unwilling to lie. What would she say? I might be a psycho? But then, he thought he was one as well. “Good night, Lev. If you need me, I’ll have the kitchen door open.”
Rikki snapped off the bedroom light and left him. Either he’d drift off or he wouldn’t, but at least he could rest. She dragged a spare blanket from the linen closet and made a fresh pot of coffee for herself before going out onto the porch and settling into the hammock swing. It was her most comfortable chair and she planned to spend the night there.
It was always cold in the evening and already the fog blanketed the trees and gardens, snaking its way into the yard so she could barely make out her sleepy flowers and shrubbery. She loved the feel of the fog on her skin, those drops of mist that shrouded the night in a wet veil of silver. She snuggled beneath the blanket, pulling in her feet, a little uneasy.
She put her apprehension down to having a stranger in her house, but still, she couldn’t settle. Twice she walked around the house, wishing she could make up her mind whether or not to get a dog. Airiana loved animals and was always bugging Rikki, and all the others, about getting dogs for protection. A dog was one more thing for her to worry about if a fire started in the night.
She sipped at her coffee and looked at all the places she’d studied a thousand times. Vantage points where someone might be able to hide in concealment and spy on her home and family. How paranoid did it make her that she scouted all the areas and visited them regularly to check for signs someone had been watching her? She sighed and kicked at the railing with her bare foot. Very paranoid, but she wasn’t ever going to stop. It was the only way she ever managed to sleep at night.
5
FLAMES raced up the walls and poured across the ceiling, liquid fire, running like rivers through the house, consuming everything in sight. The roar was loud, angry, and the flames reared back, looking—seeking. The orange and red inferno rolled into giant fiery balls, while wind rushed from wall to wall, fanning the conflagration. Heat filled the rooms, and great black gaping holes appeared in the walls. Chunks fell from the ceiling while the inferno blazed hotter.
Water! Come to me! Help me. Water!
Lev woke, gun in his fist, heart pounding, head throbbing, but most of all, his left palm was so painful, it felt like someone had shoved a knife through it. He could hear the sound of water all around him, in the bathroom, the kitchen, outside, even on the roof. He forced himself into a sitting position, wiping at the beads of sweat dotting his forehead with his arm. What the hell was going on? The echo of that frightened female voice still reverberated through his mind.
His brain didn’t feel as fuzzy. He had a whale of a headache, but he could think. His dream . . . No,
her
dream. Rikki. She was dreaming or, more precisely, having a nightmare, and somehow she was projecting her nightmare to him. He pressed his palm to his leg while he breathed away the last remnants of heat and fire surrounding him.
Struggling to his feet, he managed to stagger into the bathroom and turn off both the shower and the sink. The basin had filled up, and water had run onto the floor, so he dropped a towel on the mess and went on through toward the kitchen. The sound of water pulled at him again as he went down the hall, and he pushed open a door to find the laundry room. Water ran in the washing machine. He turned that off, spotted his neatly folded clothes sitting on the dryer and pulled on his jeans, hastily buttoning a couple of the buttons as he made his way into the kitchen.
The floor was flooded and water cascaded from the sink—the faucet was on full blast. He turned it off and went outside. Overhead, the skies had opened and poured water down, the main concentration on the house and yard. He looked out over the surrounding trees and saw it was raining, but not with the same force as around the house—around Rikki.
Sound asleep, she was curled up in a hammock swing, a blanket around her, expressions of fear crossing her face as she cried imploringly, palms upward toward the water. His little sea urchin diver was definitely bound to an element—and a strong one at that.
“Come here,
lyubimaya moya
.” He reached for her. She was so slight that even in his weakened state, he doubted if he’d have trouble carrying her. He gathered her against his bare chest, whispering to her when she began to struggle. “I’m bringing you in. You can bring the rain with you if you like, but it isn’t doing your house much good.”
Her lashes lifted and there she was. He felt the jolt through his entire body, the sensation of drowning in a sensual sea. He smiled at her. “I’m taking you inside. If you keep wiggling around, we’re both going to end up on the ground.”
“I don’t like anyone touching me.”
“I know.” He made no move to put her down. Already the rain was lessening in intensity. He carried her into the house and kicked the door closed behind him, noting that her bare feet were covered in burn scars that obviously went up under the hem of her jeans. “Are you worried that someone might set your house on fire?”
She studied his face for so long, he didn’t think she’d answer him. “Yes.”
The word came out reluctantly, and for the first time, her gaze shifted from his. He carried her carefully through the kitchen. The floor was wet and needed to be mopped. She didn’t notice. She was too busy trying not to touch his bare chest or struggle so hard he fell. He pretended not to notice her dilemma, choosing instead to figure out what she wasn’t telling him. Whatever it was, it was important.
He put her on the bed and sank down beside her, deliberately leaning his weight against her. He didn’t have to fake weakness. His legs were rubbery and his palm—damn—it hurt like a son of a bitch. He pressed his thumb deep into the center, but before he could use healing energy, she reached out and took his wrist, drawing his hand to her. She had that little frown he found so endearing on her face.
“Is your hand hurting?” She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his palm, tracing imaginary circles there. “I dreamt that your hand was hurting.”
The pain was gone the instant her thumb stroked over his skin. He was used to strange occurrences—he was gifted psychically in many different ways—but he’d never had a connection to another human being, at least he didn’t think so. He’d hit his head pretty hard, and he wasn’t remembering a whole hell of a lot about his life. Only images of violence, a gut instinct telling him someone wanted him dead, and yet he was fairly certain he would have remembered something like this.
His strange reactions to her felt completely foreign—but right. He knew it didn’t make sense, but at the moment, nothing did. He needed to be with her. He needed to take the fear from her eyes. He . . .
needed
.
“You dreamt the house was on fire.
This
house.” He’d get into the water aspect later. Right now he could give her peace. He closed his eyes and centered himself, allowing his mind to expand, to stretch, to seek the energy of others. He couldn’t find anyone close to her home. If someone had been close, they’d left no trace of themselves behind, which was difficult to do. “We’re alone, Rikki. I can’t tell you how I know, but I do. Just like the way you manipulate water, I know if someone is close.”
His revelation should have made her feel more secure, but instead she looked haunted. Just for a moment. He caught a flash of terror in her eyes, and then her expression went blank, distant, as if she’d wiped her mind clean like a slate. He heard her breathing change, just for a moment, a quick inhale and then she exhaled, a long slow breath of air that gave away her agitation.
“What time is it?” she asked. “I have to clean things up.”
“Nearly four. What you need to do is to lie down and rest.”
She mumbled something incoherent under her breath and went out of the room. He could hear her mopping the floor in the kitchen. It occurred to him that this wasn’t the first—or last—time she’d done this. So fires were a recurring nightmare. And she feared someone would start one. She was barefoot and he’d seen the burn scars on her feet when he carried her—his mind was already cataloging each whorl and ridge.
He sighed and brushed his hand over his face, and then just sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palm with his thumb thoughtfully while the rain beat on the roof and she scrubbed her floor in the kitchen. Those burns were no accident, then. It was no wonder she worked under the water. It was where she felt safe. Her legs and feet probably hurt when she walked on land, but in the water she was more fluid. He knew the scars would make her skin feel tight and stretched, so walking could be painful.
Mapping the scars in his mind, he traced the pattern in the air and pushed warm healing energy toward the air sketches. As a rule, healing had to be done when a wound occurred, not months—or years—after. But sometimes, if one worked at it, they could ease the scarring. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. If he could remember that, why couldn’t he remember why the hell every memory seemed to be surrounded with violence?
He knew he could take apart his guns and put them back together in seconds because he’d already tried it, the moment she’d gone outside. He’d
needed
to clean his guns. He knew what ammo he needed for each weapon. He knew he could pull a knife, turn and throw, and hit his intended target with exact accuracy. When he saw someone, he saw targets on them and knew immediately where to strike to kill them if needed. His mind was like a computer, analyzing all the time, choosing kill spots. Did other people live that way?
“Lev?” She stood in the hall looking at him, a worried frown on her face. “Do you need more aspirin? I don’t keep anything else in the house.”
“No. I’m fine. I was trying to remember something—
anything
—that might tell me I’m a much better man than I think I am.”
She sent him a small, crooked smile. It was almost reluctant, as if she didn’t really know how to smile. “I think that tells you you’re a better man than you think you are.” She looked back at the kitchen and then glanced toward the bathroom. “I’m sorry about the mess. It happens sometimes when I have nightmares. My guest bathroom was really flooded.”
“Because you dream about fires.”
She nodded slowly, her dark eyebrows drawn together. He liked the shape of her eyebrows, the way they emphasized her eyes and those incredibly long lashes.
“Are you afraid you start the fires while you sleep?”
Her gasp was audible. Her eyes widened in alarm. She actually took a step back from him and nearly dropped the mop.
“It isn’t that difficult to figure out, Rikki. You’re afraid to sleep in the house with me in it. You call to water when you do sleep. You have burns on your feet. And the house on fire in your dream was
this
house. You’re scared you’re the one causing the fires.”
She swallowed hard, but her gaze didn’t waver. “It’s possible. Maybe even probable. My parents died in a fire. Two foster homes I lived in burned down, and then I lived in a state-run facility until I turned eighteen. I thought it was over until . . . I met someone. A few years ago, my fiancé died in a fire. That’s four fires, two that killed people.”
He saw past the belligerence to the real terror permeating her entire life. “Rikki. It would be impossible for you to start the fires, awake or asleep. You couldn’t do it.”
Rikki’s frown deepened. “That’s exactly what Lissa said.
Exactly.
With the same absolute conviction. How could either of you know that when I don’t even know it?” She rubbed her palm down her thigh in agitation right along the path of the shimmering raindrop tattoo dripping down her leg, drawing his attention to it even though it was hidden. “I can’t take the chance on your life, and you shouldn’t want to either.”
“It’s obvious you’re a water element. You’re bound to water. You can’t start fires. You can only put them out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I like water, but I’m not bound to it. I just feel safer around it, and when I’m in the sea and the pressure of the water is all around me, I feel different—more normal.”
“What in the hell is normal? Not you. Not me. I doubt if there is such a thing.”
She regarded him as if he had two heads. “Of course there is normal. There are regular people.”
He swung his legs up on the bed and stretched out, linking his hands behind his head. “Come lie down. There’s no one close to the house. We’re locked up and safe, and you need to get sleep.” He patted the bed beside him.